Age around 3/4. being allowed to "carefully" remove the pixie hats from a neighbours Escholtzias and stacking them on top of each other. I could only take any that came off easily, I was not allowed to "pull" them off. (The lady also put soap on my tongue when I poked it out at her one day. No sympathy from Mum either.) At about the same age, pulling up the remaining spring onion plants my father had "forgotten" to pull up after thinning them! Again at about the same age, after doing something wrong and running away from my mother to avoid a smack, I climbed our pear tree, sat on a branch and was stung on my b*t*m. At 3/4 picking every tulip head from my mothers pride and joy and hiding them down my knickers, helped by my similarly aged cousin. She had a lovely display of pink tulips underplanted with forget me nots. At the age of 5/6 my grandfather showing me, through his watchmaker's eyeglass, the intricacies of the individual flowers of a sweet mignionette he had grown. Listening to him telling me how wonderful nature is that you put something like dust into soil and it growing into a beautiful plant. I had my own garden by now so used to chat up the gardeners working in the flower nursery next door, over the wall, and them giving me cuttings and thinnings to grow in my garden. I managed to keep a sweet scented salmon pink going until after I was married. I still love pinks and carnations. My grandmother giving me some sugar to dip a stick of raw rhubarb in to eat. Collecting caterpillars from Dad's vegetables I didn't stand much chance really. I only wish I had known about careers in horticulture and botany when deciding what to do when I left school.
The smell of nasturtiums and finding fat caterpillars munching away on them. It's like Proust's madeleine, instantly transporting me back to childhood.
We each had our own small section of the garden to plant whatever we liked and I chose flowers. I had poppies, hollyhocks, sweet william and many nasturtiums.
I have two because I'm not sure which was first - they were very likely during the same summer.
Hindering my dad, who was trying make good the back garden of a 1970's new-build. It was quite a slope and didn't even have any attempt at grass laid, as I recall. By the time we were done it looked like a bare, ploughed field. I can't remember if anything was then planted or the garden came to anything. I guess we moved before any further memories could be cemented (which begs the question, why bother with that back-breaking work?). There is a photo of the 'Men at Work' in which I have a small garden fork. Unfortunately, I broke this same fork last year, whilst using it for weeding
The second memory is hindering my mum. This time in the front garden whilst she was mowing the lawn (maybe the builders only had enough grass to do the front gardens?). Whilst 'feeding' the mower with grass, I let my hand get dragged in and was rushed to hospital for my hand and wrist to get stitched up. Not such a great early gardening memory that one
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(The lady also put soap on my tongue when I poked it out at her one day. No sympathy from Mum either.)
At about the same age, pulling up the remaining spring onion plants my father had "forgotten" to pull up after thinning them!
Again at about the same age, after doing something wrong and running away from my mother to avoid a smack, I climbed our pear tree, sat on a branch and was stung on my b*t*m.
At 3/4 picking every tulip head from my mothers pride and joy and hiding them down my knickers, helped by my similarly aged cousin. She had a lovely display of pink tulips underplanted with forget me nots.
At the age of 5/6 my grandfather showing me, through his watchmaker's eyeglass, the intricacies of the individual flowers of a sweet mignionette he had grown. Listening to him telling me how wonderful nature is that you put something like dust into soil and it growing into a beautiful plant.
I had my own garden by now so used to chat up the gardeners working in the flower nursery next door, over the wall, and them giving me cuttings and thinnings to grow in my garden. I managed to keep a sweet scented salmon pink going until after I was married. I still love pinks and carnations.
My grandmother giving me some sugar to dip a stick of raw rhubarb in to eat.
Collecting caterpillars from Dad's vegetables
I didn't stand much chance really. I only wish I had known about careers in horticulture and botany when deciding what to do when I left school.
A few years back, I had a colleague who originated from Sri Lanka. Naturally, her garden was full of tropical colour. A dream place!
We each had our own small section of the garden to plant whatever we liked and I chose flowers. I had poppies, hollyhocks, sweet william and many nasturtiums.
I also grew lettuces for my tortoise.
Hindering my dad, who was trying make good the back garden of a 1970's new-build. It was quite a slope and didn't even have any attempt at grass laid, as I recall. By the time we were done it looked like a bare, ploughed field. I can't remember if anything was then planted or the garden came to anything. I guess we moved before any further memories could be cemented (which begs the question, why bother with that back-breaking work?). There is a photo of the 'Men at Work' in which I have a small garden fork. Unfortunately, I broke this same fork last year, whilst using it for weeding
The second memory is hindering my mum. This time in the front garden whilst she was mowing the lawn (maybe the builders only had enough grass to do the front gardens?). Whilst 'feeding' the mower with grass, I let my hand get dragged in and was rushed to hospital for my hand and wrist to get stitched up. Not such a great early gardening memory that one
My mother always said I was half a nightmarish little devil, always up to mischief and in trouble, and half a blue eyed little angel.