I love pottering in the garden. When my hands are in the dirt, digging, sowing, clearing, it's one of the few times that my mind in completely quiet, and at peace. I seem unable to think ahead, or worry about pressing matters ... all is quiet, except for the occasional hum of the birds and bees. I think that's one of the many reasons why I, and billions of others, love gardening and pottering in the garden so much. I've loved flowers and being around nature for as long as I can remember ... my mum has always loved gardening and my nan could grow anything - the smell of tomato plants still takes me right back to my Grandad's old greenhouse. Handing down a love-of-nature to your children is a wonderful gift, and one that I've always been very thankful for.
My little 3 year old self - picking daisies in a church graveyard.
Often in early Spring, I'll look out at the jumbled mess that is our garden and I start getting itchy feet, coupled with "oh but there's so much to do" and "where do I start? I've left it too late!" but once I start clearing the beds a fire ignites and I become a little garden ferret, fluttering around the garden at top speed until I have aching limbs and a crooked back. Miggins then tells me off for doing too much so I hobble in, looking to hubby for sympathy, who in turns sends me off for a hot bath - but always, despite the throbbing limbs I know I will rest happy and content, for whether or not it flourishes, I know I've spent the afternoon doing something worthwhile.