It’s late for planting wheat and I’m feeling the pressure of bad weather, but after reading a bit more about wheat I thought I might have a chance, even though planting in the “gristley bits” of nature on the borderline of possibility sounds more like “futile” than “possible”. How can anything grow here, except my own irritation? I planted the tree container I was given after the dreaded petunia invasion of last week. Construction and destruction continue a dusty regime of infiltration. Not to mention the squirrels.
The image of the lone ’supplicant’ gardener trying to encourage life out of the concrete is heartbreaking. The tree looks much like a shackled prisoner.
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