I feel almost simple-minded in the pleasure I take in my garden. I realize that I live in a particularly rich environment. Past floods have gifted this island with ground in which everything grows. A few major thunderstorms this spring have put water deep into the ground, and from it is bursting growth.
My strawberries are not only pushing higher into the air, they have many berries per plant. Ok, that doesn't meant a huge harvest, but daily foraging in our little patch is rewarded with a sweet and flavorful mouthful or 6. It's a battle to get there before the snails, but it seems that my trick of putting down some wood ash is working. There are fewer half-consumed strawberries than in other years, and the humidity level is as high as ever.
My cherry tree is now two years' old, and has two cherries. Yippee! It is most definitely alive and beginning to bear fruit. I can't complain.
The lemon verbena is pushing out new branches and leaves from what had looked like a bundle of dead sticks just two weeks ago.
And yes, my roses. Ah my roses. Is it my English roots? or simply the little girl who likes pretty things that goes gaga at their glory?
I rarely succumb to the urge to clip them and bring them in, but with friends for lunch, a mixed bouquet seemed perfectly within reason.
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