photographing nigella


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.

It's the little things, isn't it....


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