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Pond

A brief moment of colour before the next band of rain arrives. And yes it’s still two jumper (sweater) weather.

As a child my Dad created a reasonably large pond in the garden. He filled it with little goldfish. It was a haven for wildlife. A protected haven. It had its very own guard dog. Our large family dog called Mick. Mick was lovely but he had issues. He took his guarding the ‘family and the garden’ role very seriously. He bit a postman. He then bit a policeman. It’s amazing how quickly some people learn to understand the meaning of a garden gate sign. Do not enter – Dog who will bite strangers beyond this gate……So he was not a chap to be messed with. And the garden pond fell under his care. Fish, small creatures and small birds were most welcome. He would even let the small birds drink from his water bowl. Unfortunately the same privileges were not granted to larger creatures and large birds. So strangely they quickly learnt that Darwin might have a point and they had better quickly adapt. Adapt meaning give that particular garden a wide berth. A policy which was also observed by the postal and police services.

That garden pond is a long time ago. Since then I have never had a pond. That is until last week. Bad weather interrupted a garden tidy up session. So the wheelbarrow contained a few pulled up weeds. However the rain has transformed the scene. The weeds are doing rather well in the slightly damp conditions. I’m calling that a pond. Just lacking some goldfish and a guard dog called Mick.

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Timing

I drafted this just a few minutes before Wednesday deteriorated so rapidly. I guess it’s kinda apt now.

Sometimes your just in the right place at the right time. 20 seconds later and I would have missed the winged visitor.

It was the case with my partner. I was in the right place at the right time. She gave me the most wonderful times. Now I carry on with our Son. Trying to burn as brightly as she did. Hopefully making a few people smile along the way. That’s my excuse for the terrible jokes.

The timing of that winged visitor got me thinking. Yes I know that’s dangerous. 20 seconds later and I would have missed it. So if I had not answered that annoying telemarketing phone call then I would probably have never seen the winged visitor. So something annoying led to something quite wonderful. We (I) often forget that. It’s easy to think that ‘Bad stuff leads to more bad stuff’. Well it doesn’t always. Sometimes the bad stuff presents new opportunities.

Looking back I very nearly never took the job that led directly to me meeting my partner. I was due to take a better paid position somewhere else. At the last minute the organisation I was due to move to changed management structure. My job offer was rescinded. Next day I applied for the job that would change my life. A bad thing leading to something beautiful.

Now I’m not going to argue that the loss of my partner led to something beautiful. It was truly awful and will remain that way. But it certainly did change me into a better person and a much more complete parent. It forced me to ditch a career and opened up more quality time with our son. I certainly live a simpler more sustainable lifestyle now. I find it much easier these days to be thankful. So yes a truly awful event did lead to positive life changes.

I guess it’s all about accepting that bad stuff happens and not assuming that bad necessarily follows bad.

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Where’s the shed

Here once stood the garden shed. But then an ageing Oil Tank had to be changed. The new rule was that flammable items had to be at least 6 feet away. A wooden shed just 3 feet away just didn’t cut the mustard. So it had to come down. I remember the day so well. My partner organised the skip. She took the first swing with the sledgehammer and then left the rest to me. It was a tough fight. Eventually I won the contest on a split points decision. Yes the shed was down but most of it now appeared to be imbedded in me.

We never did get round to putting a new one up. Actually we didn’t need one. The area became a little bit more green. A place to randomly put those potted plants which we have collected over the years. A nice home for a 90 year old wooden bench which has long since served its purpose and has been retired. It’s also a bit of a magnet of our sons footballs….

It so needs a good weeding but actually yellow poppies and wild strawberries are starting to grow here. Well that’s my excuse.

I’m not sure what my partner would make of it. Maybe a bit too chaotic for her. She liked organisation. The new shed was high up on my list of things to do before the world changed. But then she left our little world. Then every weekend her mum would pop over for an hour or so. She loved it. When she came over at the weekend she would often sit and look at it while drinking her coffee. Thinking about life. Watching the birds make use of it.

I’m writing this at about the time her mum would have been visiting. I’m sat in the chair she would be sat in. Yes I do think the little green area works. Maybe that new garden shed can wait for a few more years. Sorry my love…..

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Tomorrow’s Rose

A few hours ago talked about a Yorkshire White Rose which has a connection with my partner. I said that it would become even more beautiful. Well here’s the proof.

