My garden has come of age.
Three years on and I am planting potatoes back where I first started.
I am quarrying into the precious contents of my first compost heap and spreading it on as many beds as I can. The bottom layers are still crunchy with half rotted bracken, which dominated this land early on.
I have an army of weeds ready to march at a moments notice to any bare earth.
But the sparkling jewel in the crown is the robin who has adopted the garden, and proclaims his dominion in sweet song from a fence post.
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