I Hate Gardening!


I Hate Gardening!

There, I’ve said it – I suppose by rights I should feel guilty for not enjoying spending pointless hours of toil, breaking my back trimming hedges, mowing lawns to within an inch of their lives, weeding, pruning, and planting.

Given that my late father was a trained horticulturist who for some reason totally lost on me, spent his entire life trying largely in vain, to bend nature to his will.

I Hate GardeningBut I don’t feel guilty at all, in fact, quite the opposite.

Most gardens, no matter where they are located are to the majority, pleasing to the eye. All those carefully tended entirely unnatural flower beds, meticulously pruned roses, geometrically trimmed hedges; quite frankly do little for me.

On the other hand, the average gardener would not appreciate my natural haven for wildlife either. In fact, they would be totally horrified.

To my way of thinking, my garden is for all creatures to feel safe in, not a severely manicured pointless space in suburbia.

Any flowering plants in my garden are self-sown, or at least their seeds were brought here via a bird’s stomach.

My hedges grow wild, offering excellent protection for the birds. I welcome them to this safe haven by feeding them, high enough above ground level for them to eat in safety, away from the claws and teeth of the neighbourhood cats.

One of my garden sheds is slowly but surely falling down. But, it offers a home for some of the shy creatures who visit me as it rots.

My lawn of coarse grasses gets mowed once or twice a month, courtesy of my neighbour’s lad, allowing Hedgehogs, frogs, and toads to roam free among the ground-feeding birds.

Self-sown Buddleia grow from every nook and cranny offering the nectar of their flowers as food to Butterflies, Hoverflies, and all manner of flying insects, in turn supplementing the diet of some of the birds.

The only trimming I do is when blackberry and bramble raise their thorny heads, or the odd branch impedes my way. Now that is my idea of gardening.

My greatest joy is when I look out of the window to be totally spellbound by the variety of birds and animals who visit me daily.

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Angie's Diary