May Time… again!

John Nash is a retired, well sort of retired, fruit farm manager in Kirdford who enjoys scribbling about life on the farm from the now to days gone by.

Hello dear reader,

I hope that you, like me, are at last welcoming the coming of the warmer weather of early summer… at last! I write this in the wet and dismal month of March, so I trust that May is bringing the joys of sunshine and balmy breezes to you and your loved ones.

My topic for this month is directed to those of you who, like me, have the good fortune to have a garden. Wonderful things, gardens. They bring joy in the beauty and scent of flowers that delight the eye and nose. They supply the taste of fresh fruit and vegetables to the table and delicious salads to cool the palette on hot summer days. So what can possibly be even slightly negative about them.

Well… I’m sitting here in March and regarding my own garden with rather mixed feelings. The winter has passed and all the areas exposed to my gaze through the window now scream with one united voice: “Get your backside out here and do something!”

So the other day I ventured outside as a watery sun and chilly east wind dried the grass enough to entice me to the garden shed. There, in the darkest region, lurked the lawn mower. It’s laid there since the autumn. Alone, neglected, unwashed, and untouched. I dragged it out into the daylight and moaned as dried lumps of dead grass and mud fell in clumps across the shed floor. That’ll teach me won’t it? No, I doubt it.

I checked the oil level, and tried to ignore the fact that the black syrup-like gunge that was attached to the dip stick was begging for renewal. I quickly moved to the fuel cap. Luckily there was still some two-stroke fuel in the can at the rear of the shed so I filled the tank and out onto the lawn we went.

Why for the life of me I should have expected the poor machine to start I fail to see, and it speaks volumes for the Briggs and Stratton manufacturer that after only ten minutes of sweating and swearing in equal quantities it burst into life.

The next hour was spent in exhausting effort shearing grass and moss in equal amounts from the area I call the lawn. Worth it though. Lovely lines… sadly dotted with dropped clumps of soggy cuttings that refused to enter the collection box, these forming after succumbing to a prodding with a stick that then persuaded them to scatter over the areas already mown. Then it was back to its home in the shed, uncleaned, of course, and with a silent promise that I will replace the drive belt and blade sometime soon. Perhaps.

Finally, back indoors for refreshments and recouping from all the aches and pains that had suddenly surfaced.

That was just the lawn folks! Flower beds still need digging and mulching, vegetable seeds sowing and young plants selected from one of the catalogues that have poured through the letterbox since the end of December. Shrubs need pruning and supporting and stakes readjusted while I can still get to them. I must confess I do envy those keen gardeners who have all these things under control long before it all becomes a losing race against time.

My dear late father-in-law was a professional antique restorer. He could take broken and shattered pieces of long-neglected furniture that looked fit only for the bonfire, and a few days later produce from his workshop a wonderful restored piece that anyone would be proud to have in their house. However, the chairs at his own dining table would squeak and protest as you sat on them as their legs and stretchers moved beneath you. So it is with me and my garden I’m afraid. A horticulturist for over 60 years, proudly producing fruit, salad crops and garden plants in a commercial capacity. But… my own garden… oh dear… just enough to get by I’m afraid.

What about you my friends? Are you of similar persuasion? Accountants who can’t budget their own households? Decorators whose houses desperately need a lick of paint? Plumbers who have leaking pipes. Doctors who need treatment, or mechanics whose cars rattle? We all know someone don’t we?

Such is life, such is life! Happy gardening!

John Nash