Early one morning. Actually this morning. something rare happened. I bounced out of bed, wide awake and rearing to go at 5:50am! I had ironed 7 sets of bedding before 8am! (I own a B&B – my own bedding does not get the same attention as that for our guest rooms).
So I poured myself a glass of milk, and still in my dressing gown, slipped on my wellies and strolled around the garden. It’s a glorious, sunny, fresh morning. The type that makes you glad to be alive. I let out our girls and George (our free roaming hens and cockerel), fed them and then…
…oops. I made the fatal mistake of bending down to pull up a weed. I made a small pile. Then another small pile. Then I thought I may as well get the wheelbarrow. I’m still holding my glass of milk. I’m chatting to the chooks who are cooing around the disturbed earth left from the weed removal. I’m kidding myself I’m not gardening. I am a vision in red. A couple of dog walkers stroll past the end of the drive. I catch their eye and am about to wave. They avert their gaze.
An hour later hubby comes out with a mug of tea. Laughing at me gardening in my dressing gown and wellies. The wheelbarrow is full. I tell him”it doesn’t count as proper gardening if I’m still holding my glass and only one hand is muddy”.
I am at one with my garden and enjoying the company of my hens as we all scratch the soil together.
I’m pretty high in the pecking order this morning , I’ve found more worms and bugs then they have. George is a little put out that I have their attention and he’s out on a limb.
Anyway, another half hour went by as I weeded my way back to the door.
Lovely way to start the day