Story telling from Australia
There’s not much in life that thrives on neglect – relationships need nurturing, musicians have to practice and languages get lost and forgotten if they’re not used. But land? Leave it alone and nature does its thing. Her thing.
The tiny back yard that passes for a garden here in Birchgrove has been neglected of late; I’ve been giving book talks and struggling to finish the final manuscript for next year’s book about families who live on the land.
The manuscript was submitted yesterday – hoorah! – but I know it won’t be long before it bounces back for corrections and queries so today was the day I’d planned to get my hands dirty.
And it’s raining.
It’s not the kind of rain that forces you indoors, just the kind that makes you hesitate, a slight pause when you wonder if it’s worth getting wet.
That pause was long enough for me to notice things. Plants are springing to life as the days lengthen and sunlight warms the soil, and I noticed something else too – a delightful surprise has appeared in the garden without any help from me.
It looks a bit like a geranium to my untrained eye and I know I didn’t plant it because twelve months ago these raised garden beds were empty; blank and barren with nothing in them save the huge frangipani tree we managed to save.
And now look. Whatever it is, it’s very welcome.