I’ve planted a fig in the front garden, a very little fig, no more than a branch. A figlet, so to speak… And it’s getting its first leaflets.
Meanwhile, the paksoi is doing well on the window sill, as is the second batch of lettuce; the first batch is doing fine in the garden, but the turnip tops do not take kindly to being transplanted from the window sill to the cold, hard and heartless earth. The carrots are raising their feathery little leaves above the earth, and in the
potato plot (I planted four, count them, four potatoes), some very curious leaves are showing up. Pictures will follow…
I’m still having a hard time distinguishing between sprouting weeds and sprouting vegetables, I fear. And I’ve planted a blueberry bush which is showing signs of vigor comparable to the bramble bush next to it. Let’s see who will win; either one of them, or the wild and untamed lawn. One should, perhaps, not aspire to even a picture postcard worth of lawn if all one possesses is a pair of grass scissors, in lieu of a lawn mower.