I’ve bought a fern, for no other reason except that I wanted to call it “Gully”. Full title: Fern Gully.
But really, I was wandering through my neighborhood the other day, sniffing around the borders of a community garden, and I suddenly had this totally uncharacteristic notion that I wanted a plot of my own, within it. I know that for a tender infant of 27, I’m more of an old woman than most old women, but still, this was really out of the blue. Anyway, after making myself think rationally about it, I had to admit that I still have no interest in gardening, but I do have a yearning for some kind of unlimited garden access. I often daydream about befriending some nice lady who perhaps, conveniently, runs a tea shop, with scones, and biscuits, and pies, and hearty tea cakes, and whose giant rambling wild garden I have a general invitation to come sit in. And don’t get me wrong, this would be a tough old lady. Motorcycles in the garage, and an elapsed pilot’s license. Seriously, I devote a ridiculous portion of my daily life to imagining and perfecting this scenario.
Anyway, when I don’t have full and free access to Bowen Island, I need some kind of planty interactions. Thus, welcome home Gully.