Long summer evenings, light at ten pm. Scotland at its most glorious. What better to do than go out and cut the grass – or mow the lawn – but that’s always seemed a bit posh:
So here is it with the trusty vintage lawnmower, and a border of autumn fruiting raspberries, with some self-seeded aquilegia and a lot of daisies, lowering the tone, while adding character.
I suppose this is what I dreamed of when I bought that lawnmower all those years ago. We used to say that it was our first piece of baby equipment. Most people rush out to buy cots and prams and maternity outfits – but we got a lawnmower. The reason: our old house had gravel where there should have been grass and we reckoned that our promised new baby would need grass to crawl on. So I dug up the gravel, knocked down a fence and planted potatoes:
then, later in the year and in my more advanced state of pregnancy, by which time it was considered less suitable for me to be doing heavy garden work, my dear Dad raked the soil smooth and sowed grass seed:
.. but we were going to need a lawnmower – hence the trip to the Meadows Festival to buy this lovely vintage machine. All in time for the baby’s arrival (but I promised no baby photos on the blog so you’ll have to imagine that bit). That lawn never really became very respectable. It faced north and that tree in the middle grew along with the baby and created a lot of shade….
…that was all a long time ago (the baby is now at university) and we have a different house and a different garden. When we moved to this one the grass was in pretty bad shape:
But for that moment in my garden the other night, I cut the grass and listened to the bird song and wished my Dad could have seen the garden now and my almost respectable, almost ‘lawn’.