Stray thoughts, tamed.
One of the reasons I get up every morning, as opposed to curling up in a ball and wishing I could disappear permanently into oblivion, is to walk around the garden and looking at the vegetables growing, and enthusiastically give any of the abundant snails flying lessons, normally into the next door plot, where there... Continue Reading →
True seeking does not involve spelling.
Hügelkultur has a lot in common with raised bed gardening.
Vague recollections of batiks smelling of hot wax in the art room at school.
The beginnings of a strictly a no-dig, organic bed.
I spotted a faded deck chair with a metal frame that someone had left at the communal rubbish bin.
My play would have the old man surrounded by unharvested pumpkins at various stages of maturity, some enormous.
Watering the spot of the fallen seeds has been an exercise in boredom.
That's what is bound to happen when you tramp up and down a two-kilometre stretch with a hoe in your hand.
