Baby steps!

Well, it is turning out to be a bit of a scorcher and it’s not real summer yet so what on earth are the temperatures going to be when August and September get here? So far I’ve not heard an inkling about hosepipe bans and here we were all ready prepared with two water butts. Mind you a fat lot of good they are because my blueberry bushes and Cordyline Australis triffid prefer rain water and then they are sucking on the dregs at the bottom of the barrel at the moment, what we need down in Gosport is a good thunderstorm to clear the humidity and fill my water butts.

We made a few adjustments a little while ago, having had the proper water catcher connector we found it wasn’t that successful so having now removed it we shortened the pipe further and so that any water coming off the flat roofs goes straight into the  butts, well Harry did, bless him. Now my Harry isn’t known to be the best DIYer in town but he is willing to try and after a few attempts a successful, even if Heath Robinson style, contraption is in place.

I have this theory about men, if they make something they are happier to use it than if say, us women made it, true to my belief every night Harry fills the watercan numerous times to thoroughly water the garden. Every night he also goes and surveys his ‘land’, yes the long 40′ x 16′ strip of garden, actually just the pots and a couple of bits of garden each side, his pride and joy that he did help me to dig the soil in. Mind you I wish I could find a phrase to describe him… it’s not fairweather gardener, I do the gardening as much as I can and he is my ‘dog’s body’. I have to say he is becoming so brave. This is the man that spent eighteen years in a tin can under the sea, that’s submarine by the way, yet if he sees a creature, any creature he shoots up the garden like a bat out of hell. He has no idea what it feels like to delve his hands into moist fresh soil, or to plant seedings in the garden. If he sees a worm there’s no chance he will touch even the pot he sees it in, a frog and he will run the length of the garden, our resident slow worm or even the poor thing’s tail tip after it had been caught by a cat, will have the same effect.  He’s gone quicker than lightning. This year though, his pride in the crop of potatoes , that I planted, I might add,  in a grow sack, the runner beans that he helped to make the frame for and the butternut squash and courgettes his daughter gave him have almost turned him into a gardener… almost and as long as he doesn’t see anything that moves, wriggles or jumps.

He called me from the house the other evening while he was watering. ‘Come and look at this.’ says he and I think oh another flower on the potatoes, or something akin to that. So I take my time. ‘Quick!’ he says. So off I troop to see what this wonder could possible be and he tells me to stop and look. He points to a large stone at the edge of the bed. There sitting in the puddle he has just made is a frog, a little  yellow/green frog. Now anyone else I would say ok thats nice, or how cute. But this is Harry and I knew it took such a lot of courage to stand there knowing the little creature was that close to him and not knowing where he was going to jump to next.  What a brave man! I haven’t dared to tell him about the dozens and dozens of baby frogs that hide in the undergrowth beside the pond.. Baby steps, baby steps. I will allow him to almost call himself a gardener…. well nearly… but then, you’d never get me on the sea bed in a submarine.

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1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Ah Marie, you know me so well


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