Friday, April 25, 2014

25th April 2014

April 25th 1777  "The titlark rises, & sings sweetly in its descent. The Ring-dove hangs on its wings, & toys in the air.' Gilbert White

A wise old gardener would tell you with an intake of breath and a knowing shake of the head that it’s customary to sow maincrop potatoes by Easter. 
Well, as Easter is a moveable feast that lets me off the hook slightly, but yes, I promise I will plant mine today. If I’m looking for excuses, I’d say that I’d been been waiting, hoping for a good downpour so that I could feasibly ease my fork into our heavy clay soil. 

The rain came. Finally. 

I’m loitering in the vegetable garden, triumphant! I’ve just planted all my potatoes, to the centuries old accompaniment of all good gardening

...a pair of inseperable collared doves chatting gently in the birch tree and a hovering skylark, quivering and trilling, transcending the tuneless crow and it’s stupid caw.

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