So, what I thought was going to be a post about the gentle art of sowing seeds and waiting patiently for them to sprout has turned into something else. It goes like this.
There is a narrow bed at the end of the garden, near the peach and nectarine trees and the netted vegetable garden which the mouse birds still manage to get in to. The bed was full of comfrey. Mother was concerned about having such a carcinogen in the garden. No matter than none of us actually does anything with the plant, but still. It was removed and in its place we scattered the contents of a dozen half empty and expired packets of seed – bird and butterfly mix, parsely, borage, zinnias, dill, chillies, scabious, columbines. We watered and waited. And watered and waited. Something began to sprout, we weren’t sure if it was left over from the horse litter we had dug into the soil, or the real thing, a seed we had planted, so we watered and waited some more.