Do I Dig It? Yes, I Do!

 The urge was upon me this morning to start preparing the ground for the Darling Buds Garden Project. I was inspired by the current run of good weather, my enthusiastic lawn mowing which has made the Darling Buds space look very tatty, and the fact I’ve engaged the services of a gardening company to reduce all the hedges to chest height AND remove an errant rowan tree, the one where the incompetent pigeons attempt to build a nest every year. And there’s nothing like the imminent arrival of professional gardeners to make an amateur gardener up her game. 

In my mind, I thought, once I clear the remains of the cardboard I’d put down to suppress the grass, I can start in the middle of the space and dig my way outwards until the whole area looks flat and gorgeous and ready for paving stones, gravel and planting according to my carefully drawn, visionary plan. The rain we’ve had will have softened the ground, it’ll be a doddle and easy peasy, and I shall be in receipt of waves of horticultural satisfaction at the end of the morning. 

What REALLY happened was I found myself up against not only the mesh of roots from the now deceased grass, but a criss-cross of the artery, capillary and vein-like root system from the oak, the silver birch and the alder, all determined to remain entrenched about three inches below the surface. Exhibit One, m’lud…

Was I defeated by the resistance of digging that first forkful of soil? Of course not! Think of the end product, I told myself. Think of the exercise you’ll get. Think of the muscles you’ll build, the flexibility you’ll maintain, the cardio benefits, your gut biome that will enjoy the microbes of the Earth, the fresh air in your lungs, the Sun pumping you full of vitamin D, the resilience that will grow from taking on Mother Nature in all her nitty, gritty, glory. Think of the lovely bit of garden you’ll be creating! 

I armed myself with wheelbarrow, gardening fork, secateurs, loppers and my middle-of-the-range canvas gardening gloves, the ones decorated with bees. Not real bees. That would be silly. I girded my loins, braced my toes and reminded myself not to do any mad pulling at reluctant roots because I didn’t want to fall flat on my backside and bang my head again. I shed my jumper, rolled up my t-shirt sleeves, spat on my hands (no, I didn’t do that because that would be DISGUSTING and UNHYGIENIC, for chuff’s sake) and began the work in hand. 

Nell the Poo, meanwhile, began the work of digging up a tree. Of course she did. Stupid human digging up a bit of lawn. I am DOG! I can dig up a TREE. I told her that if it toppled on her, it would be her own stupid fault. 

The ground wasn’t as damp and forgiving as I had anticipated, either. I mean, it wasn’t rock solid, as clay is want to be after being baked all Summer, but it was dry enough and could have been damper to make my life a bit easier. But where would be the fun in that? 

Reader(s), I achieved more than I originally thought I would. I did two and a half hours without a break then stopped because I was beginning to feel a bit weary and there was slurry spreading going on in a near-by field and it was beginning to stink to high heaven. But I’ve made a start! The vision is one its way.