Finally, it is that time of the year again! What time you ask? Well, that of gardening of course! I grew up in a small house with a huge garden. My late maternal grandma filled it with flowerbeds where she used to grow the most beautyfied flowers. There was barely any space for anything else, I could not walk the thin aisles between the flowerbeds without brushing leafs and petals. While I was little, several flowers grew much taller than I, especially the dahlias. And then, there were the huge rose trees, forming a fragrant arbour, and there were the lilacs, filling spring with the sweetest of pretty smells, and of course, the hyancinths.
Nowadays, that garden is much smaller. My grandparens have died, their son - my uncle - has built a small house. It is taking up half of the original garden. After grandma' passed away, no one really knew the little tips and tricks of keeping a garden healthy and beautyful. The flowers faded, dried and died. They were attacked and destroyed by various diseases and insects. The only thing left of what granma planted is the now huge tree-sized lilac. We still enjoy its smell in the spring and traditionally pick its flowers for the Mother's Day bouquet. My father now grows tomatoes and paprika and carrots in what's left of the garden. I give him some flower seeds and bulbs to plant. The only ones that last are the tulips. They're my favourites. I guess he grows them for me.
As for myself, living in a big city - I must do all my gardening in pots. As soon as March starts, I begin sorting my seeds and putting them in a cue based on their planned sowing time. This year was difficult though. We had health problems, mostly showing in my lack of energy. I also had some work to do, plus had some personal problems. But that is all over now. We wake up to the song of the blackbirds. We get sunshine every day. We are back on track. We even have a swallow couple above the house's staircase. They have moved in this spring. Tamara loves them. We see them regularly zigzagging through the yard, hunting for insects. We put out some leftover floss ends. Sometimes they grab it and incorporate it into their semi-finished nest. And best of all, this spring, I am not doing gardening by myself. Tamara joined me in the delightful action of getting jet black soil underneat the nails so deep that it cannot be removed without pain, as my sister refers to planting. That's OK for me though, and Tami doesn't seem to mind either. She also makes sure that every plant is soaked with water beyond belief, and so are her socks and shoes. That is also fine with me. It belongs to pot gardening on a concrete platform, I guess.