So. Having burnt my foxgloves (moderate oven, 72 hours), I re-sowed some fresh seed into the same half tray, watered them, popped the tray in a plastic bag and placed on the floor under the bench (away from the heater). And when I looked yesterday there were three young foxgloves still alive! How did that happen? Aren’t plants amazing? Struggling to live. And why did these three survive and the other 20 or 30 not?
I suppose it’s survival of the fittest, strongest, hardiest. Maybe I’ve just bred a super drought resistant Sahara conquering foxglove.
Yesterday was so beautiful. The soft, hazy sunlight was the go-ahead to start mowing. The ground was just about firm and dry enough. I cut the east and north lawns and it was satisfying to have a stripey lawn again. All is right with the world. Or at least in this Sussex backwater.
I also mowed paths through the meadow. This was to steer unknowing feet away from the daffs I planted last autumn. The first of these should flower in a day or so.
And not a terribly interesting phot (No, it isn’t – Ed) but this gives some idea of the amount of clippings from a fairly light mowing of two lawns and the paths.