I was standing by the sink in my kitchen, washing up (yes, I do have a dishwasher, but not everything fitted in) and looked out through the window. My kitchen window overlooks my back garden and I love the view.
My garden used to be a barren patch.
About ten years ago there was next to nothing in my garden. I spent many long weekends there – often to my husband’s despair – digging and planting, sometimes carrying on after sunset. Goodness knows how I could even see at times what I was doing.
I nurtured my garden like a baby. From a barren land I’ve grown it to a slightly wild, but a happy place. It’s funny in a way – my busiest time in the garden was also a very busy family time as I had a very young baby on my hands…
I gave it my heart and then let it go…
It has now occurred to me that over the last 2-3 years I have let it go. I’ve got a gardener to cut the grass and get rid of the weeds and I hardly ever do any gardening myself. I’m not quite sure why… I love the feel of warm, crumbly soil between my fingers and a surprise of spring bulbs flowering in unexpected places when I forget where I’ve planted them….
Have I decided that my garden does not need me anymore, a bit like a growing child who no longer needs to hold the parent’s hand? I really don’t know… These days my visits to the garden tend to be infrequent, either throwing back the neighbours’ children’s football or hanging out wet laundry to dry – hardly satisfying….
Most of the time I just look at my garden through my kitchen window, realising how much I’m missing it and thinking that I have to get close to it again…
Isn’t this strange how places, or even people, that are very close to us can be so very distant at the same time?