I am reading Isabelle Allende’s Memoir. What a life this woman has had. It’s great reading, though she is a little whacky – lots of new age, and old age, spiritual stuff. Thanks to F who gave me the signed copy as a present. I am very proud of it. I think its strictly women’s reading though. Too much earth mothery stuff for the lads. It makes me want to read her other books. So that’s good, as I’m parched for books. It’s hard finding non-violent, non-trivial, moving but uplifting material.
In other news I transplanted the lettuce seedlings from the tray into the bed yesterday. I’m not sure I’ll go the tray route again. It seems like a high risk procedure. Will they survive? I dug up more thistles too, though this is an activity riven with self doubt. If you leave one teeny tiny root, it’ll grow back. But one must try. Can’t be spraying everywhere. Confession: we do spray nettles, but with a selective weed killer, none of your Meath County Council Agent Orange style operation.
n compensation, we found a bank of cowslips that survived over-grazing in one of the fields so the Uncle dug up 3 or 4 for us and I planted them in what we are hoping will be a proper old fashioned meadow. It, like everything else in our 1 acre one-off site, is a 5 year project. It’s a slow battle. We want the nettles and thistles out, but the flowers in. Our wild-flower spotters send reports and we rob a sample and hope they’ll flourish. Its a constant bargaining process – we steal and destroy in the hope of creating or restoring. Fingers crossed.