Sheppy's World

Our garden is one of the many reasons we bought our house and it continues to give us tremendous joy. Whilst the dank, dark winter months challenge the most positive mind, there are many things to enjoy from the ever changing landscape and the promise of brighter days to come. It is Spring. The winter has given way to warmer days and lighter evenings and the promise of Summer that seemed so far away just a few short weeks ago. There are signs of new life everywhere, from the noisy, hungry chatter of Jackdaw chicks, delighting us from the top of the living room chimney, to the suddenly vigorous grass and optimistic buds on long dormant plants. It really is wonderful.

Whilst all this frantic activity is underway it’s time to reenergise the fruit and vegetable garden. I operated a raised bed system for many years. Mainly as a response to a damaged knee and although that knee is long gone and it’s successor needs little protection, it seems sensible to carry on with the plan. So renovation and renewal are the name of the game. As carpenters go I am a pretty decent retired accountant, so it isn’t pretty but I am pleased with how it’s turning out. Accusations of too much wasted space levelled by my brother are being addressed and it has become clear that I actually don’t need as much overall space. Once the vegetable beds are complete I will be relocating the fruit bushes, designing a new composting area and returning the newly free space to lawn. Very satisfying indeed.

The final challenge is to distance myself from the legacy of my father, for whom massive crops were a sign of achievement and the desire to feed the ever growing family paramount. There’s only the two of us and whilst grateful colleagues were always keen to receive our endless surpluses the boss is quite right, as always, when she says we should grow less and then only what we actually need and will enjoy.

So, signs of life again. The circle turns and we immerse ourselves in the joys of nature. As we get older there are more and greater joys to be found in the simple things and for that I am extremely grateful!

According to the deeds our house was built in 1928 so I guess it has a big birthday coming up in a few years. Whilst we consider ourselves the “owners” of #22 that’s just a reflection of the fact that we are the most recent occupants and lucky enough to no longer have a mortgage. In reality we are just the latest to leave a mark on the old place and hopefully keep it going for the next lucky inhabitants.

The builders and early occupants intrigue us a little, but they represent time out of mind. Their day to day lives and experience of living in Hillside are of interest but they are long gone and their memories are lost to us. Our most immediate predecessors on the other hand offer much more. We have a lot to be grateful to Charles (“Char”) & Ruby Walder for. They moved into #22 in 19xx and brought up their two daughters here. Char was a carpenter and joiner and the enduring legacy of his craft remains evident throughout the house. We will probably leave it for others to retain or remove as they see fit.

Char seemed to make everything to last and alongside his obvious skill as a joiner he wasn’t averse to securing pretty much everything to the walls with very large nails & screws……which resulted in rather a lot of re-plastering if we subsequently decided to remove anything! Char’s sister Peg and her family lived across the shared drive and collaboration was the name of the game, in particular the endless concrete paths and driveways that we inherited.

Our limited efforts to bring the house into the 21st century home are for another day, as are the challenges that Char’s particular brand of gardening presented. For now we will always be grateful that we found ourselves here and for the privilege of playing a small part in the history of #22.

Monday started cloudy in more ways than one. Looking upwards it was grey and uninspiring, indoors pretty much the same. Mrs S announced that she had “bits” to do in town, which of course is code for you are walking into town with me, trailing in my wake as we enter many shops and always in charge of coffee……fine, of course, as we have plenty of time. I couldn’t help but wish I wasn’t involved, after all I had plans for the garden.

So it was a bit of a relief to get home just as the clouds parted and a dribble of spring sunshine brightened the gloom. They say sun & fresh air are good for the soul and it is absolutely true. As soon as lunch and the ubiquitous cuppa were done it was outside and crack on. I will write something soon about how the garden is evolving and plans for the fruit & veg plot, but for now it was heartening to get the mowers started, clear away the cobwebs of this waterlogged spring and get moving.

As time passes we become more aware of how fragile human life really is. There are all the obvious signs, of course. Failing eyesight, for instance, the occasional trip to the body shop for replacement parts. Modern medicine can generally fix or at least control these things. A much greater challenge is the mind. Little is known of the operation of the human brain. As refreshingly on-message as it is to share our innermost thoughts and worries, most other people are too wrapped up in their own lives to care if we share what’s going on upstairs. Many people live in fear of judgement, wary of other people knowing their business. The internet provides an anonymous space to share, but an equally anonymous opportunity for scorn, ridicule and worse.

So as we age, just when the brain starts to wear out and we realise that we are a little past our best mentally, it’s easy to become isolated. You may live with your partner of many years, but do you share your thoughts and worries? Do you know what they are thinking? Are you brave enough to share? The uncomfortable truth is that we are all becoming more isolated. Modern technology should be helping but really it’s completely the reverse.

I am not sure there is a solution. Since we first roamed this planet we have mostly muddled along, blundering from one disaster to the next and hoping for better times. I suspect the answer lies somewhere in the basics tenets of what it means to be human. Care, be compassionate, share what you have and remember it’s OK to ask for a little help sometimes. You might surprise yourself!

There are too many people, it seems, that come to the end of their allotted time without reflection. Those that pause for a moment rarely record their thoughts. I will not be one of those people. For better or almost certainly worse, I am going to have a stab at a memoir. It will be mostly accurate, certainly incomplete. If you are anticipating salacious stories and startling revelations, I can recommend alternative reads. The audience will, I imagine, be rather limited. But that is a long way from the point and we will come back to that. As I have previously observed I do appear to have plenty of time.

As we get older, we start to experience loss very differently. Not so long ago the loss of a relative, friend, loved one was certainly to be regretted. One mourned a little and moved on. Funerals were rare events and attendance was appropriate. When I lost my father, I wasn’t at all prepared and much of that time remains a blur. These days I seem to grieve a little more, hurt a little more, cast an eye toward the diminishing horizon of my own mortality. You get the idea. I am more selective which funerals I attend and I seem to have developed a subconscious scorecard that dictates which ones. Callous? Maybe.

Time is precious and while the demise of ancient, distant relatives is regrettable it is far from unexpected. It makes little sense to attend these events without proper consideration. Friends taken too early must also come under scrutiny. Would they want me to interrupt my busy schedule to stand around wringing hands and sipping insipid tea? I suspect not.

Time is a problem. Too much or too little? I guess it depends on your perspective. If you are anticipating a happy event, time will drag. On the other hand, time flies when you are enjoying yourself. But why are you looking at the clock anyway?

There is little doubt that too much time is the enemy of creativity. I can sit for hours nursing a lukewarm coffee with little idea of where to start, let alone where my writing adventure will end. Masterpieces and bestselling novels seem to be in short supply. For every earth-shattering triumph there are millions of well-intended words and witty observations discarded on the floors of coffee shops and train carriages.

So how to start? I really don’t know.

A friend told me that the key to success is bloody minded determination rather than unearthing a latent creative gene. Nothing writes itself. The only way to do good stuff is to do a lot of bad stuff too. Just start. Write something down.

That all sounds rather sensible. She should know, although I’ve only actually read her good stuff.

So, I’m going to make a start. Just let me grab a coffee………..after all I do have rather a lot of time available. For now.