GRANDMA'S GARDEN
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On Sunday afternoon I visit my Grandma. Grandpa goes to play bowls and Grandma stays at home so I can visit and we sit and chat, potter in her garden and then Grandma and I get Sunday dinner ready for everybody.
Grandma and Grandpa live in an old house near the golf course on the edge of town. It is seven blocks from where I live with Mum and Dad, my brother Eddie and my baby sister Violet. So I ride my bike. Up the hill past the hospital, along the Patterson Flat Road. Past the High School and down the lane to the Golf Club.
When Granpa and Granma came to live in their house the Golf course was all part of Grandpa's dairy farm that stretched down to the river. Now there is only a bit of orchard left on that side. Then the fence and people playing golf. Grandma planted the hedge with bushes that grow orange berries in winter and prickly plants called Grevilleas that have nice flowers that you can't pick. Grandma planted the hedge at the bottom of the orchard so she can't see the people playing golf, just the long loop of the river trees in the distance.
In the orchard all the trees lean a bit to one side. All the old apple trees with little red stripe apples in the autumn. And the pear trees, the apricot tree that I help Grandma make jam with when we pick the apricots in the summer Holiday, the plum trees, peaches, cherries and at the end by Grandpa's chook run, the walnut trees. Sometimes I like to lie in the soft grass under the orchard trees and look at the clouds. All the trees are old like Grandpa and Granma. A bit bent the same way and sometimes rough to hold but warm in the sun. And very gentle.
In the spring the blossom petals drift across the grass and the bees sing. In the summer Grandma and I pick fruit to make preserves and jam, jellies and chuckney. In the autumn the leaves turn gold and orange and red. Then they fall and make brown patterns across the ground. The wind gathers them up and blows them about until they start to break. After the rain they lie limp and different because only the leaf veins are left and they are worn and fragile. I gather up the best whole ones and put them in my books at special places. They are very beautiful. In the winter the bare branches have frost on them some days and the orchard is windy and cold unless I stand very close to the tree trunks for shelter. And then, suddently the snow drops poke up their heads between the blades of grass and I know spring will come soon. I love Grandma's orchard but it is not my favourite part of her garden.
When I wheel my bike in through the front gate at Grandma's house the gate creaks a bit and I have to prop my bike to close the latch. The latch is old fashioned and I have to make sure it clicks close properly. All up the path to the front steps there are theses little white flowers Grandma calls Sweet Alice. They grow in the cracks on the path, along the edge of the path and even in the cracks of the front steps. They look like little bits of lace and they smell nice particularly if I lie on my font and put my nose up close. There are lots of other flowers by the path. Tall Hollyhocks and Foxgloves, Delphiniums and Daisies, Lavender bushes and For-get-me-nots with their little blue flowers all bunched up together and other green smelling leaves. The path up to the front steps at Grandma's house always looks very pretty and I like to sit on the worn, smooth dippy steps and look at all the colours. But it is not my most favourite part of Grandma's garden.
The kitchen in Grandma's house is at the back. I wheel my bike around past the long wide verandah where the roses grow and park it by the tank stand. Grandma has a lot of rose bushes. High tall ones, low rambling ones, prickly upright ones and very small ones. They all smell wonderful but they prickle a bit. I like to look at Grandma's roses best from the verandah. The kitchen window has a little hood on it like a roof all of its very own. All up the window and across the little window roof a Passionfruit vine grows. In the spring there are wide strange looking flowers and in the summer the small green balls of fruit set. Thyen in the autumn we have Passionfruit. Big purple balls that Grandma makes into all sorts of wonderful things to eat.
Inside the kitchen Grandma is waiting for me. She makes a pot of tea and pours it into the blue cups with people on them called Willow Pattern. Grandma drinks her tea from her saucer. Mum gets cross about this but when there is just Grandma and me on Sunday afternoons we don't mind Mum at all. We eat scones that Grandma makes with jam that we made last summer and cream from Granpa's cow Molly. Grandma cleans up all the crumbs and I go out exploring in the garden.
