The climate in Belfast is temperate, mostly warmish and often wetish. Plants thrive with little assistance required. Our garden is a pleasure palace for bees and birds and a hunting ground for cats. The other day I discovered the exposed remains of some small bird on the path down to our patch of grass. I strongly suspect that Torts was the killer, but he has taken it on the lam, so I cannot interrogate him.
There are green things that are reaching for the sky and look pretty enough, but may well be some sort of giant weed. I tramp down the more obvious weeds such as nettles and dock leaves, but am wary of destroying some precious plant that my son planted last year. His strawberries made a brief appearance and then the snails feasted on them.
The dividing wall between our garden and the neighbour’s is a mass of prickly fruit bushes. I identified gooseberries and blackberries and I think there is another type of berry as well. The apple tree continues to do well and the rosy fruit grows bigger every time I go out and look.
Our front patch of grass is too tall compared with all the manicured carpets surrounding our property. Luckily there is a house for sale opposite, and their patch is as scruffy as ours. Some people just turn their front gardens into parking spaces, but that’s cheating.