One old timer spots another.In today's warm sunshine I watch herbs that have died down in winter peering out of the earth ready for another season. Survivors all. Today French tarragon, not the coarser, more prolific Russian variety, and the celery- like lovage are discernible for the first time. The wormwood never entirely disappeared during the winter while Angelica introduced into the herb bed last year, has been in evidence for a few days. Chives are sprouting everywhere and various mints are beginning to show. Welsh onions, sometimes known as perpetual onions, are sprouting like green flames.
Behind me as I walk down Mount Sion I hear a metallic roaring sound. It is young man in a hooded jacket whizzing down hill in the middle of the road, swinging from side to side like a skier. He is travelling as fast as a car and lucky not to encounter one on its way up in front or on his way down behind him.
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Our herb garden has been growing to excess. In particular the scrawny fennel (taller than me) and the sage (the Hitler herb; always looking for Lebensraum). But yesterday while I was rewiring the hedge-clipper, which I had carelessly allowed to slash through its cable, Mrs LdP descended and all has been taken back to latency. One sad side-effect is that the herb which overlaps the footpath (name forgotten) and which when brushed against releases a smell reminiscent of curry, no longer provides this olfactory benison.
The bay tree however is so sturdy that it will be the target of re-shaping later in the year. I think it was grown from a clipping nourished in Kingston and transported when we moved. This is a source of pleasure - the only one - when I act as Mrs LdP's chauffeur to the garden centre and while away my time checking the price labels on the potted bay trees for sale there. There is however a salutary side. Even now there are more leaves on it than we could ever use in our presumably dminished life-spans.
Our bay tree had to be cut down three years ago because it shut out the light from windows on the ground and first floor and stopped almost everything else growing in the vicinity. It was about 30 years old. I was sad to see it go, but happier to see the light.
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