That could be the title of a novel. It won’t be one of mine, because the way I’m going at the moment with the edit of my latest, it may never see the light of day.
The fence is the problem. Fifty metres of our back garden borders a main road, and over two consecutive bad winters our uncontrollable Leylandii hedge slowly died. Uncontrollable because each year it sprouted huge branches into the road that even professional tree surgeons couldn’t reach safely.
Losing the hedge was no great loss. A) because it was Leylandii, and B) because I am allergic to firs.
So, what to do? A new hedge? A beech perhaps, that grows two inches a year? Or a mixed native species hedge that becomes see-through for two-thirds of the year and will eventually overgrow the road (we are so close to the road we would have to set up traffic lights to cut it safely).
It had to be a fence, and a substantial one. The road has a forty limit, more honoured in the breach than the observance (Hamlet, I believe), and since the hedge died it’s like having articulated lorries doing 60 in our back garden, to say nothing of the boy racers (most of them middle aged and in vans, Audis and BMWs) seeing how fast they can take the bends without actually killing themselves.
Life is almost back to normal, the fence is almost done. What’s more, I now have 50m of new growing space for cordon apples and pears, raspberries, loganberries, gooseberries and redcurrants.
Yes, I know these also drop their leaves in Autumn, but what the heck.
(the hedge photo is Google Streetview and shows the hedge before it died. Its trimmed top is 9ft above the road)