Story telling from Australia
It’s my birthday. Woo hoo! I feel like Tigger, excitement verging on hysteria, not because of my birthday so much (but still, Happy Birthday to me-e!) but because I’ve pledged to complete all the revisions on the farming families book by Christmas. I have 20 days left and plenty of work ahead, but hey, today it’s my birthday and right now there are presents to open (Hip hip hooray!) treasured gifts and cards from friends and family in England and Australia. What a lucky woman.
The back yard here in Sydney has given me a gift too, and it’s a special gift. In the first two days after we got back I harvested four kilos of tomatoes from a single plant. There are more tucked down the skinny side of the house too, fattening and ripening on vines clambering happily up the wall.
The tomatoes were special because they reminded me of something Mum once told me. When she was a child and treated to a visit to the cinema, she didn’t take lollies (or sweeties as we called them in England and Wales) she took a bag of home-grown tomatoes. Her quietly spoken father – Grampy – grew them in the small back yard of their two-up two-down terraced house in Cardiff.
I’d forgotten all about it until I harvested that crop of tomatoes. They reminded me of Grampy and of Mum. Then I thought about all the vegetables Dad used to grow in his back garden and the greenhouse by the River Dee where Aunty Beth and Uncle Jim grew tomatoes, and suddenly my birthday was full of very special memories.
A bumper crop of presents.