In the kitchen there is a big black stove that burns wood even in the summer. Grandma has blue and white curtains with some lace at the bottom across the kitchen window. There aren't any fly screens so the curtain blows in and out. Outside the window is a twiggy bright green shrub Grandma calls Lemon verbena. Sometimes bits of its branches climb in the window. On the hot summer afternoons the scent of the lemon blows through the window like invisible clouds. Sometimes when I'm home in bed I dream about the smell of Grandma's kitchen.
Grandma calls the garden outside the kitchen her herb patch. There is sage that I scrub my teeth with, little leafed thyme, parsley, marjoram, dill, lovage, borage and mint are the ones I know best but there are lots and lots of other herbs Grandma uses for all sorts of things. The herb patch has wonderful scents and I like to sit quietly smelling the herbs and trying to guess which one is which. The brick path is always warm and I always feel very safe when I'm there. But it is still not my favourite part of Grandma's garden.
Between the tank and Grandpa's shed Grandpa built a pergola. It must have been built when Grandpa was quite young because there are grape vines all over it and they droop down to the garden all around. Grandma grows her ferns and precious plants under the pergola. It is very shady and cool, especially as the rain water tank leaks a little bit. There are frogs sometimes hiding under the old bricks Grandma puts her pots on. The pergola is a secret sort of place but it is not my favourite place in Grandma's garden.
Down by the wood shed Grandpa has a vegetable garden. It has a high fence all around it. Grandpa said that he built the fence to keep out the kangaroos. Now it keeps out low flying golf balls. Grandpa grows vegetables in long straight rows and has a System. Leafy things like spinach grow where carrots did last year and tomatoes grow where the spinach grew before. Grandpa says his System is called rotation but Grandma puts left over flowers in at the corners. Grandpa says she has no idea but I quite like marigolds growing with the beetroot and daisies with the potatoes. Grandma says its companion planting and that Grandpa is just plain old fashioned. Either way there are always loads of vegetables. Enough for Grandma to make pickles and for me and Dad to have at home instead of getting things from supermarket. Mum even has a special basket she brings on Sunday night for Grandfather to fill up. Grandpa's vegetable patch is really great but it is not my most favourite part of the garden.
Right down the back of Grandma's garden, past the outside toilet that isn't used any more, past the old pig pen where Grandpa has his worn farm, past the wood heap where Dad chops wood for Grandma's stove, down at the end of the path after the bricks have stopped...is the Little Brown Bird Tree.
The leaves on the Little Brown Bird Tree dangle down to the grass. Bees are always busy at the tiny white flowers that hang down too. It is shady and cool like Grandma's pergola and moss grows on the ground near the trunk of the Little Brown Bird Tree. And all around I've planted the seeds that Grandma has given me from her flowers in autumn to make a special wild garden for the finches and robins, wrens and willy wagtails. Sometimes in the winter the Rosellas come down and I make up a tray of grain from the sunflowers that I grow.
This is my very own special place. I like to lie in the sun in winter and watch the ants store their seed. I like to see each week how my spring bulbs are growing. In the summer I sit under the shade of the Little Brown Bird Tree and listen to the birds chirp and sing. And in the autumn I collect more seed and rake up the ground to make more flowers in my own special place.
And every Sunday afternoon Grandma and I potter around doing a bit of watering. And I visit my special place with the Little Brown Bird Tree while Grandma has a rest on the verandah. And then I help peel the potatoes and pumpkin for dinner and set the table for Grandma and Grandpa, Mum and Dad, Eddie and Violet and me.
Sometimes after we finish washing up Grandma asks Mum to give her tune on the piano before we go and Grandpa nods happily. Dad sings the songs from Church. Eddie sings in the Church choir too and wants to study music when he grows up. Grandma loves long gentle bits called the Moonlight Sonata or something to do with a Faun. Mum loves to play the piano and we don't have one at our place. I just like to listen.
