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Just coming out of a little clutch of some time off work.

I purposefully arrange this every year as a treat for myself so that every month that has a long weekend, I take a few days off to extend the break.

And, to get a LOT of things done.

Strangely though, although I was very happy for much of the time as I worked away, digging, sifting soil, dragging my gloved hand across my eyes, I did begin to see vignettes from my past garden till suddenly everywhere I looked there was another memory, still bright and shiny and full of remarkable detail:  the dimples across the knuckles of my sons’ chubby hands, the slim, pink radishes we slid out of the soil and ate at once, squat, brown toads unearthed, blinking from beneath the darkness of a plank, a little snake dry and ribbon-like in my hand that makes Frasier gasp: “OH! Look how he’s breathing! He must be so scared!” and trying to fathom how it can be that I am the age I am, in Earth years, and how so much time can have passed by? Passed me by, especially. Continue reading

Woolly, Woolly



Over the weekend, I determined to start readying the back yard for winter much earlier than usual. Unlike my super-organized (and retired) neighbours with their obsessive rows of squat, compact bags of leaves I seem always to be caught by surprise and have to deal with cracked plant pots, lone garden trowels and pale, withered hoses in the spring. One of the larger planters was extraordinarily heavy so I shunted it toward the garage ancient Egyptian-style a few paces at a time.

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