It was blowing quite fierce yesterday but I still managed to get some plants in, this time, basil, broccoli, and a few more swan plants. I also staked the willow obelisk as it kept blowing over.
The umbrella I folded up but will put up today as the morning looks calm and blue.
Today is gorgeous.
I'm really happy with all my plants and hope they will grow and proliferate. I still have some morning glory to go somewhere and gourd seeds, as well as random pumpkins that ought to go in a bed if we have the room. I'd still like a raised garden bed and to sow corn, beans, and squash.
Beth's plants are doing well and thankfully haven't died. I will need to pot up the small cuttings she gave me.
I have several gardening books to catch up on, one by Ruud Kleinpaaste called 'Scratching for a living', another called 'Minding your peas and cucumbers' about an English gardener who gardens an allotment, 'A Vision of Eden' by a Victorian garden collector who went all over the world trying to find Eden, one about the NZ gardener Nancy Steen who has a garden in her memory at Parnell Rose Gardens, and several others about natives and creative gardening for pleasure. This is after I've finished reading 'Why did the Chicken cross the World?' by Andrew Lawler, about the history of chickens.
While my chickens may be troublesome at least they can walk, run around and lay eggs wherever they like. I feel sorry for the Tegel ones that can't and have breasts so heavy they just can't even move, or the battery ones caged up. I blame the american efficiency and corporations for giving us tasteless chicken thats ready in six weeks that never sees the light of day. We do have a chicken factory in Henderson which they are always trying to get workers for from WINZ but its a horrid job. And there was a chicken feed place up at Massey that smelt terrible but its closed down now and they are going to build a 'convenience centre' there.
One day scientists may crack open the fact that chickens are not vegetables and taste better NOT grown in a hothouse.
