The gardener’s name is Paul. I tell you that because it will be easier to refer to him by name than occupation. Paul comes for two hours once a fortnight to ‘see to’ the garden. And ‘see to’ is what he does well. As you know from previous posts about it, our garden is on the large side and the older we get the more difficult it is to keep in order. Since grass grows faster than anything else in the nature’s world it was becoming a REAL chore trying to control it all. Until we found Paul.
I told him at the outset to treat the garden like his own and that is what he does. He mows the lawns, trims hedges, controls bushes, weeds patio and front drive, and literally lops anything that tries to overtake, all at a speed that makes me feel breathless. Even my wild patch looks decent. The birds, of course, love it when he mows the lawn. Evidenced by the speed of visits once he’s gone they can’t wait until he’s finished … it’s a great time for finding worms, apparently.
When gardening comes to an end in the winter months Paul is going to sort out the fish pond that has been neglected for the last few years. How well I remember when the pond was a pretty sight, with flowers all round, goldfish and koi carp aimlessly gliding, breeding newts and frogs on the lily pads, not to mention the grey heron who came to snatch a few newts. That was a sight. The heron would drag a sheet of weed onto the lawn and shred it to bits in his search for baby newts.
It would be great if those days could be brought back … for my sake, not the newts!