Who knew mulching could be so therapeutic?! As the days get longer, mornings earlier, I am having to change my days around. Pre-dawn is about Etsy work. Then 7am the ducks want out (now!) to eat. Back to bed for a half hour more work, before the squabble now heard out our open windows means ‘We really want out!!’. The garden beckons to myself and the ducks, with its shade and sunlight, wonderful transitions of cool yet warm air. They earnestly hunt for bugs whilst I weed, prune, mulch or whatever around them.
I have a large, large pile of branches, ivy, etc. to mulch because here in France we are not allowed to burn our garden waste. It must be taken to the village dumping container, where it will be dealt with ‘safely’. Our restoration garden with its overgrown walls, grounds and well, everything, has and continues to produce an enormous amount of detritus. I could be spending all my time going to the dump to get rid of it. Instead, I decided to find a better alternative. What doesn’t go in the compost, I mulch.
Mulching, for me, entails sitting quietly in a shaded corner, secateurs to hand, and cutting little branches (no more than a pinky finger in width), into tiny pieces. I slowly, ever so slowly, fill a bucket whilst enjoying the antics of the ducks. They are always on the run, zipping about the garden and my feet in search of yummy bugs.
I try to do an hour each day, if not more, as it is actually such a peacefully enjoyable task. The mulch is then dumped on paths, around strawberries or raspberries, or wherever there is a need to depress weeds and/or enrich soil. I think it looks pretty too.