The garden is running wild, and has been since the summer. It’s been on my conscience, too. It looks a little tidier now that the leaves are falling, but it’s also more obvious how much needs trimming back and cutting down now that it isn’t just a mass of green.
So today I had someone round to give me a quote for tidying it up and, as he put it, putting it to bed for the winter. I’d love to be able to do it myself, but it just isn’t going to happen. This is the next best option.
There’s something faintly annoying about having misjudged how much thread you need to finish a given seam, even when there’s plenty left on the reel. But it pales by comparison with the subsequent satisfaction of having got the thing done.
Well, I wouldn’t be posting if I hadn’t finished sewing.
But it’s difficult to hem a garment that’s underneath a cat. She’s very cosy on my cosy jacket. (Charity shop find, several years ago, and it’s improved every winter since.)
I know the skirt looks like it’s hemmed. There’s quite a lot that you can’t see that still needs doing.
I did it. I added gold ribbon to make the ripples in the fishpond. It’s a bit wonky but it’s the best I could do without getting up from the sofa and waking the baby. It’ll look fine when the skirt’s on and the fabric falls into folds.
Now I have just over a week to hem it. Which ought to be fine, but it’s a very long hem.
These days I usually find myself going out with the baby in the pram, and coming back with the baby in the sling and the shopping in the pram. This was the day I bought a passion flower, two cakes, a box of cereal, and a cushion…
Not much to report other than in the garden, but I want to establish the Monday format while I remember what it is I think I’m doing. I now have all the components for my big winter skirt. I also have ideas for a couple of quilts. What I don’t have, or not for long enough to get anything done, is free hands. I’m hopeful that a baby bouncer may help there…
In the back garden, chaos continues to reign. I am meaning to get out and pick the blackberries before the devil spits (or worse) on them at Michaelmas, but I have a nasty feeling that’s as far as it’s going to go. In the front garden, I co-opted my youngest brother to plant a passion flower to replace the two that died in the heat. Tony has cleared several bags’ worth of slate chippings and all of the membrane, and the next step is for me to order some more plants to fill in the gap. I have managed to put half a dozen bulbs in with my own hands while someone else holds the baby, or she takes a (very short) nap. It’s slow going, but then gardening often is.