First piece of gardening news. Not quite what I was expecting to report:
91-year-old Rosa, who lives alone in her multi-storey townhouse next door, asked me, through her son Henry (who was sweeping her yard), to not grow vines on her fence. My cardinal vine had just begun to bloom on top of it.
But vines are messy.
The fence in question is black and rusty and is what separates us from Rosa's bare concrete and astroturf yard. Not messy. Some day I'll show you a picture of her front garden.
So I have snipped my flowering cardinal vine down.
Yesterday, I thought that perhaps the birch pole screen I erected some weeks ago on our side of her iron fence had been a mistake. Now, I think not. Henry says that yes, we may grow whatever we like on our fence. He was apologetic, he said, and speaking for Rosa, not himself. Rosa waved from a window - one of the ones from which she feeds flocks of city pigeons every morning. You know, neat, toilet-trained city pigeons.
I waved back.
I exchanged telephone numbers with Henry, in case Rosa ever needs anything. I would be happy oblige, unless it is with a request to napalm the rest of my garden.