I have never claimed to be green fingered. When we moved here two years ago we inherited a well established, mature garden. Complete with falling down fences.
In the two years we have lived here we have dug up half the plants, planted some extra grass and fixed the fence. I am yet to set up the vegetable patch.
In recent weeks Big M has asked me several times if she can have her own bit of garden. Given she has asked so many times, entirely unprompted, I kind of figured she meant it.
This morning when she asked for the eleventy third time I said she could have a big pot on the patio. She was very excited and immediately asked when we could get some plants for it. Given we were on the motorway at the time coming home from Granny’s house I said we could go this afternoon if she was a really good girl.
She was a really good girl, so once Little M had had her nap we ignored the piles of luggage that needed unpacking and headed for the garden centre. Big M chose some plants based on their colour, which is pretty much how I choose them too. Only mine don’t tend to be pink.
Anyhoo, when we got back we donned wellies and headed out of the back door to plant her new flowers.
This evening we watered them and rehearsed what the are called (fuchsia, petunias and a phlox, FYI).
I’m hoping her enthusiasm a) continues and b) rubs off on me. Between us we may actually get to grips with the whole gardening thing. Or at least have some pretty flowers out there. Even if they are all pink.