#LockdownDiary – One of many – Day 55
The idea of a collection of daily words describing how you felt for 30 days of social distancing and isolation feels really meaningful to me and something that I think I’d really appreciate having in 10 years. Think outside the box of what you might typically write!— NaNoWriMo (@NaNoWriMo) March 31, 2020
‘We’ve got a currant tree,’ I yell towards the house.
My partner emerges at the garden door and look at me questioningly.
‘We’ve got a currant tree,’ I repeat in a softer voice. ‘Come and see.’
She slips on a pair of shoe and joins me at the back of the garden. I hold the delicate fruit in my palm, the translucent skin still green and acrid.
‘Are you sure those are currants?’
‘Absolutely.’ I have no doubts, memories of being a child in my grand parents garden and eating more currants than went into the basket flooding me. ‘A currant tree,’ I repeat excitedly. I text my entire family, our joined memories of red currant jams, smeared faces, and stolen fruits gathered around this one tree. ‘A currant tree,’ I say one last time looking at it proudly.
I carefully weed the patch of ground next to it, hacking at the groundsel and other weeds I cannot name. I turn over bulbs from the tulips we never planted, unsure if they are the ones that have bloomed this year or not.
I drink a long glass of water and turn to the next job. On my knees, I scrape the weeds growing between the tiles by the house door.
The garden waste bin is full. The sides of the garden will have to wait another day to be cleared of weeds.
I clean the raised beds of their weeds and flowers we do not want. Instead I plant mint, a single thread of it in the middle of the small container. I visit the kitchen and carry the basil and parsley out. They go into the long raised bed by the window so we can keep an eye on them. I transfer them from pot to raised bed alongside the plants we picked up a few weeks ago but still have no clue what it is.
I leave the third raised bed alone, tulips bulbs planted deep in the soil can remain there.
‘Where do you want the wild flowers? Are they still okay at the back?’
‘Sure,’ my partner agrees from the sofa in the living room. I sprinkle the packets of seed we received at a friend’s wedding nearly a year ago, push them into the ground, and give them some water from a pan.
I join my partner on the sofa and look out of the window into the garden. It is not the wild jungle it was when I began working at it but it retains a wildness I like. There will always be weeds in out garden, roughly cut grass, and untamed plants. And hopefully, in the midst of it, there will be wild flowers, red currants, and a fresh supplies of herbs for the kitchen.
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