And then Sunday afternoon is all over until next week. I go home to my own room at our own house and dream about Lemon Verbena and Little Brown Bird Tree and something about the rustle of spring.
Grandma and Grandpa live in an old house near the golf course on the edge of town. It is seven blocks from where I live with Mum and Dad, my brother Eddie and my baby sister Violet. So I ride my bike. Up the hill past the hospital, along the Patterson Flat Road. Past the High School and down the lane to the Golf Club.
When Granpa and Granma came to live in their house the Golf course was all part of Grandpa's dairy farm that stretched down to the river. Now there is only a bit of orchard left on that side. Then the fence and people playing golf. Grandma planted the hedge with bushes that grow orange berries in winter and prickly plants called Grevilleas that have nice flowers that you can't pick. Grandma planted the hedge at the bottom of the orchard so she can't see the people playing golf, just the long loop of the river trees in the distance.
In the orchard all the trees lean a bit to one side. All the old apple trees with little red stripe apples in the autumn. And the pear trees, the apricot tree that I help Grandma make jam with when we pick the apricots in the summer Holiday, the plum trees, peaches, cherries and at the end by Grandpa's chook run, the walnut trees. Sometimes I like to lie in the soft grass under the orchard trees and look at the clouds. All the trees are old like Grandpa and Granma. A bit bent the same way and sometimes rough to hold but warm in the sun. And very gentle.
In the spring the blossom petals drift across the grass and the bees sing. In the summer Grandma and I pick fruit to make preserves and jam, jellies and chuckney. In the autumn the leaves turn gold and orange and red. Then they fall and make brown patterns across the ground. The wind gathers them up and blows them about until they start to break. After the rain they lie limp and different because only the leaf veins are left and they are worn and fragile. I gather up the best whole ones and put them in my books at special places. They are very beautiful. In the winter the bare branches have frost on them some days and the orchard is windy and cold unless I stand very close to the tree trunks for shelter. And then, suddently the snow drops poke up their heads between the blades of grass and I know spring will come soon. I love Grandma's orchard but it is not my favourite part of her garden.
When I wheel my bike in through the front gate at Grandma's house the gate creaks a bit and I have to prop my bike to close the latch. The latch is old fashioned and I have to make sure it clicks close properly. All up the path to the front steps there are theses little white flowers Grandma calls Sweet Alice. They grow in the cracks on the path, along the edge of the path and even in the cracks of the front steps. They look like little bits of lace and they smell nice particularly if I lie on my font and put my nose up close. There are lots of other flowers by the path. Tall Hollyhocks and Foxgloves, Delphiniums and Daisies, Lavender bushes and For-get-me-nots with their little blue flowers all bunched up together and other green smelling leaves. The path up to the front steps at Grandma's house always looks very pretty and I like to sit on the worn, smooth dippy steps and look at all the colours. But it is not my most favourite part of Grandma's garden.
The kitchen in Grandma's house is at the back. I wheel my bike around past the long wide verandah where the roses grow and park it by the tank stand. Grandma has a lot of rose bushes. High tall ones, low rambling ones, prickly upright ones and very small ones. They all smell wonderful but they prickle a bit. I like to look at Grandma's roses best from the verandah. The kitchen window has a little hood on it like a roof all of its very own. All up the window and across the little window roof a Passionfruit vine grows. In the spring there are wide strange looking flowers and in the summer the small green balls of fruit set. Thyen in the autumn we have Passionfruit. Big purple balls that Grandma makes into all sorts of wonderful things to eat.
Inside the kitchen Grandma is waiting for me. She makes a pot of tea and pours it into the blue cups with people on them called Willow Pattern. Grandma drinks her tea from her saucer. Mum gets cross about this but when there is just Grandma and me on Sunday afternoons we don't mind Mum at all. We eat scones that Grandma makes with jam that we made last summer and cream from Granpa's cow Molly. Grandma cleans up all the crumbs and I go out exploring in the garden.
