The end of July is time to celebrate wedding anniversaries and to remember those we have lost. I visited my mother earlier in the week and attempted some one-handed pruning of her overgrown wilderness.
I’m not sure I made much of an impact. I also noticed that her ‘Golden Wedding’ Rose had survived a recent pergola catastrophe:
My Dad put the pergola up for their Golden wedding nine years ago, but it all collapsed in an early summer storm a month or so ago. I was very pleased to see this bud about to burst open to celebrate their 59th anniversary, although always sad that he is no longer with us to see it
Meanwhile, back in Edinburgh, our own silver wedding roses are blooming away:
We went out last night to celebrate our own anniversary and were going to do a celebratory visit to the allotment on the way home to do some much needed watering (I’m just a romantic at heart) but the skies put on a spectacular thunder and lightning storm for us instead, along with some rain so the watering wasn’t needed.
This morning I popped along to the allotment on the way back from a physiotherapy appointment, the latest in the ongoing saga of my damaged arm. The physiotherapist asked me, Have you been off work? Well no, because I rather stupidly plodded on through the pain. What about hobbies? Well, gardening – I’m sure you can do a lot of gardening with one hand. I have every respect for the physiotherapist’s skills but I suspect she wasn’t a gardener. So the one-handed gardening continues, and the hospital is near the allotment so I harvested some courgettes which were about to turn into marrows (best to pick them quickly before the allotment holder comes by with her anti-marrow devices. My love of marrows is not shared). It seems to be possible to do one-handed pickle making:
I also harvested a lot of peas from the garden but can’t decide what to do with them. They seem too precious to freeze. It may be pea and bean guacamole for tea tonight.
It’s been a funny kind of day. A day to remember Dad and to wonder what he would think about the roses and the allotment and the peas and the pickles. One of my enduring memories of him was his joy at his vegetable harvest during the heatwave of 1976. We lived in the far north of Scotland and that year he had bumper harvest while everywhere else was scorched dry. He would probably approve.