Back to the soil.

Many thanks for the supportive comments and vitual hugs re my last post. Reading it over I think the garden probably reflected my mood at the time. Now we have been home a few days, slept in our own beds and eaten some decent food, things look a bit brighter. James is slowly using his poor leg more and more, although it will be several weeks before he will be walking again. He is being wheeled about in his buggy, or sitting in his highchair like the King of Siam, ordering us all around - so what else is new! He is just loving his dad at the moment - cries of Da... Da.... Daaaa echo through the house, and I am only required when he is in pain or upset. So, with this advantage I have managed a couple of hours in the garden over the last two days.

Yesterday was a lovely mild day with a definite waft of spring. Everywhere I looked there were signs of growth - rhubarb, chives, new chard, perpetual spinach and best of all - lots of garlic shoots. I began to number them, but like counting stars, I soon lost track. It was so cheering and I felt that cloud finally drift away from over my head. Getting my hands into the soil always chases away the cares. I worked away, clearing the weed pile left over from digging out the last bed into our brown council bin (their compost heap gets hotter than mine!). It felt great to be moving properly again - releasing all that pent up energy from the long winter and the hospital interruption. I couldn't resist picking the spinach for that evening's dinner - and jolly delicious it was too.

Today I had a chance to wash out pots in the greenhouse and sow some seeds - tomatoes steaming up nicely now in their propagator, leeks and parsley on the greenhouse staging. There is something so hopeful and positive about sowing a seed. I was reminded of Harlan Hubbard writing in Payne Hollow about gardening, which really encapsulates what I mean.

"The very beginning is perhaps the best part of a garden.... The sun riding higher in the sky, arouses not only the dormant buds and seeds, but also the dormant hopes of the gardener. The memory of past mistakes and failures has been washed out by winter rain.

This year his garden will be the best ever. "

Hubbard H. (1974)Payne Hollow: Life on the fringe of society Fitzhenry &Whiteside Toronto