Time has told me...

I stumbled upon an old blog I wrote when I first moved into my flat - March 2017 - and I am astonished at how far I've come when it comes to gardening. 

Case in point:

For the first time, this weekend, we sat outside with a cup of tea, and it felt great. There's a sycamore tree, some sort of unknown fruit tree blossoming sweet-smelling, tiny white flowers, euphorbias sweeping low over the pathway, nodding in the wind and a pink camellia, loaded with buds and ready to burst. There's also a picnic bench, shed, tulips and daffs, all lovingly put there by the previous owner that we're now responsible for taking over.

But here's the rub: I have a history of killing plants. There's probably a picture of me hanging behind the tills in garden centres saying 'Plant murderer - do not sell anything living to this woman!' Seriously, everyone who has ever bought me a plant, I'm sorry, I definitely let it go to the big garden centre in the sky. [My grandather] Reg would be appalled at the way orchids, cyclamen and other cute-looking house plants have wilted under my care, but I'm hoping that having a garden will change all that. I have, like, remembered to water pots since I've been living there and that is major progress for me. A dear colleague of Jo's has given us tomato plant seedlings and I'm obsessed with not killing them. Please, dear things, don't die. I want to prove that I can do this.

8 years in top flats has passed and this is our new chapter where hopefully, plants can thrive and we can finally get some breathing space. Who knows, I might even be writing one of these blogs out there soon, a cup of tea by my side, namechecking plants without having to ask my Dad first... we'll see.

I'm smiling as I read it, four years on. Firstly, the sycamore had to go, along with the shed, bench, and endless hebes that clogged all the planting spaces. And the tomato seedlings we were gifted DID die, and I know exactly why, they didn't get enough light and I just frankly didn't water them enough.

I remember how awful I was at looking after plants! I had so much more to focus on than watering houseplants when I was in my twenties, like commuting to London before sunrise and getting home late, or putting on events every month, or going out drinking and dancing* (remember that?). So because I'd never had any luck I'd never bothered to try very hard at all, even into my early thirties.

*Don't get me wrong, when lockdown lifts and things are safe, I am extremely keen to go out drinking and dancing again, but I'll get up in the morning like a good girl and mist my asparagus fern. 

We have transformed our garden into a little slice of Prospect Cottage-esque joy, made immeasurable changes and immersed ourselves in gardening. Over the past four years, gardening has breathed life into me in a way I never thought it would. It feels good to look back at how green I was then and how green-fingered I have now become.