On Summer Scavenging.

Like an expectant father, I wait for the rest of the lilies to burst.
A view of my front 'garden'.

In this season my mind turns to gardening.

I have become a very stay-at-home/indoors kind of person, but when the swallows are high and swirling in splendid summer spirals, I raise my head above the parapet and look to the outdoors.

My ‘front garden’ consists of a line of pavement in front of my house where I park pots with their assorted plants. Miraculously they are not all spirited away in the middle of the night, although I have had a pot or two stolen or a plant ripped out by the roots; some in the plain light of day. There are also some little mischief-makers who like breaking the leaves of my blue agave. One can tell that small fingernails have been pressed into the fleshy leaves and it irritates me no end. I know that it is the work of children, fascinated with the texture, and I only hope that they grow out of it soon. Unless I catch them in flagrante, there is little purpose in my pointing the finger, although I know exactly who it is.

I feel like a guerrilla gardener of sorts because, after all, the land is not mine. It belongs to the city, but I like to think that I beautify it for everyone to enjoy. I give it purpose. In fact, the other day a group of giggling tourists stood in front of my house with their selfie sticks, using my plants as a backdrop to their pretty, youthful skin. An odd juxtaposition of flattery, envy, and invasion, made war in my conflicted brain.

I currently have a pot of great tall lilies that have stretched up and up towards the light and now have heavy buds waiting to pop. Last year I had only one flower and I watched it anxiously, convinced that someone would break it off before it opened—miraculously it survived and gave me one gorgeous pink bloom. This year there are multiple stems and the first one has opened. Like an expectant father, I’m waiting for the full show, with my heart in my throat.

The cutest thing the other morning was a mother passing with her small child—I heard her reminding the child not to pluck the flowers, only to look. The child stopped and crouched down in front of a pot of bright pink petunias and said “Hello, flower.” Hiding behind the door, my heart expanded, and I hugged a Westie with pure delight.

As I write, a blackbird has jumped into the large pot beside the front door. They do make a mess, but a mess I am happy to clear up. They turn my garden into a vibrant eco-system and the path into a litterbin. To pick the ants and larvae out of the pots they throw leaves and compost out of the way with reckless abandon.

In addition to my front 'garden,’ I have an upstairs patio. It exists off the bathroom. It is not the ideal situation, as said patio can only be accessed through the ugly utility of the overwhelmingly grey bathroom, but I can’t change that. The patio was always a mess—a bit of an afterthought, where I stored pots of paint and my ladders and hung my clothes to dry. But recently more and more plants have been making their way out there. It is the place in the house with the best light and my plants prefer being outdoors.

Thanks to my lovely plumber, I have a rather attractive cover for my water heater out there—it reminds me of a cuckoo clock or a birdhouse, although it is large enough to house a buzzard. It is a bit of a focal point, though I still need to disguise the two gas bottles beneath it.

Some months ago, my old boiler died. That one was residing in the kitchen. I contacted the plumber and he advised me, new regulations meant I would have to install the heater outdoors. He was apologetic, but, although of course, it meant extra expense with pipework etc, I had no problem with it, as it gave me back the wall in my kitchen. He sent me a quote for the entire package—he is delightfully thorough—and it not only included the ‘birdhouse’ but a little tap for a hosepipe. I was enchanted with the cover and the tap, as well as the masterful pipework—it doesn’t take much to please me, and it made me begin to think more about how to beautify my utilitarian patio.

The first step was to clean up all the Saharan dust and clean the poor plants—that is largely done, although the walls are still a bit rusty-looking.

Next, I turned to IKEA—one of my great passions—I have never met anyone with quite the same stamina for spending a whole afternoon, following the arrows and touching and testing every sofa, bed, kitchen drawer, tap, and storage solution—I can lose myself. But of course, like everything else, much can now be done without even setting foot in the shop itself, and getting to IKEA is a bit of a trek, so, I got my laptop out and started putting garden things into my basket. Last Wednesday I placed my order. The windows have gone on hold again.

Then, I had a real stroke of luck. On Friday morning, I was on my way to the local supermarket and passed a newly refurbished apartment block. Outside, beside the bins, there was a shelf—I didn’t even need to measure it—I knew that it was perfect. I lifted it up from its lying down position and noted that it was made of solid pine, not MDF, which made my heart glad—but it was very heavy, which made me sweat—so I had to run home for my pram. I am sure that my neighbours think that I’m completely bonkers; they often see me carting bottles of gas, dogs, large pots, and bags of potting compost in it—in fact, it is a very practical solution to the business of carrying heavy items for long distances on one’s own. It was an effort to load and precarious wheeling it back home, which I did very slowly, but I made it, and I got it into my living room. Finally, I measured it—it was 210cm long – I went upstairs and measured the space for it—220cm. The brackets, which used to be my washing line were spaced at 190cm, a perfect fit. It is almost like it was made for me.

Another stroke of luck struck that very evening, when my lovely builder arrived early—I wasn’t actually expecting him until Monday—to do a small job for me. He helps me with small jobs that I just can’t manage on my own because some small jobs still need two people to lift and level, and he charges me very little. He is a saint. When he had finished the original job, he helped me upstairs with the shelf, removed the pulleys from the former washing line, and together we hoisted the shelf up—it fit perfick! It is already full of pots and plants and on Tuesday I will take delivery of two IKEA Äpplarö outdoor wall panels with shelves. Their measurements are noted and they will fit perfectly beneath to take the remainder of my plants. My vertical garden is taking shape.