One of my Edin Roses was finally in full bloom. It's petals had unfurled all the way—no longer peripheral, no longer halfway. I had separated and repotted all three plants now, but I had run out of soil before I could properly fill the third one.

Luckily, today we were getting manure from the zoo delivered.

There had been chatter in the group chat about a trip to the Edinburgh Zoo to collect manure for the beds. Someone joked that elephant poo made the fruits grow twice as big. I couldn't resist the opportunity, so I decided to bring my Eden Roses along.

In my excitement, I arrived an hour early. The site looked a little eerie without the volunteers. I stood around for a few minutes, with no tasks to do. It felt lonely, so I picked up my Eden Rose and turned back to return home.

When I returned on time, Dubiedykes looked more familiar. There was even a regular feline visitor: one of the two cats that usually hung around. This time though, it started digging into one of our planters. It was welcome, but not to do this. The volunteers shooed it away.

I filled my Eden Rose with the manure and sat it on the table to spectate.

My main task today was weeding. Before adding a layer of zoo manure to the plant boxes, the unwanted (somewhat like our feline friend earlier) needed to go.

At first, it seemed straightforward. But the deeper I went, the less I could tell weed from plant. I found myself taking pictures and sharing them in our group chat: "Is this little guy supposed to be here?" No response. Maybe everyone was too caught up with their own tasks. Maybe there was no signal. Or maybe they weren't too sure either.

So I had to guess.

I started comparing unmarked plants to the nearby ones that had labels. I googled names and cross-referenced their shapes. It seemed like detective work. Slowly, I began to trust my eye. I stopped asking Google. My guesses seemed accurate. I felt... confident.

Out in the new beds area, while pouring in some new manure, someone made an offhand comment about how lucky we'd been with the weather lately. "It gets tough in the winter," they said. I nodded, and then thought to myself: could I manage this in heavy rain? Or in winter?

I wouldn't really know unless I tried. But something in me said yes.

So I walked up to the organiser.

And asked for my own planter.