Come into my garden, Maude
My garden is significantly less attractive than the garden of Tennyson’s poem, but this blog post will also be significantly less weird, bloody, and tragic, so that should help balance things a bit! My parents are farmers, and my mother has the most spectacularly green thumbs, which sadly I mostly did not inherit. But I do like gardening, and I’ve really been enjoying turning the brown, weedy wasteland of a garden that we inherited when we bought the house into something green and growing. Mr D and I have some differences of opinion about how much garden there should be as he prefers LAWN (and pretty much nothing else). So I haven’t made much headway in my quest to turn the entire front lawn into raised garden boxes (oh, the dream!) but I have been allowed to clear out the three weed-filled garden boxes we inherited, and I have turned them into three mini gardens. The gardens have struggled a bit this year: the weather turned abruptly from quite cold and wet to HOT and …