Gardening Time

Some years ago, when I was house-hunting, I discovered - and was quite attracted to - the term 'low maintenance'.  It referred to a garden that didn't require regular weeding and watering, and plants that didn't die off and need clearing away in the autumn.  In such a paradise (as I then saw it) one could simply laze behind an iron table, and enjoy the sunshine with a good book.

Luxurious dreams? I think so, but that general level of desirability lingered as I pondered my recent move.  After twenty years of flat-dwelling, with no outside area to call my own, no drying space for my washing and very limited storage facilities, I certainly wanted a 'garden'.  But I was caught between another flat, which would gain little over my then present accommodation, and somewhere with a garden in the accepted sense of the word ... "A piece of ground, usually partly grassed, adjoining a private house, used for growing flowers, fruit and vegetables, and as a place of recreation" (OERD, 2nd edition, 1996).

A new term then entered my property vocabulary: the courtyard; in this context not in the traditional sense ... "An area enclosed by walls or buildings, often opening off a street" (ibid.), but something midway between those two definitions.  Allow me the privilege of an acceptable compromise: "a piece of enclosed ground, possibly partly grassed and/or with shrubs, ornaments, etc., adjoining a private house as a place of refreshment and recreation".  Low maintenance, certainly, and it would provide all I would require, or so I thought.  So it was that I moved into a small terraced house with courtyard ... and outbuildings, these last providing, hopefully, the bonus of some additional storage space.  

When I arrived, the aforesaid additional storage was found to comprise the former privy and coal-store.  The door of the coal-store had been removed and had been thrust into the other outbuilding behind a jumble of broken furniture and assorted rubbish, the whole barely visible behind a forest of thistles and weeds some four or five feet tall.  The discovery of some wilting broad beans and canes suggested that once this had been a tiny and tidy garden now thriving on neglect.  I admit that, in the course of moving in, the whole had been adorned by the addition of an extendable dining table that had been thoughtfully-or-inconsiderately left in the irregularly-shaped room that I intended to use as my own 'dining-for-one' room and office.

The accommodating agents of my new landlord, though plagued themselves by administrative difficulties and the demands of anti-Covid measures, arranged for a contractor to deal with the worst of the rubbish and the four local-authority bins that were all crammed full of 'incorrect' waste that the regular operatives wouldn't touch.  He helpfully lodged the door in its correct place and, a few weeks later, he returned to refit or replace the broken hinges and made it safe to use.

The waste bins are presently lined up along the path to the back gate - yes, another bonus is a viable rear entrance to the property! - but it is my intention to re-locate them to a less intrusive position.  To do this, I find, a whole sequence of other operations is required.  The slate chippings at the far end of the area need to be lifted (tick!); the path to the doors of the outbuildings needs to be cleared of about five inches of solid debris (tick!) and the concrete slabs that cover much of the remainder of the ground have to be re-positioned to form the foundation for, and access to the re-located bins (hard work for another time ... it'll take several days!).

As I look around, I can see examples both of what could be achieved with some effort, and also of  what other potential incomers might be confronted with!  It's looking like a busy autumn, but I know it will be worthwhile at the end.