This little bush produces the most stunning roses. The sadness is my partner never really got to see them. But they are such a beautiful tribute to her. That’s such a nice thought.

Take care everyone and remember to live. It’s can still be a wonderful life.

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White Rose

This was the rose I gave to my partner just four months before she left us. She always wanted a Yorkshire Rose.

Normally the rose flowers on her birthday but not this year. The weird weather has set it back just over a month. But today it finally started to reveal its beauty. Just the one so far but it’s a lovely start. It feels like this rose is a connection. A link that still exists with my partner. There are a few of those links

  • The house,
  • The garden view,
  • A rainbow,
  • Her favourite places,
  • A couple of songs,
  • And most importantly OUR SON.

So today I feel just a little bit closer to her. More moments thinking about the good times. As much as I might want to linger just a bit longer, I have to pull myself away from the rose and those moments frozen in time. As hard as I try to imagine those memories they will just stay just that, memories.

So it’s time to focus on the here and now. Its time to focus on OUR son. Yes focus on me as well. I can always pay a quick visit to the rose and those memories tomorrow. Tomorrow the rose will be even more stunning.

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Not my berries

Wild strawberries get everywhere. Now they have found a way into the large tub which contains the old blueberry bush. This raises one of the great life mysteries. Wild strawberries are cropping up all over the garden. Even on the stone drive. Yet I find it impossible to grow them when and where I want them to. Nothing ever happens with my strawberry seeds. Most frustrating….

So officially no work until September at the earliest now. I guess it gives me more time to tend my strawberries. But we are SO fortunate compared to many others. We have beautiful memories. We have a nice (if slightly chaotic) garden with a lovely view. We are relatively secluded. Son can feel safe here. We can scrape by and pay the bills. We can still have fun and enjoy life. Yes another 3 months of this self contained world can at times seem a claustrophobic thought. But that thought is there only if I let it exist. In reality I’m losing a few brief encounters, some knee jarring runs and an occasional trip out. Counter to that – Son is gaining a feeling of security. For that security I can more than cope with a few inconveniences. Everyday we still have the ability to create memories and live out our dreams. Maybe not my frequent night dreams featuring talking cows and dinosaurs. But you know what I mean.

So let’s be thankful for what we have. Let’s use what we have. Let’s remember to live.

Let’s take the time to watch the wild berries grow…

The other thing about the wild strawberries is that they don’t last long. The are stripped bare by our frequent garden visitors. That’s fine with me. I guess they were the ones who brought the seeds here in the first place. So they grew them, so why not let them enjoy the rewards. And the answer to the great life mystery. I should leave the gardening to the experts. The wildlife. Having said that – they don’t seem very willing to cut the lawn.

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Day 123

I clearly have too much time on my hands because I’ve been counting

It’s Day 123 of our lockdown…

Normally I do a weekly post – what have we found out this week from schooling at home’. But this week in honour of the 123 day milestone let’s do a special ‘what have we done without‘ post….

  • That’s 123 days without the school bus or ironing a school shirt,
  • That’s 123 days without missing the school bus,
  • That’s 123 days without a school bag,
  • That’s 123 days of not forgetting to pack a really important school item,
  • That’s 123 days without the carefully packed ingredients for food technology deciding to empty themselves over the other contents of the bag,
  • That’s 123 days without the school bag zipper becoming stuck,
  • That’s 123 days without having to patch up school trousers,
  • That’s also 123 days of not using his new trousers – bet they won’t fit now…
  • That’s 123 days without losing items of sports kit in the school changing rooms (but strangely they still find a way of going missing),
  • That’s 123 days without son combing his hair (ok that’s an exaggeration but it certainly looks like it most days….),
  • That’s 123 days of son not meeting another person except me,
  • That’s 123 days of me not going into the work unit,
  • That’s 123 days of not emptying the work unit bin or checking for out of date milk in the work fridge. As I’m the only one who does – I just dread to think what alien life maybe germinating in there,
  • That’s 123 days without a run (not counting the garden runs as they are more akin to a game of twister than actual running),
  • That’s 123 days of my mountain bike being sat unloved in the garage,
  • That’s 123 days without a trip to the ice cream parlour or a food takeaway,
  • That’s 123 days of not popping into a coffee or cake shop,
  • That’s 123 days without an excursion,
  • That’s 123 days without a trip to the zoo,
  • That’s 123 days of not going out then worrying constantly if I did remember to lock the front door,
  • That’s 123 days of living in shorts, sarongs, running leggings and tracksuit joggers (don’t panic they are getting washed) – I might have fibbed on one of those..
  • That’s 123 days without having to buy a car parking ticket,
  • That’s 123 days of not feeding the car petrol,
  • That’s 123 days without using a cash machine,
  • That’s 123 days of desperately not searching for my car keys and wallet,
  • That’s 123 days in which our entire world comprised only of the house and garden.

