Like many gardeners I put a bench and a seat or two in the garden so that I might sit and enjoy the fruits of my labours from time to time. Similarly, like many gardeners, I seem to rarely sit on them for long. I will settle down to drink tea or a cold drink and invariably I will see a weed that needs removing or a spent flower that needs deadheading. Yet I do stop and I sit and think about what needs to be done next in the garden; what I think is working well and not so well.
I am writing this in the midst of a what has been a mild but rainy Winter so far. Snow is probably on the horizon but there is no sign of it here so far in these middle lands of England. It has been so wet that progress in the garden is difficult. Whilst I generally hold to the premise that one weed removed now saves me from 100 in the Summer, the garden is currently as water-logged and muddy as I have never seen it before. The hours of daylight are now perceptibly getting longer and there is a feel that the season is turning; the wish to be out in the garden is strong when possible between gales and rain.
It is a good time of year for sitting in the garden and planning. I am lucky enough to have some strategically placed seats that give me different views of the garden. Actually stopping and looking, really looking, at what is in front of me is something I know I need to do more. From these different vantage points I can see new opportunities for developing the garden further. I suddenly see connections between two areas that I had previously seen as distinct, but now I can see a bump or contour in the grass that sweeps in one direction, or a tree reaching out over another direction. Whilst I do not tidy away the dead summer growth until the new growth is emerging, there are cleaner lines of sight in the winter garden. I can see the structure more clearly. I sit and consider these things.
I usually sit and consider these things with a cat by my side.
Or I have to move a cat to sit down and consider these things, much to the annoyance of said cat who for some bizarre reason thinks the seat is his. I tell myself that I share my garden with my four cats, I know in reality they occasionally let me into the garden if they think it will be for their benefit.
The cat will then distract me and I forget my ‘eureka’ moment that would have made the garden a small corner of paradise situated just outside of Leicester. I resume my seat, pick up my tea and enjoy the moment of peace.