The sun dictates where I will work each day in the garden. Early, (very early) in the morning, Sarah's garden is in the shade. If I play my cards right and get to bed early the night before, I can beat Mr Sun. Invariably, though, Mr Sun cheats and rises earlier than predicted.
And so - as the song goes "... Mad dogs and English (wo)men go out in the midday sun..." I love to keep to tradition.... thanks to Noel Coward ...
Lambsears were totally evicted. MILLIONS of earwigs began crawling up my legs and scurrying across my feet as I air-lifted these clumps out of Sarah's fenced garden. The recollection of seeing the earwigs simply daunts me. (Later, I squashed one on it's way to my knickers!). Valerian, a gift from Sarah's piano teacher was hacked beyond recognition. The once bushy, evasive plant was reduced to cluster of stumpy green alien-like fingers. Although left unharmed - just merely grazed by the shears, the scent of catmint filled the air (I've never seen any of our cats roll around in the multitudes of catmint we have planted for them).
Granny's bonnets breathed a sigh of relief, as did claustrophobic English lavender. Even a thorny rose appeared; the tallest of the (formerly hidden) botanical population. And at the base of the rose - a clump of variegated violas - courageously anchored firmly amongst giants.
A terracotta pot, half buried in moisture retentive soil hosted a family of carbuncle-like snails. Other slug family creatures preferred to live in the dark, under a home-made stepping stone.
Later in the day, when a dense plum tree and hardy conifer offered shade, I decided to end the reign of common mint and tentacles of periwinkle from the washing line garden, watched closely by the Machinist who desperately tried to persuade me to accompany him in the pool. Sarah was already in there, floating on her back.
"C'mon, Babe, I've got the pool leaf free for you..."
But, Machinist, don't you know - Gardens are not made by sitting in the shade!
Rudyard Kipling - 30 December 1865 to 18 January 1936