In the kitchen there is a big black stove that burns wood even in the summer. Grandma has blue and white curtains with some lace at the bottom across the kitchen window. There aren't any fly screens so the curtain blows in and out. Outside the window is a twiggy bright green shrub Grandma calls Lemon verbena. Sometimes bits of its branches climb in the window. On the hot summer afternoons the scent of the lemon blows through the window like invisible clouds. Sometimes when I'm home in bed I dream about the smell of Grandma's kitchen.
Grandma calls the garden outside the kitchen her herb patch. There is sage that I scrub my teeth with, little leafed thyme, parsley, marjoram, dill, lovage, borage and mint are the ones I know best but there are lots and lots of other herbs Grandma uses for all sorts of things. The herb patch has wonderful scents and I like to sit quietly smelling the herbs and trying to guess which one is which. The brick path is always warm and I always feel very safe when I'm there. But it is still not my favourite part of Grandma's garden.
Between the tank and Grandpa's shed Grandpa built a pergola. It must have been built when Grandpa was quite young because there are grape vines all over it and they droop down to the garden all around. Grandma grows her ferns and precious plants under the pergola. It is very shady and cool, especially as the rain water tank leaks a little bit. There are frogs sometimes hiding under the old bricks Grandma puts her pots on. The pergola is a secret sort of place but it is not my favourite place in Grandma's garden.
Down by the wood shed Grandpa has a vegetable garden. It has a high fence all around it. Grandpa said that he built the fence to keep out the kangaroos. Now it keeps out low flying golf balls. Grandpa grows vegetables in long straight rows and has a System. Leafy things like spinach grow where carrots did last year and tomatoes grow where the spinach grew before. Grandpa says his System is called rotation but Grandma puts left over flowers in at the corners. Grandpa says she has no idea but I quite like marigolds growing with the beetroot and daisies with the potatoes. Grandma says its companion planting and that Grandpa is just plain old fashioned. Either way there are always loads of vegetables. Enough for Grandma to make pickles and for me and Dad to have at home instead of getting things from supermarket. Mum even has a special basket she brings on Sunday night for Grandfather to fill up. Grandpa's vegetable patch is really great but it is not my most favourite part of the garden.
Right down the back of Grandma's garden, past the outside toilet that isn't used any more, past the old pig pen where Grandpa has his worn farm, past the wood heap where Dad chops wood for Grandma's stove, down at the end of the path after the bricks have stopped...is the Little Brown Bird Tree.
The leaves on the Little Brown Bird Tree dangle down to the grass. Bees are always busy at the tiny white flowers that hang down too. It is shady and cool like Grandma's pergola and moss grows on the ground near the trunk of the Little Brown Bird Tree. And all around I've planted the seeds that Grandma has given me from her flowers in autumn to make a special wild garden for the finches and robins, wrens and willy wagtails. Sometimes in the winter the Rosellas come down and I make up a tray of grain from the sunflowers that I grow.
This is my very own special place. I like to lie in the sun in winter and watch the ants store their seed. I like to see each week how my spring bulbs are growing. In the summer I sit under the shade of the Little Brown Bird Tree and listen to the birds chirp and sing. And in the autumn I collect more seed and rake up the ground to make more flowers in my own special place.
And every Sunday afternoon Grandma and I potter around doing a bit of watering. And I visit my special place with the Little Brown Bird Tree while Grandma has a rest on the verandah. And then I help peel the potatoes and pumpkin for dinner and set the table for Grandma and Grandpa, Mum and Dad, Eddie and Violet and me.
Sometimes after we finish washing up Grandma asks Mum to give her tune on the piano before we go and Grandpa nods happily. Dad sings the songs from Church. Eddie sings in the Church choir too and wants to study music when he grows up. Grandma loves long gentle bits called the Moonlight Sonata or something to do with a Faun. Mum loves to play the piano and we don't have one at our place. I just like to listen.
And then Sunday afternoon is all over until next week. I go home to my own room at our own house and dream about Lemon Verbena and Little Brown Bird Tree and something about the rustle of spring.
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