What a mess the garden is in right now. Yet another year when I tell myself I will be organised and productive, grow lots of tasty fresh organic produce, grow more flowers than nettles and chickweed, generally be green fingered and basically like my mother. Yet another year when the lawn is a wildflower meadow but the borders (where you can still see them at all) are simply full of a tangle of stingy prickly stuff. Yet another year when the hedge gets so big you can barely see the garden from the kitchen window. *sigh*
And yet, and yet... The roses and the apple tree positively thrive on neglect, and I simply cannot wait to eat those apples as they are always perfect. I can barely believe my eyes when I see just how many there are this year and how fast they are getting fat and round. Three different rose bushes are in full flower: the rose bush that somehow survived moving house with us eight years ago; Lael's rose, where his tiny body was buried with so many tears; Rowan's placenta, barely a year later. Next year, Talia's rose will bloom there too. The strawberries are doing OK too. And the blackcurrants. Mmm. I can almost taste them already.
You'll never guess why that darn cat is up the willow tree...
After my despairing post about the butterflies, that last (presumed dead) chrysalis produced a glorious living specimen, who obliged me by hanging around in the willow tree for almost half an hour. How wonderful! The children were delighted, after the slight anticlimax of releasing three more-or-less battered looking creatures. Isn't it just gorgeous?
So, there. Beauty from ashes, all over again.
And next year. NEXT year... I really really will be a bit more organised.