There was a slight frost on the lawns in the back garden, and I was relieved when I saw that once again the new leaves of the dahlias standing in their pots outside the greenhouse had escaped unscathed. By rights they should still be under cover, but there is no room for them in the greenhouse, except under the staging where they spent the winter. It is too dark for them there once they come back into growth. I have left them under the bench in previous springs, and they have grown long and lanky stretching up in search of light. Etiolated, a marvellous word. It takes so long to say, and sounds like stretching, ee-tee-oh-lated. If their first leaves do get caught, I expect they'll recover, since the ones in the bed have coped in the past with being eaten and scratched up by the chickens for days, if not weeks, before we hit on the method of putting black mesh along the front of the bed to keep them off.
I spent a happy morning spreading mushroom compost on the long bed, crumbling it around the clumps of grape hyacinths and lifting their leaves clear. By lunchtime I'd got through nearly five bags, and we only bought twenty-three the last time we took the truck up to the garden centre for a bulk load. Still, it was bought to be used, and isn't doing the garden any good sitting on the back of the truck.
A Moonlight Holly, Ilex aquifolium 'Flavescens', which I planted as long ago as November 2006, finally looks as though it is getting going. That has to be a record, even for this garden. Holly is generally slow to get away when planted out of a pot, though plants sown in situ by the birds can be quite fast, and the soil in the long bed is sandy and peculairly infertile. I dug in organic material when I planted the holly, and periodically watered, fed and mulched it thereafter, but all that happened was that one after another branches dropped their leaves, flirted with the idea of making some new ones, and then died. I kept cutting out the dead twigs, and at its nadir the holly stood at approximately four inches tall. Finally, it must have got its roots down, or last autumn's aggressive feeding programme followed by a wet winter did the trick, because it has now doubled in size. I nearly dug it out several times, but never did, because I could see that it was trying, and it is not an easy variety to get hold of. I don't think the plant centre ever had any more after I bought that one. It is a female form, whose young leaves are suffused with soft yellow, a pretty thing.
In the afternoon I sowed some beetroot, broad beans, peas and two sorts of lettuce in the vegetable patch. I have yet to keep them watered and weeded, and it's a long way from here to harvesting any edible vegetables, but it's a start. I haven't cleared all the beds yet, but thought I'd better plant something in some of those that were ready, otherwise it'll be July, and I'll have a blank plot with no produce, even if I've reduced the number of weeds. The pots I sowed in the greenhouse are starting to germinate, so there should be some more beetroot and broad beans, plus courgettes and leeks. I rather draw the line at onions, because they are so cheap in the supermarket and I can't believe I could tell the difference between home grown and shop bought, but we get through a fair few leeks. I have grown them in the past, quite successfully, and courgettes, though not since I bought a little book called What Shall I Do With All These Courgettes. That put an effective hex on the courgette project, and I haven't managed to grow one since. I think last time I tried, something chewed half way through the stems of the plants, and drought finished them off.
I am shadowed at all times by a robin, or series of robins. Perhaps they are communicating with each other, like the watchers in a spy drama. She's come out of the house again. She's going up to the compost heap, over to you. Suspect is weeding. Alert, suspect has been joined by a ginger cat. One even comes into the greenhouse, which makes me peer about nervously when I'm watering in case by now there is a nest concealed behind a pot, but I haven't found one.
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