When I picked up my grandson from nursery today, he argued
that it was still spring. I thought it was summer and proved my point by buying
us both an ice cream. I am sure I am right because of the state of my wild
garden. It is no longer on the way. It has arrived. The meadow (only about four
square metres) is spangled with speedwells and buttercups, with a fringe of
Herb Robert against the hedge.
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| The meadow |
The pond is starting to disappear in the middle of the mass
of growth that surrounds it. The flag irises are at their best and I think that
the hacking back I did last winter means that we really will get proper water
lilies this year.
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| The pond |
The wild flower window box (which exists partly as an
example for those less lucky with space than I am) looks as though it is going
to have a lot of colour very soon
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| The wild-flower window box |
and the hedge is a wonderful mass of leaf-shapes of a
bewildering variety of shapes, of species and of greens.
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| Part of the hedge |
The bird feeders need refilling twice a week at least. The
greenfinches have discovered that the very expensive sunflower hearts are even
more to their taste than the merely expensive nyger seed. I strongly suspect
there is a mallard nest in one of the thickets, but I am not sure. If we get
ducklings, I’ll let you know.
In some ways the jolliest news is that our bijou insect
house really has been used by mason bees. Here’s the photographic evidence to
prove it.
“What is all this juice and all this joy?” Well, it is
within fifteen minutes walk of the West end of Edinburgh
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