I have just transplanted the greengage I and A gave us from the main lawn to beside the zigzag path. The reason is to make way for moving all the beech hedging up from the bottom garden to act as a screen for the veg and fruit beds and as a continuation of tun existing hedge.
Once in the tree was staked and mulched. Then a layer of water permeable sheeting was placed around the tree and a further layer of mulch added. Hopefully this will keep down weeds and reduce competition for the young tree. Ideally I would have moved it when dormant in the late autumn but wanted to get on with it before it sprang into leaf.
The top of the garden is now getting going with a wide expanse of daffodils and the primrose area. these are the wild native primrose not the cultivated primulas. Dividing and replanting the clumps is paying off.
At the diagonally opposite corner of the garden we have a seating area by the Wendy house - this is a late afternoon sun trap. The stripy mug of tea is mine.
The stream from the current pond (watch this space) divides into two and this small channel will later be bounded by alchemilla mollis on the left and candelabra primulas and blue irises on the right. I have still to finish tidy ing this bed and removing the pendulous sedge seedlings.
On the other side of the shed from the seat is a shady bed mostly full of Fatsia but there are some crocuses there.
This is a stupid place to have put them as they are in the shade and need sunshine to open properly.
Mr Pheasant is outside my window and we have spotted two, yes two, potential partners for him. Then the strutting will begin - Oh! He is so full of himself (and a bit desperate after a long winter?)
The garden is greening, my cousin in Canada has green hair (for St Pat's Day)(which is odd as his name is Scottie)(and he lives in London)(Ontario).
So the hands of the clock are circulating towards evening and there are new leaves on the cercidiphyllum, we have three, so cercidiphylli? The Camellia is in flower - and planted out of the morning sun so the petals do not brown.
My golf is dreadful, my pot belly is worse and my, my, what a load of rubbish I produce. The cup of tea at my right hand is, nevertheless, welcome.