Flowers in the Compost

Spring is here.

And it is such a relief.

We hold our breath waiting for better times. It isn’t that winter was any longer than it normally is or any colder or any darker. It is just that I was ready for it to end, ready for it to become something else.

Where I live the seasons are consistent, if a little later than they used to be. While they don’t match the arbitrary dates we give them—I doubt they ever have—they arrive quietly, gradually, at the right time, or at a time.

While the seasons feel cyclical—here we are back in spring again or perhaps back in the wet, for those of you who live closer to the Equator and experience the weather as wet and dry—they, the seasons, roll forward.

I am back in spring, back doing the things I often do at this time, planting seeds and complaining about snails.

Yet I am moving forward. The flowers on the first-year espalier apples had to be removed, as did any growth outside of the pattern I have decided they should grow in (a single lead with regular spaced horizontal branches). What I left on the lead branch had to be tied. There are jokes about the tortured trees and I admit to feeling a little guilty that I will not let the apples have their way, that even before they have established themselves in the ground, I am insisting that they take a certain form.

It will be spectacularly beautiful and productive once established. For now, it feels a little cruel. I go out each day to check that they are still growing, understanding that I, too, might give up if pruned in such a way. The tree producer, Strzelecki Heritage Apples, assures me that even though the trees are dwarf varieties, they will give me a run for my money outgrowing the demands of being espaliered. I have bought expensive secateurs in readiness.

In all of this spring-ness is the cliche “spring clean”. I hate the idea of spring cleaning but, as I write this, have come to see that that is exactly what I have been doing. This two-week break from teaching has been full of clearing out and cleaning up.

It started with the garden. I had been desperate to prepare for the spring planting but was inundated with English marking. Thank goodness I am fond of essays! It was too early, anyway, for planting. Better I mark student writing than watch tiny tomato plants shivering in the cold ground.

Then it was term break and the garden came together in a matter of days. The tomatoes aren’t in yet. I am waiting for them to be a little bigger and for the ground to be a little warmer before hardening them up and planting them out. But their place is ready.

It was natural then to turn to the house.

Suddenly, I felt annoyed by the clutter in my study and we had a clear out. The larder, our cupboard under the stairs where we store our produce, had gathered some unnecessary things, as had my study.

Hubby, the super guy that he is, fetched and carried, and sorted out his pile of sheet music, cheerfully helping me move furniture and kindly suggesting that it didn’t have to be all done in just one day. But it did. That’s how I roll.

Then we turned our attention to our clothes. Since when did we have so much? And since when could I not find my favourite pieces? Hubby sorted his stuff while I sorted mine. Yes, mine took longer.

In amongst a random pile of papers beside the bed, I found this.

I keep being surprised that my old friend is gone. It isn’t the sharp pain of loss that grabs me but an ache knowing that the world isn’t how I think it is.

I miss knowing that Josh was there, living his life, and putting it on Facebook. I miss knowing that when we caught up we would laugh about the same things, complain about the same things, and tell each other that we should catch up again soon. He was one of those friends that was an unquestioned part of my life.

Josh isn’t the only one. I have a couple of friends like him that I do life with and am reminded of how soothing it is to not have to pretend or explain or try to be a nicer version of yourself. You can have a total dummy spit and they will patiently wait for you to finish before raising an eyebrow and offering you a chip while licking the salt off their fingers.

It isn’t always necessary for that person to be an old friend. There are some newer friends who know when to turn up with Licorice Allsorts or Black Cats or a hug or give a shake of the head and an “idiot” in agreement with some rant or other.

They are the friends that believe in you. They aren’t interested in changing you or making you less embarrassing or trying to find the root of that failing that is really just a less socially-acceptable personality trait.

They simply like you.

They like that you get tired and fall over and that you bring them food when they are supposed to be dieting and that they can ask you if you have been sleeping okay because you look like you could do with a serious nap in your near future.

So here you go, friend.

A nice de-caf cappuccino with a shot of hazelnut syrup and some gingersnaps on the side.

Enjoy.

And make sure you take that nap.

Xx