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We’ve lived in our house for nearly a decade.  It has been almost ten years since we looked round the house, noticed that the garden was huge, had a holly tree and a rhododendron bush and thought it might just be the place for us.

Since we moved in we have experimented, designed, dug, planted, mowed, weeded, changed, adapted, moved plants, removed plants, pruned and sowed.  We also brought in a greenhouse some five years ago, with the intention of using it once we had built the new shed, removed the old shed and made space for it.  The greenhouse was a bargain; a friend wanted £50 for it so we had it even though we were nowhere ready for it.  And I really wasn’t ready; I’ve blogged before about how I  have not enjoyed the physical work of gardening but in the last couple of years it has started to appeal to me a lot more, and I am ready for that greenhouse now.

Anyway, last summer, the new shed was built. This weekend we have taken down the old shed, lifted the crazy paved patio and moved the greenhouse into the spot that is to be its home.  It now has the beginnings of a concrete base and as I write, the bloke is putting the glass in.  In almost no time at all, we’re going to have a usable greenhouse!  I am unbelievable excited about this and already have a number of trays of seeds ready to find their home in there.  The greenhouse will soon be finished, but I feel like my gardening life has just begun!

The Garden That Is Finished Is Dead

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