“Make the most of this weather,” Steve remarked casually as he dropped off the hedge trimmer I’d lent him. “There’s a cold front moving across the country next week bringing snow.”
The prospect of heavy snowfall felt entirely absurd as we sat out in the garden enjoying a cold drink between outdoor shifts. Still, with British weather, anything is possible—even if we have enjoyed a remarkably generous run of sunshine lately.
Karen’s ankle still required a careful balance of rest and light mobility, making a couple of gentle hours in the garden ideal rehabilitation. While I was bogged down in a series of meetings, she had been busy pottering around the garden.
Her primary project had been inspecting the collection of houseplants recently returned from their summer retreat where Lyn had been minding them during our house renovation. Some of these specimens are older than our children. Others were gifts, and a few have origins so obscure they feel like long-term squatters.
The fundamental issue with houseplants is straightforward: when they are in full bloom or lush leaf, they look lovely. When they are not, they resemble a collection of dead twigs stuck in wet soil. Having just expended enormous time and emotional energy purging our lives of unwanted clutter, I was not particularly keen on populating our sleek new interior with pots of decorative sticks.
However, I couldn’t bring myself to throw a living plant directly into the skip at the recycling centre. What the nation urgently requires is a dedicated Houseplant Rescue Centre—a botanical equivalent of Battersea Dogs Home where unloved, neglected ficuses can go to be revived, rehabilitated, and re homed.
Having lovingly trimmed, re-potted, and freshened up the twigs, Karen had already identified strategic locations for every single one of them throughout the house. Naturally, I conceded to her superior judgement.
As we sat basking in the afternoon sun, we concluded that our domestic greenery has essentially lived the life of the six wives of Henry VIII:
Divorced, re-potted, survived; Died, dead-headed, revived.
Here’s hoping the current crop manages to survive their latest royal relocation.
Leave a Reply