I’ve been thinking for a while about starting an informal little garden journal. Just a notebook really, with possibly some of my own drawings in it when I’ve established the habit. I started on April 3rd, a day of some significance for me for other reasons, and I can tell by the handwriting that I was enjoying the process of writing it.
Nothing much has been added since, unfortunately, because I’ve had so many other things to do, but Easter weekend seems a good time to pick up the threads and start work again, both in the garden and the journal.
Salvaged from a supermarket. They’d been kept out of water and seemed likely to wither before the flowers had even opened. I thought the least I could do would be to record their evanescent beauty in a photograph or two. Or attempt to, anyway.
We didn’t grow tulips at home when I was a child. They didn’t last long enough; the petals fell off, disappointingly; cool, elegant flowers which were never granted enough time. Now I can see that their transience is part of their wonder.