We’re reclaiming our garden, it’s our 2017 thing to do.
Ten years we’ve lived at this house,
the lawn fraying under the weight of next door’s tree.
‘I see you’re at it again? You can do mine next!’
Yes… I’m gardening, and why shouldn’t I be?
Little does he know in my pocket are a packet of pumpkin seeds.
Sleepless nights trawling the internet…
How to prune roses.
How to grow dwarf phloxes.
Husband shouts out with a start:
‘My Grandad used to throw used tea-leaves onto the lawn; Why? Is that a thing?’
We google it; turns out Grandad was a genius.
Barbeque upgraded to pizza oven, tis the season,
now we’re the noisy neighbours.
We’re reclaiming our garden, it’s gossip free, smoke free, a sanctuary.
I’m one episode of Gardener’s World away from becoming an expert.
Not that anyone’s asking my advice, but I know how to turn Hydrangeas blue-
The essence of gardening is to prune,
‘Let it grow!’ Husband moans, and am I glad I listened.
The tree that bent over in the snow of 2011, the one assigned for the chop,
turns out it’s a Bay Laurel! Producing leaves popular in a variety of Mediterranean dishes.
Ah! That was a good day…
Disappointing germination; Underestimated ground frost.
Empty planters; Slug diners,
No bulbs because of the dog.
‘The Mexican Orange Blossom has flowered’
I whisper when it dawned on me late at night.
He frowns, he said I sound like a spy, is that code for summat?
Garnishing the front path is proof of our whirlwind romance with the out doors.
A potted box topiary, pruned within an inch of its life.
March while August, we’ll be in the garden.
Husband in the shed, deckchairs for the wife.
Samantha Henthorn copyright 2017