“I have dug the holes, good and deep, deep enough for a couple of spadesful of manure, wide enough to spread out the fan of roots without cramping. I have had a good teacher. Shrouded in sacking, the saplings are propped against a growing tree, waiting for me to make up my mind. No hurry. There’s another hour of daylight yet. And I’ve waited for such a long time. It’s good planting weather – Tom would have looked out of the window and rubbed his hands together with anticipation – soft drizzle, n...o frost, no gales. Drifts of fallen leaves have banked in corners, deep and soggy, blown down before they could change colour. The earth is still sufficiently warm to encourage a little tree to establish itself before winter. Little, bare, twiggy things. They look nothing now. You wouldn’t guess that in a few months’ time they will burst into a pink and white froth of blossom. Well, not quite, not yet. That’s an exaggeration. There will be only a few blossoms, but each one will be perfect, rosy-tipped.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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