Some time ago, I annexed our two raised vegetable gardens, unused apart from random sprouts of self-sown potatoes. I planted flowers. Cut flowers to be precise. It felt so satisfying, digging over the soil and planting my little seeds in sort-of rows with their packets on skewers to denote each variety. Then the winter rain came along and washed away the names on all the packets, My flower garden became a place of deep, unfathomable mystery.
As each tiny plant sprouted, I wondered whether it was a weed or not. I carefully plucked out every tiny aquilegia seedling, mistaking them for oxalis. I planted white ranunculus for bridal bouquets, which bloomed prolifically when I had not a single wedding in sight. What looked like thistles turned out to be...thistles, and all things being equal, my foray into flower gardening was a bit of a shambles.
But... I've discovered a new and very special talent. A super-power in fact.
I can grow nigella. It's true! Love in a mist. It's everywhere, in all its multi-coloured, other-worldly glory.
Yes, multi-coloured. Prior to discovering my calling in floracultural life, I thought nigella was either white or blue. No no no. It's white with varying centres and a myriad of shades of blue from pale pale pale through to the deepest purple. And blue with a white centre. And pink - soft candy pink and deep cerise. The variations are endless. The bees adore it. I love it too.
So today I ventured forth with my wonderful new camera. Truly the best camera I have ever owned. And I took photos of nigella in all its glorious variety. Nigella with bees and tiny bugs. Nigella in every colour I could find. I was in nigella heaven and I couldn't help thinking about how much pleasure there is to be had from just one little packet of seeds. Even when you don't know what's going to grow from them.