When I moved to my little crone cottage here in Picton (tucked in between Toxteth and Edge Hill, in May 2019, my “garden” was a square of paving stones, with a border of gravel, a large Yukka and a golden tree of some kind.
By October, I had begun to add the odd pot, and a plastic greenhouse.
Now, as the pandemic enters its 7th month, and I am into my 6th month of lockdown, it is a chaotic and beautiful mess of random flowers, bushes, trees and vegetables.
In case you are wondering, I’ve been ‘shielding’ since mid-March, when my son Roderick suggested it. And on the day after the government said we should all come out of our protective burrows, it was announced that there was a worrying rise in Covid-19 cases in the suburb which borders mine – just a block away. So here I stay. And thank goodness for the garden.
And for writing, and singing, and tap-dancing, and friends on Skype and teaching on Google Meet. Never a dull moment here in Heathcote Close.
Which doesn’t mean I’m happy with the situation. Just stoic. Occasionally I write a silly little ditty, to keep myself amused. Here’s one from April.
In May, the country celebrated the end of World War II, standing in doorways, or windows, with flags waving and socially distanced street parties. Not me, however. I did not find it a cause for celebration, but rather one for contemplation. Indeed, it made me very, very angry and upset, so I wrote a poem.
Now it is August, and – wonder of wonders – a butterfly. The first one I’ve seen here, in my garden. This makes me very happy.
Speckled Wood. I looked it up. Apparently they live in hedgerows, so it is quite a long way from home. But it came to my garden, which brings joy to my heart.
Even more joy arrived 2 weeks ago, in the form of my beautiful granddaughter, Sophia. Mum, Dad and Sophia all doing well, if exhausted.
Thank you. Stay safe.