On Friday, I was expecting a skip to be dropped off. It arrived but was clearly too small, so they agreed to come back with a larger one today. Which was great, because I couldn’t help but notice that some tree surgeons were mincing a very large conifer just around the corner from me and they agreed to drop the conifer mincemeat on my drive. There’s a sliced and diced willow in there too. Now I had the world’s largest pot pourri dumped on the drive.
The whole family helped move in round to the back:
It might be helpful at this point to give a sense of scale. The other night I got out there in the rain with a tape measure and figured out how big our plot is. It’s fractionally under one eighth of an acre.
The skip didn’t arrive today either. Their wagon was knackered, they said. Suits me. I went to see Kevin at Village Plants Nursery, hobbling along after stubbing my toe on the bedroom door. I dropped off some trees and came away with many, many more. Sixteen plants.
Nearly all are trees. Having updated my plant list, I find I now have eighty different kinds of trees an shrubs for my eighth of an acre. Highlights from today’s collection include a hydrangea that was collected from central China on a plant hunting expedition in 2002, Blepharocalyx cruckshanksii, Prunus takesimensis and Betula medwediewii.
My toe is an exciting shade of magenta. I don’t bruise easily either. Methinks it is broken.