Finally, happily, reunited with a favourite flower. Deep scarlet Tagetes ildkongen (‘fire king’) came to us early in our allotment life, courtesy of a Danish seed collective. We sowed them every year. Then one day they were gone. We mourned their loss.
We have since discovered another source for the summerhouse meadow. We sow seed at Easter, perhaps a little early, but there’s plenty more in case of failure. We are here to refresh the flowers by Ina’s grave, planting blue lupins and pansies with Henri’s brother.
Our local moles and badgers have again gone crazy in our absence. Runs of hills like pharoah’s tombs, grass scarified by Brock. We rake the carnage and scatter the patches with grass seed. We make the largest mess into a wildflower bed with a butterfly-rich mix. We plant more lupins in the corner.
Our Easter lilies – as they call daffodils here – are late due to a wet and bitter winter. Many are still weeks from flowering. Yellows come instead from the forsythia that grows everywhere here, and a fresh spread of shy primrose, perhaps my favourite spring flower.
The espalier pear leaf unfurls. The apple tree, too. The larch branches are about to burst. Our nextdoor neighbour brings tools to help fix the sagging woodshed. Work done, we sit in the early spring sun and drink Danish Easter beer.
There are woodpeckers in our trees, with their unmistakable flight. A pair of blue tits are investigating moving into the wild cherry tree nesting box. The sprawling lilac hedge we cut back last year has filled in, grown taller, now about to burst.
Henri spent her childhood holidays in a summerhouse on this bay. I watch as her city cares recede. Here, she is home from home.
Now, please, tell us about your growing plans and your favourite flower seed.
