Here are some photos of this weekend's garden antics. This is in lieu of a photo of the third pincushion hakea I have murdered in six months. I am now sulking and have sworn off hakeas for life. This one turned up its toes in record time. Three weeks ago I popped it in the ground, glowing with health and then yesterday I took it out, a shrivelled shadow of its former self, destined for the compost.
I really thought I had got it right this time. I chose my site carefully, enriched it with native friendly compost, blood and bone and slow release native fertiliser. I did not over water, I found it a gentle slope to aid drainage. I gave it the teeniest dose of iron chelates. Dammnit, I did everything bar sending it off for a spot of psychanalysis. What's a girl to do? Did I mention I am sulking?
On a brighter note we had a whale of a time in the garden this weekend. It was one of those serendipitous moments when the offspring decide that gardening chores are fun. So they set to work chopping up the comfrey for compost and mulching the garden beds. Kipper felt he had found his calling as a mulch-spreader, proceeding to distribute it to the four winds, but one shouldn't complain.