|A local resident..who doesn't like the cats...|
Oddly enough, when I actually get out there and start doing it, I feel fine about it. I think it's the same process as happens when I'm working. There is a real need for concentration (I know a weed from a plant, but it's sometimes touch and go...), and so the task becomes a contemplation, and the contemplation becomes a meditation, albeit in a very uncomfortable position (must ask for a kneeler mat for my birthday...).
And then there's the cats. They think it's Very Strange that I'm in the garden for any length of time; I'm usually just passing through on the way to the studio, or out to the car... so they study what I'm doing with a certain measure of incredulity. After a while, the oldest comes and pats me on the arm, and that's the sign that enough gardening has been done for the day, at least in his view... and its time to Play. That involves him chasing a stick around the garden, or a bit of dead plant... and the other three looking on, waiting for the opportunity to jump in.
And then there's the frogs. There are about five of them, and they have all been getting busy in the pond. The evidence for that is in the piles of frogspawn and the splish splashing every time I go out the back door. They're keen, but shy. And, of course, they don't like the cats.
I seem to be somewhat converted to the idea of gardening... might even plant some flowers this year... if we get enough rain to make a hosepipe ban avoidable... seems pointless, otherwise.