Every February for the last few years I have helped a friend with her garden opening. Another friend Clare and I run the plant stall - the one problem with this is that we are always outside, and it's always February. Previous years have been eye-wateringly cold, despite 300 layers of clothing and fairly constant hot drinks. This year it was above zero (a good start) - in fact so far above zero I wore a measly three layers. That was fine for the first two hours, but when you are basically just standing around outside it does begin not to be. By the end of hour 4 Clare and I needed intensive Aga reheating therapy. You'd think by now, with the amount of my life I spend outside, and my advanced age, that I would have got the hang of dressing for the weather.
Still, the garden looked wonderful; the 100 varieties of snowdrop were busily doing their thing, and over 200 people came, raising a heap of money for the National Garden Scheme and the church. My daughter also discovered a talent for waitressing. Would like to think of some way I can turn this new keenness for helping to my advantage, but know I will fail miserably.
Some of the garden:
We sold eggs on the stall as well, and here are the half dozen my girls managed to churn out. I didn't think of writing the date of laying on in pencil until I re-read a Monica Edwards where Andrea writes the date on. What an excellent idea, I thought.
I think this is the most amazing tree. I love its twisty forms and the whole nubbly texture of it. It's an acacia.