Some people have green fingers and can grow anything. My Mom was like that. Armed with her rooting powder sticks became bushes.
Better still she could tell you where everything originated from. Oh that’s from Helens house in Dunmurry and that fuschia’s from when she cut back the hedge when they moved to Ballynahinch. The hydrangea that was treelike starred as a slip from Robert and Nora’s, the ever lasting sweet pea too and that orange blossom was in that arrangement you sent me at Mother’s Day. So it would go on.
Her yard was quite small and there was very little grass it was full to overflowing with borders of perennials and evergreens. There was no color coding or planning but everything look splendid.
She was a great believer in the power of tea and when she’d finished with a pot, which was made at least four times a day, always from leaf never from bags, she’d throw the remainder over her plants.
What she gave them most of though was tender loving care and she’d talk to them and tend to them everyday. All great gardeners it seems are like this. Prince Charles once ran into a lot of publicity for confessing he too talked to his plants.
Being more of the bung it in and hope for the best types, my yard is far from spectacular. Over the past year though a certain little corner has proved to be a place of hope.
Its not a flower bed as such but a place where plants that are on their last legs get tucked in for a last chance. What makes it special is that it’s a spot you can’t miss because it’s beside the garage door. As in most home this, rather than the front door, is the main entry into the house. So anything close gets a little daily attention.
They may not look like much now but if you knew what they looked like when they were rescued you’d realize the power of a little love.
Blessing # 463 – Reward of Revival