Lockdown heightens our senses. We see and hear more clearly. In March, I really saw my neglected little garden. This shady yard has waited patiently for the attention which came in fits and starts. And always waned. Working made us too busy. Weather made it easy to avoid. Lack of knowledge and talent made it hard. So, mostly, its been a place to dry washing when the rain is resting.
Since March, the garden has been reborn. When we could not go out, we sat out. We lit small fires and sat under chilly skies. We welcomed the peace and the silence - no buses, no planes, no cars. We could hear birds. We welcomed friends. We worried about fresh vegetables and food as the world stockpiled toilet paper and flour. So we planted seeds.
Lockdown stalled so much, but it couldn't stall plants. As a country, we didn't know how to deal with unstoppable abundance.
They flowered their hearts out, it was just gorgeous, stunning ...
In our garden, even with time and attention, abundance isn't our problem. We planted carrots, herbs, lettuce and flowers. Not enough to live on, but a start. A small step. Those fragile seeds took root. They reached out for sun, warmth and water. Some were hardier than others. Some could cope with neglect. Some didn't make it. I've come to see that the flowers were stronger than they seemed. More determined. Despite it all, they thrived.
At the weekend, on a rare sunny day, we worked in the garden. The hits of colour brought by cheap geraniums have brought easy colour and smell. The dahlias are already claiming the approaching autumn. But my favourite, my all time favourite, the cornflowers, are the star of the show. Grown from seed, unstoppable, they seem majestic to me. I see them piercing through verges and roundabouts when I cycle. Like sapphires in any crown. And now I have nurtured some from seed in my little garden. My bounty? Seven cornflowers, standing proud. With the promise of more to come. Yet, I know they are not mine, and the glory is all theirs.
The cornflower has meant many things over time - hope and faith, a prayer for true love. They grow in myths and paintings. The cornflowers on Grace's dress in the Birth of Venus are subject to much interpretation.
In my little north-facing garden, these cornflowers have come to be symbols of hope and persistence. They mean that whatever seeds we plant, some things will grow. Hope will find a way. And all while being strong and so very beautiful.
People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.
―Iris Murdoch
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