But even after 123 days, if I look hard enough I can still find something new to photograph. That’s shows how lucky we really are. Even after 123 days of lockdown.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 107 Comments

Pathway

The gap between the hedge and the Apple tree has basically disappeared. All this enforced time at home and somebody has been neglecting the garden. Unbelievable. But I quite like the results. Often it’s best to let nature takes its own course. So much easier that way as well…..

Every second Wednesday is becoming a right bind. Our bins are emptied every two weeks. This includes the garden waste bin. So when it comes to the day of putting out the bins I get that sinking feeling. Please let the green bin (now a brown bin for some reason) be at least half full. When I open the lid, I want to see plenty of grass cuttings, hedge trimmings and pulled up weeds. I want that feeling of elation that comes from two weeks worth of gardening. So I can close the bin lid and wheel it out onto the road. A job well done.

That’s the theory.

In practice I open the bin lid to find its completely empty. Oh big pants. Now I feel bad. I clearly have been wearing my laziest big pants. The inner shame drives me to fill the bin before the refuse wagon arrives. This being Yorkshire means a mad couple of hours gardening in driving rain and hail. That regular routine was repeated this morning. While I’m fighting the gardening elements I can hear my Mums words echoing around my exceedingly wet head. You just need to do 10 minutes a day of weeding and you get the perfect garden without breaking your back. One day I will follow this sage advice.

So the bin was filled. It was wheeled out onto the road and it felt like that was the gardening done for another two weeks. See I never learn.

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Tea

I’ve been making nettle tea today. Do you think I’ve got enough nettles to keep me going? Only question is how do I keep those cows off them…

The visit to the nettle patch is always fraught with danger.

Do I walk round the outside of the house, through the field gate and back across the field – have to navigate the cowpat minefield.

Do I step over the fence – my little legs are just not quite long enough. Maybe 1cm too short. It’s a rough fence…….

Do I climb the fence – some muppet decided to cover this side of the fence with wire netting to keep the dog from escaping. This means that I have no natural footholds.

Do I jump the fence – would be the best option but that barbed wire is uncomfortably close. The jump requires a sudden stop on landing. Unfortunately I am no gymnast and I’m the type of person who tends to generate a lot of forward momentum….

The last nettle hunt resulted in a number of injuries. An initial attempt to step over the fence was painfully abandoned midway. Then an attempt to climb resulted in a couple of cuts to my shin and knee. Finally a jump did as expected generate significant forward momentum. The barbed wire was approaching far too fast. A rather panicky pirouette did avoid the barbed stuff, unfortunately the momentum took me headfirst into the nettle patch. I was scratching for days….

So I was undertaking my risk assessment for the adventure when Son asked what I was doing. After explaining the problem and the various options. He gave me one of those looks, shrugged and walked off.

“Dad why don’t you just lean over the fence and pick the nettles that you can reach safely…”

Suddenly tea making is so much safer….

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Plant Life

It doesn’t look the most impressive plant but it certainly has meaning.

Something like 18 years ago we had just moved into the house. The garden was so badly overgrown. The lawn was more like a corn field. Took us three days to cut it. Having revealed the garden we found it appeared to have no flowering plants. Many weeds and one Apple tree. I guess that’s called a blank canvass.

A week or so later the village had a plant fare and we nervously ventured down to it. We knew hardly anyone there. We did meet some lovely people. Unfortunately over time those we get to know have either left or sadly passed away. Can’t remember much about the actual fare apart from my partner telling me that we needed to buy something. I randomly picked a hand full of plants. As we were late the selection of healthy plants was completely exhausted. Our new plants looked somewhere between decidedly unhealthy and dead. They didn’t survive long. All except one and here it still is. Who would of thought that the most sickly looking plant would end up outliving my partner and a number of the residents at the fare. Life is definitely bizarre and it is often so unfair. But that is life. We need to treasure it, treasure all life.