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It’s been a good spring, and I’m feeling enamoured with our little garden paradise just about now, all dressed up in pinks and whites just like it’s going to a wedding.

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We moved into our house with its (in parts, long) established garden about 11 years ago, and immediately started the process of completely changing what was there.  Well, not completely. We kept the box hedges and the cherry blossom trees, and many of the existing larger shrubs and trees, but we’ve given it a bloody good shake up. New hedges, new paths, new trees, all that sort of thing. As you do.

Problem was (apart from the wicked six-foot hedge of deadly weeds and thorns, attempted pruning of which involved risking life and limb and inevitably resulted in scratches, sweat and much swearing) that the garden had been the subject of a weekend backyard blitz when it was first put in. That meant it looked all pretty and neat on the surface, but lurking just six inches under the soil that had been deceptively sprinkled lay an impenetrable, solid clay base. Like concrete really. Many plant deaths later (including four Japanese maples), and after composting, digging, trenching, and soil improvement, Mr T is really getting on top of it all. What a worker.

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And now when the blossoms, the azaleas, the rhodos and the dogwood all erupt around the same time, it’s as pretty as a picture. The worms have been working hard too.

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And those Japanese maples! Sigh.

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No need to go on a holiday really. Just need to train ourselves to sit outside more to admire our* handiwork, perhaps with a book in hand. Definitely a wine glass. 

 

* When I say ‘our’, I mean ‘his’ although I do provide excellent hedging and pruning services, and am excellent at providing quality assurance. Someone has to be responsible for maintaining standards.

 

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