The Dahlia Diaries - April Dispatch

Penned by Yours Truly, Dearest Dahlia a.k.a. Miriam

Dearest Readers,

Spring has arrived with all the grace of a muddy welly—glorious, chaotic, and entirely on brand for life at Dearest Dahlia. If you’ve been wondering what I’ve been up to behind those charming whitewashed walls, allow me to lift the veil (and the tarp).

Renovations are well underway in the old cow byres—though you’d barely recognise them now. The stable doors have been dressed in Fitzrovia Red, with Potter’s Pink trims so divine they’d make a Georgian townhouse blush. And the walls? Lime rendered by yours truly. Yes, I’ve earned my calluses and chemical burns the honest way, slapping on lime like a woman possessed. Who needs a gym when you have buckets of render and a dream?

The final room will soon house the official Dearest Dahlia shop—part boutique, part curiosity cabinet. The floors, however, remain in a state of elegant indecision. What shall it be—polished concrete? Rustic timber? Painted checkerboard à la French farmhouse fantasy? Only time (and Pinterest) will tell.

Outdoors, the forget-me-nots are staging a blue-tinted uprising, and I’m thrilled to report that I am finally making peace with gladioli. After last year’s sorry excuse for a summer, I’ve abandoned my usual cool-toned restraint. This year, it’s all about colour. Vivid, glorious, excessive colour. I’m planting with the reckless abandon of a woman scorned by rain.

In thrilling machinery news, I have—brace yourselves—bought a tractor. She’s not exactly modern (a 1970s classic, darling), but if she tills the soil and doesn’t burst into flames, we’ll call it a win. No more grovelling for help with rotavating the field—I shall now be that woman, boots on, tractor keys in hand, looking vaguely competent.

The dahlia field is currently smothered in a rather unattractive tarp (no judgement, it’s working), and the tubers are beginning to stir in their pots. I originally set up the greenhouse beside the house—convenient, but let’s be honest, hideous. Plus, I ran out of room. Why? Because I spent every spare cent from last year’s earnings—you guessed it—on more dahlias. A financial decision my accountant may not support, but my heart certainly does.

So, on a very dramatic Tuesday morning moment, I relocated both greenhouses to a sunny new position where they now bask (when the sun makes an appearance, which in Ireland is... rarely). The dahlias are stretching their limbs, the pots are filling up, and hope springs eternal.

And before I forget—I’ve joined the Sligo Secret Gardens! This summer, I’ll be opening my little kingdom: cottage garden, veg patch, wildflower meadow, and, of course, the dahlia field in all her finery. I’ll be sharing dates and details very soon, but do consider this your official invitation to come swan around among the blooms.

Until then, my dears, may your compost be rich, your plans ambitious, and your blooms ever bolder.

Faithfully and florally yours

Dearest Dahlia 🌸