Heavy rain does not usually stop us. It didn't on Saturday when we had a four hour booking. In that time we uncovered the concrete base of an old greenhouse, removed brambles and moss, found and redefined a border that was lost under grass and finally strimmed. Strimming leaves my husband's glasses spattered with mud.
We raked up, and left the bags of rubbish for next time. We recommended a mutual friend who could replace the wonky fence panel we had broken up. We discussed coming back with some shrubs, but the customer preferred a small bed of herbs closer to the house.
That is my favourite bit. If life were only strimming and clearing it would become very weary and we would become very muddy, large heavy duty raincoats notwithstanding. Now we have a chance to bring oregano, chives and variagated mint that we have propagated by division on our allotment over the road. At the moment they have sunk back to the roots but with the warmer weather they will return in the spring. I comfort myself with this thought as I look out at the rain and read George Herbert's meditative poem, The Flower.
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