It is now 13 years since Doc and I moved to Springfield. We were in our mid forties - relatively young empty nesters - and free to take on new challenges and projects. We were ambitious for our generously sized garden and set to work. Then we worked some more. Then some more. If we weren’t working, we were spending money on hard landscaping and heavy duty machinery. Had we known beforehand what a challenge restoring and developing a 1 acre plot on the side of a hill was going to be, we would not have moved here. Ironically though, the fact that we foolishly rushed in where everyone else feared to tread was a blessing because our garden has been a joy, much more so that the house will ever be. We soon grew out of our over-active imaginations but we stuck at it and reaped immense rewards.
Unleashing the garden’s potential consisted of hacking-back decades of uncontrolled ‘nature’ and felling dead trees, followed by building sheds, a greenhouse, pergolas, fencing, a garden room, raised beds and lots and lots of paving. I cannot count the times we dug up plants (and weeds we thought were plants) and carefully moved them to a new position only to discover that we would have to move those same plants again the following year - sometimes back to where they came from! Doc cannot count the barrow loads of soil, gravel, compost, manure, bark, green and brown ‘hackings’ and all manner of building materials, he carted up and down the garden. However, he did calculate that during one 3 hour stint of hauling chipped bark, he walked 5 miles. I remember spending so long de-greening some felled tree branches with loppers that my arms froze in my shoulder sockets and even a restorative hot bath did not revive me. Days spent in the garden left us filthy and groaning but since both of us had had stressful jobs, physical tiredness was a more welcome bed fellow than mental tiredness.
Paradoxically, for quite a while there wasn’t much actual gardening to do but when we started to grow produce, we were infected with a renewed energy bug and our war with nature was turning into satisfaction. ‘Trugging’ was the task of choice and we would relish our harvests even if some of it required copious amounts of washing and processing. (Cabbages have so many unnecessary leaves!) Standing 7 hours in the kitchen preparing and cooking a huge vat of the most delectable damson chutney was pure heaven and spending a softly lit, dewy autumn afternoon picking and sorting through buckets brimming with fallen apples, was sublime.
Sometimes it was difficult to see how far we had travelled because there was always so much to achieve. But Doc is an optimistic and stoic plodder and I am a good manager so together we ploughed on as a team. We have learned a lot, failed a lot, learnt some more and often we succeeded. The garden gradually took on a new shape and when we dared to spend an idle moment wandering around, admiring it, we realised it is all ours and were thankful. We felt we were so lucky to have such a large, interesting garden that is rich in plants, produce and wildlife.
They say pride comes before a fall. We thought we were in control and that the summit was within our grasp. Doc was getting nearer to retirement, the list of new garden developments was reducing and we were looking forward to enjoying and relaxing more in our lovely garden. Then just over 2 and a half years ago I stepped off a stool and everything changed.
I broke a bone in my foot and although most of us don’t regard that in itself a major disaster, for me it was unfortunately very different. I won't go into details but complications ensued and I am still in pain and at times disabled by it. It is doubtful I will ever bound around our physically challenging plot like I used to.
To say that the last couple of years have been difficult would be an understatement. I would report that I have battled and won, been courageous and seen off tragedy with a brave heart. But I am not a hero. I am ordinary, not super-human. Coping with gnawing, constant pain is tough but grieving over what I have lost and living in a world that operates in steps, has at times been unbearable.
Doc and I went away for a few days last week and we drank wine, ate good food and laughed together. So something has changed. I don’t know how we got from despair to here but we have. I just keep getting up in the morning and try to be as useful and occupied as I can be and Doc continues to be the stoic and optimistic plodder he always is. He is my rock and always will be.
As I try and potter in the greenhouse or lightly prune the odd rose or two, Doc races round with his barrow and tools - doing everything else. When my tears blur my vision of our wonderful garden, he notices and brings me something he has picked or points to a beautiful flower. He has never complained once, never pleaded exhaustion and Springfield continues to be cared for.
Gardens never stand still, do they? Neither do we. Life changes. We don’t know what the future holds. How can we? Doc and I are in a better place than we were a year ago so maybe things will improve more. We hope so. We will stay here for the time being and Doc is determined to finish the development work. After that we may hire in some help. One day we will have to move to a smaller place and we will know when it is the right time. In the midst of so much uncertainty, there a kind of freedom. We are taking things one step at a time, literally and enjoying what we can, whilst we can. One thing I am absolutely sure of is that I am so glad we came to Springfield. I would not have missed it for the world.
Our journey continues but it is a journey that Doc and I must do on our own. I have enjoyed writing posts and sharing the story of our garden. Thank you to everyone who has dropped by and sent me kind and generous messages. Take care and I wish you health, happiness and good luck.
Happy Gardening!
