Until my recent move to the countryside, I had lived in a flat for eight years and had missed having a garden to potter about in. The new place has a substantial area of greenery both in front and to the rear. The lawns and herbaceous borders as well as established shrubs and trees all demand attention. Even more so now that the sunnier days and warmer air has arrived. Two days ago I gave the front lawn its first cut of the season. I also continued to dig out emerging weeds from the beds and continued to turn the soil and weed a large raised bed at the rear. What I had failed to take into account was that in the intervening eight years when I had been without a garden, I had added those years to myself, and my former resilience to the rigours of digging and bending had waned considerably. I was forced to concede that muscles which had formerly been exercised on a regular basis were not so forgiving of my sixty eight years of age.
I bought a sack of seed potatoes to plant in the vegetable bed but have had to postpone that task until the aches have subsided sufficiently. Fortunately, quite heavy rain has swept in, making planting impractical at the present. The seed potatoes therefore lie in wait in trays in the garage, eyeing me with apprehension. Meanwhile, I will enjoy looking at the spring growth appearing everywhere.
Spring starts with a bragging blast
of daffodil-drenched verges,
trumpet heads calling for bud burst
and bird song. Even morning frosts
gleam with freshness full of life.
This is a time I should walk more:
with a spring in my step (pun intended).
Outdoor chores to be fixed and mended,
to get on in the garden before
boredom strikes again and I’ve
concocted lots and lots
of reasons for doing other things first.
I should right now use these initial surges
which I fear are not here to last.
[© Wally Smith 2014]