Post by Designer on Aug 31, 2018 13:13:55 GMT
The goings-on in the Potting Shed have always been a mystery to me, and indeed I have flirted with the thought it is in part the devil’s work. I have been content in the knowledge that my wife, custodian of the Potting Shed, was in control of any dark forces within the inner sanctum. Further, I have enjoyed that time of the year when the products of the Potting Shed somehow made an appearance in the garden for the first time, in complete ignorance of the process. Thus it has been for many a year, until quite recently when the great awakening occurred.
Normally, when I walk past the Potting Shed, I navigate in such a way to avoid close contact, aware that the devil’s work may be in progress. It is best to avert my eyes and continue on to the Babbling Brook that flows alongside the garden.
This evening was different; I had finished clearing up after our 2 course M&S dinner (prepared by me) and time allowed before dusk, for me to carefully saunter down the drive to the Potting Shed. I had previously decided before dinner, that time permitting, ignorance and fear was no longer a defence in the case of the Potting Shed and Beelzebub. I needed to know what had driven my wife, sometimes to tears of frustration and other periods of happiness.
I checked that my wife was not in the vicinity, and approached the Potting Shed from the side, went to open the door, but to certain amount of relief found it was locked. I knew now that there was no trust between us, or perhaps she was protecting me from the forces within. The only answer was to look through the horticultural glass that covered one side. With my nose firmly pressed up against the glass, the sight that greeted me was not pretty. Was this due to the imperfections in the horticultural glass or something more sinister? Maybe I felt like this because I like form, structure or perhaps a little beauty.
What assailed me was a collection of seedlings and cuttings that were so different in terms of their maturity, quality and some in my inexpert opinion that would never reach the garden at all. Now that I had started the journey to the great awakening I had a thirst for knowledge that required quenching.
As these thoughts were being incorrectly assembled in my head I suddenly saw a dark shadow appear in the horticultural glass above my shoulder and I felt a chill wind around my neck. Had I overstepped the mark and forced Beelzebub to make an appearance? Such wild thoughts were quickly extinguished when my wife tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to step away from the Potting Shed.
Now we all know that revenge is a dish best served cold, and I knew that after the period that my wife spent on the Potting Shed roof, the time would come when she would exact revenge. Was this that time? Apparently not, instead she decided to take pity on me and impart one of her daily pearls of wisdom.
We sat down by the Babbling Brook and she told me that the apparent lack of form, structure or perhaps a little beauty in the Potting Shed was due to the selection process of cuttings and seedlings. She much preferred to sow many seedlings in the hope that a small percentage would flourish whilst the majority would only show early signs of quality but when transplanted would fail to flourish or just flop over in to the wet soil. She told me that the selection of cuttings from an established plant is a more complicated matter depending on the origin. This could be from a friend where my wife never sees the original plant and takes it on trust that any cuttings are from a good source. Even those cuttings taken from a plant of known quality may not flourish due to the age of the plant.
The great awakening was complete; it was left unsaid about the part played by Beelzebub in the selection process. Maybe she was holding this back for when she next caught me with my nose up against the horticultural glass. I still don’t know where the key is kept for the Potting Shed and on reflection is best kept that way and let the goings-on go on. But as I sat by the Babbling Brook, I was sure of one thing that I could use this life lesson in the real world.
The Potting Shed shall return.
Normally, when I walk past the Potting Shed, I navigate in such a way to avoid close contact, aware that the devil’s work may be in progress. It is best to avert my eyes and continue on to the Babbling Brook that flows alongside the garden.
This evening was different; I had finished clearing up after our 2 course M&S dinner (prepared by me) and time allowed before dusk, for me to carefully saunter down the drive to the Potting Shed. I had previously decided before dinner, that time permitting, ignorance and fear was no longer a defence in the case of the Potting Shed and Beelzebub. I needed to know what had driven my wife, sometimes to tears of frustration and other periods of happiness.
I checked that my wife was not in the vicinity, and approached the Potting Shed from the side, went to open the door, but to certain amount of relief found it was locked. I knew now that there was no trust between us, or perhaps she was protecting me from the forces within. The only answer was to look through the horticultural glass that covered one side. With my nose firmly pressed up against the glass, the sight that greeted me was not pretty. Was this due to the imperfections in the horticultural glass or something more sinister? Maybe I felt like this because I like form, structure or perhaps a little beauty.
What assailed me was a collection of seedlings and cuttings that were so different in terms of their maturity, quality and some in my inexpert opinion that would never reach the garden at all. Now that I had started the journey to the great awakening I had a thirst for knowledge that required quenching.
As these thoughts were being incorrectly assembled in my head I suddenly saw a dark shadow appear in the horticultural glass above my shoulder and I felt a chill wind around my neck. Had I overstepped the mark and forced Beelzebub to make an appearance? Such wild thoughts were quickly extinguished when my wife tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to step away from the Potting Shed.
Now we all know that revenge is a dish best served cold, and I knew that after the period that my wife spent on the Potting Shed roof, the time would come when she would exact revenge. Was this that time? Apparently not, instead she decided to take pity on me and impart one of her daily pearls of wisdom.
We sat down by the Babbling Brook and she told me that the apparent lack of form, structure or perhaps a little beauty in the Potting Shed was due to the selection process of cuttings and seedlings. She much preferred to sow many seedlings in the hope that a small percentage would flourish whilst the majority would only show early signs of quality but when transplanted would fail to flourish or just flop over in to the wet soil. She told me that the selection of cuttings from an established plant is a more complicated matter depending on the origin. This could be from a friend where my wife never sees the original plant and takes it on trust that any cuttings are from a good source. Even those cuttings taken from a plant of known quality may not flourish due to the age of the plant.
The great awakening was complete; it was left unsaid about the part played by Beelzebub in the selection process. Maybe she was holding this back for when she next caught me with my nose up against the horticultural glass. I still don’t know where the key is kept for the Potting Shed and on reflection is best kept that way and let the goings-on go on. But as I sat by the Babbling Brook, I was sure of one thing that I could use this life lesson in the real world.
The Potting Shed shall return.
