I have been doing some weeding.
Actually, I will say one thing about the baffling landscaping of this garden: it’s blissfully easy to weed, at least the bits which have been refashioned as a scree slope. Anyone who has ever battled with creeping buttercup would relish being able to not just pull up a single clump, but have half a dozen more follow, attached by their runners, as easily as detaching a strip of velcro.
Other bits are slightly more hard work (and where the dandelions have got their roots through the landscaping fabric and into the soil below, they have grown to the size of cabbages). We have yet to work out where the pump is for the water feature, but if we can get it working, this (above) will be a miniature streambed.*
There’s plenty more clearing to be cracking on with – but I’m conscious of imperial overreach: there’s no point clearing out a bed if you haven’t anything to put into it. I’m not finding too many decent plants among the weeds – apparently the landscaping was done by the previous owners but one, and has since suffered a decade of neglect and death-by-hens – and I’m too tight to go and buy actual plants so I may have to start another batch of random perennials to get me started.
I did get a tour of the garden at the neighbouring farm, and the promise of a few offshoots in autumn, once things are dying down. They had the most amazing clumps houseleeks (‘deafy lugs’ around here apparently) growing on the steading wall, which must have been decades old. I wonder if anyone would notice a few going awol. Indeed, I’m beginning to cast covetous glances on any interesting plant I spy.
I am now beginning to understand why the gardeners at Kew were so leery of visiting old ladies with capacious handbags and a certain glint in their eye…
*I’m minded to put in a miniature ford to go with it