The Gods, it seems, do not want me weeding the garden. Every time I am on the verge of donning Uncle Tommy’s excellent gardening strides the wind whips up to a howling hoolie and it starts to rain. I have mustered three, maybe four, decent days out with my tools since my last confession. (And even then, two were “emergency” sessions where my spine was artificially stiffened by the delivery of a large box of lily bulbs and an impending trip to Wales where a delivery of spare plants had been blithely promised at Hogmanay.) Well, perhaps it is for the best. Whilst the physio is gradually working, I’m still in a fair bit of pain and, despite the best efforts of Jools and the Monday Pilates crowd, the “getting up again” element of most seasonal gardening tasks is proving challenging. (I have resorted to carrying a border spade around to act as a hauling up pole and suspect that I look like Long John Silver rising from the deep). I have, therefore, been taking the celestial hint, loading up the fire and knitting up a storm. I spent several hours, and three drafts, the other night working up a fiendish cable pattern. In time honoured fashion I then got stuck in and on row five decided that what was needed were three more twists. This then led to a rejig of rows 10 onwards where another couple of twists were snuck in for balance. I hadn’t the heart to draw it up again so I am now proceeding entirely from memory. I suppose can use the chart to light the next fire.
Whilst I have found all this very frustrating, Lyra has been rather thrilled with the new regime of shorter walks. (She has on more than one occasion intimated that 100 yards from the car park is quite sufficient). Our most regular beat takes us through the Hirsel woods, where there are joyful drifts of snowdrops tumbling down the bankings to pool around the bare trees and glowing heads of coppiced willow which I passionately covet. (I have a willow seedling growing happily by the stream, all unsuspecting that it is earmarked for a ferocious number 1 cut to encourage shoots any day soon….) We usually also manage a small detour to visit the swans and look out for Matthew the permacygnet. He has mustered a few white feathers now but I rather fear that when this year’s cygnets emerge he will still be shambling along in baby fluff like a sulky teenager.
What with all the housing stuff, the dodgy hip and ongoing building crises, it has been rather a stressful few weeks. Mum’s house move (well at least the moving out part – the new house is still a complete construction project) is now imminent and there has been much emptying of drawers, sheds and what have you. I have acquired two sharpening stones which, as anyone on the wrong side of my tongue recently can testify, may be surplus to requirements… Lyra and I have also regularly scooting over to Selkirk with supplies of packing tape, boxes and giant vacuum bags. To compensate for all the packing and box lugging, everyone’s destressing treat on Selkirk days is to take a walk around the Haining Loch. Despite the chilly air, there’s always a warm glow around the loch from the huge stands of tawny rushes and marsh grasses. Lyra considers this magical place her own patch now and positively swaggers round, greeting the other dogs with amiable condescension. On our last visit Lyra adopted a party of young walkers and was quite miffed when they declined to be herded into the mini and permanently added to her pack. Given we returned loaded up with various well stuffed bags of trimmings, patches for quilting, possible curtain material for Lachlan, lord knows how many cushion pads and a rug, this was also a good thing.
Anyway, I have been letting it all get on top of me a bit and had to give myself a bit of a shake this week. It really doesn’t matter if the garden is shaggy and the fields are unyomped and I haven’t read anything serious for months. There are snowdrops, tiny crocus and iris galore to admire on my doorstep and there’s nothing wrong with a bit of sofa lurking. I have also booked a haircut. I shall be a well coiffed sloth.
Sorry to hear about your hip and hope you are gently limbering up as Spring approaches. Beautiful coppiced willows and snowdrops. Bring on Spring!!
So far I’ve been v. Good with the exercises (perhaps as not too strenuous!) but getting some X-rays to see what’s afoot. If nothing else I’ll have a pelvic floor of iron after this….we’re just getting the crocus and little irises now. It’s amazing how things that look so delicate are so tough in all weathers.