Every year we visit Groombridge Place to see the daffodils. There have been times that we have taken them for granted and snorted at the their brazen blooms. Not this year after the long, cold winter. Never have they been more welcome. (Click for whole picture).As I get older I feel less personally involved with what is happening in the world. Too much detachment is nothing to boast of. And it occurs to me to day that I should feel more touched by the news than I do. I follow it with interest and curiosity, but can't escape from the feeling that I am keeping up with a soap. Perhaps it is too much to bear. No man is island, I have to remind myself. For whom the bell tolls. etc. Who would be a politician?
The garden centre delivers bags of compost and manure. And 8ft bamboo canes for the beans. But there is a mistake first time round. Instead of the canes enormous clumps of bamboo in giant pots are hauled out of the van. I have grown fond of bamboo and would have liked to accommodate them, but at £50 a pot they are beyond my means even if I had room for them. For a moment I am taken with the fantasy though.
2 comments:
Wow, I have yet to see a FIELD of daffodils - such an English thing, I think. Maybe I need to come visit early spring some time.
One of the communes hereabouts has taken to planting creamy daffodils (narcissus really I suppose) with truly salmon pink centres. In principle I object to the endless quest to produce flowers of the wrong colour but I was rather taken with them.
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