Summer XXIV. Garden

Intro & Preface & Contents

Previous: Summer VVIII. Forms of true happiness

The honest fellow who comes to dig in my garden is puzzled to account for my peculiarities; I often catch a look of wondering speculation in his eye when it turns upon me. It is all because I will not let him lay out flower-beds in the usual way, and make the bit of ground in front of the house really neat and ornamental. At first he put it down to meanness, but he knows by now that that cannot be the explanation. That I really prefer a garden so poor and plain that every cottager would be ashamed of it, he cannot bring himself to believe, and of course I have long since given up trying to explain myself. The good man probably concludes that too many books and the habit of solitude have somewhat affected what he would call my “reasons.”

The only garden flowers I care for are the quite old-fashioned roses, sunflowers, hollyhocks, lilies and so on, and these I like to see growing as much as possible as if they were wild... On the other hand, a garden is a garden, and I would not try to introduce into it the flowers which are my solace in lanes and fields. Foxgloves, for instance -- it would pain me to see them thus transplanted...

But the gardener and I understand each other as soon as we go to the back of the house, and get among the vegetables. On that ground he finds me perfectly sane. And indeed I am not sure that the kitchen garden does not give me more pleasure than the domain of flowers. Every morning I step round before breakfast to see how things are “coming on.” It is happiness to note the swelling of pods, the healthy vigour of potato plants, aye, even the shooting up of radishes and cress... Delightful, too, are the scarlet runners, which have to be propped again and again, or they would break down under the abundance of their yield. It is a treat to me to go among them with a basket, gathering; I feel as though nature herself showed kindness to me, in giving me such abundant food. How fresh and wholesome are the odours -- especially if a shower has fallen not long ago! ...

Alpha.

If I could fit foxgloves into a basket off my French window, I would. Instead I have a mix of herbs (mostly) with a few flowers (California poppies and this vibrant purple flower that is popular locally that I’m sad to say I don’t even know the name of.) For me the smell of the herbs may be the best part.

It would be lovely to have a small garden of my own, but I rather think I get more enjoyment from seeing the garden below my windows, that I don’t need to fuss with, than I would maintaining a garden myself... though I could well be wrong about that. I do know that if I had an ornamental garden it would be long on grasses (non-green) and distinctive plants and short on flowers.

As we approach the equinox, our weather has been getting warmer and I’ve been sitting more often at my little table overlooking the garden. It has even been slightly muggy, a novelty for us. From here I can see that the leaves at the top of the Japanese maple tree have already started changing color. It’s still just a hint of red, but other trees have already started dropping some leaves. And the fruit flies are out of control -- a sure sign that Indian Summer is close. Soon we will have days with high ozone levels, the scent of which will transport me magically back to my youth in the San Fernando Valley -- no tisane dipped madeleines required.

Because this weather is so very rare (beyond seasonal, the last time we had summer thunderstorms was over 10 years ago and I think of them every year at this time) I cherish it all the more. As Ryecroft says, and even without pressing health concerns, I have to wonder if this is the last weather like this I will ever experience. I’m (reasonably) confident I will be able to watch the Japanese maple and the ginko trees put on many more performances of their amazing year long shows. But days like this are precious. Or maybe our climate is changing to the point that this will become more common. When it comes to weather, all bets are off at the moment, but we can’t stop playing

Good times.

I’m in fine fettle this morning. Yesterday I worked eight hours at one of our Greening events so I’m tired and a little stiff. I treated myself to a very nice muffin, rather than my usual cookie, to go with my iced tea here at the Bank Cafe. I’ve already painted out a graffiti tag on our building, and I’m looking forward to getting some long delayed errands done in the next few days. The peak of Greening season starts this weekend.  In a little over three weeks, the season will be over, for the most part, and winter will be on my doorstep -- or so it seems.

There’s another reason I’m in a good mood, which is an odd thing to mention, but it points out another absence in The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft: Yesterday’s event was a neighborhood parade and street fair in a nice neighborhood on a perfect day. It turned out -- for me -- to also be a festival of legs. Perhaps female fashions are currently leaning toward very short shorts and I hadn’t noticed, I don’t usually pay much attention to fashion. But, as a leg-man, I was in heaven yesterday. 

George Gissing’s relationships with women were fairly remarkable... and remarkably unsuccessful until the very end. There was the perfectly named "Nell," who may or may not have been a prostitute, and later Edith Alice Underwood who was eventually certified insane, and finally Gabrielle Marie Edith Fleury, his final, common-law, wife. Henry Ryecroft, on the other hand, could be taken for a eunuch. For the most part, I’m fine with this as the last thing the book wants is a “love interest” or “sob stories” about relationships past. Still, you would expect some mention of his affairs, so to speak, in such a reflective book.

Ha! It occurs to me as I write this that everything Ryecroft says about his period of care-free retirement -- how he suspects it will be brief but that he cherishes every year of it and that even a solitary year would have been a great happiness -- I could say with regard to the current woman's fashion for tall boots over tight jeans (or tights)... now that is one fashion I have noticed. I’m surprised it has lasted as long as it has, and if it goes on for another winter I will have nothing to complain about.

Next: Summer XXV. Art appreciation.