Sun and Smoke

In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail!                                                 Robert Louis Stevenson With heavy rain predicted for the weekend we lit a pile of brush and debris. The smoke drifted to the end of the meadow and mingled with the translucent autumn sun.

I wish I could say I danced around the fire but I can't because I've done something to my back. Plenty of reasons why: Digging three giant holes for plants beyond done with residing in pots. I pulled out a pathetic hydrangea. No wonder it was pathetic, it was planted in pure sand. A sad ring of soil about a foot in diameter was all it had for sustenance. Essentially the big holes became a total soil replacement. I'm hanging on to the sand because I've heard there is going to be a world shortage and it could be worth more than gold. In went a mock orange and azalea. Then another big hole for a gooseberry bush and the filling of a giant pot for a hazelnut tree. Or it could be the family soccer game at Canadian thanksgiving. I think I need to gracefully bow out and become water boy or something equally useful. Or sitting in a car for five days to get through the Rockies and back. Mr Monty Don says I can put the ash around my plants to deter slugs. I may end up with a horrible sludge but I must try it. The garden is overwhelmed with the small off-white types which are the worst for mowing down everything in sight. On top of everything else, under strict orders to rest, I will miss my beloved garden club tonight. No wonder I'm just a teensy weensy bit grumpy. There are some people in my sphere of influence who may take issue with the "teensy weensy" bit.