‘There’s nothing too fanciful or indulgent. I tend to start a few things off under my watchful eye. I grow a bit of veg and a number of herbs that I think should do quite well without much sunlight, but once they’re established I shall move them out into different areas in the hope they’ll naturalise. They’d probably have come from this sort of landscape in the first place. I’ve got angelica, horseradish, rosemary and lovage and in those pots there I’m growing some chervil, chives and sweet woodruff. But my priorities are different these days. Trying to establish plants and let them thrive where they are happiest is a great motivation to me. Yes, I grow a few veggies I want to eat, carrots, leeks and mustard do well, but I’ve cultivated a couple of sunnier patches elsewhere and trying to learn from season to season is my real motivation. I’m up against it with the rabbits and the deer but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I’ve had a tremendous amount of success introducing some berries into the margins here too. Not just the blackberries you’d expect to find but lovely wild bilberries and some currants too. I do what I can to harvest them all but quite frankly I’m growing them for the animals half the time.’ She shrugged. ‘But perhaps that’s a fair exchange. I’ve put in a few fruit trees too, some damsons and greengages and a couple of hazelnuts. But I won’t see much from them for a few years. It’s nice to know I have them in store for me, though.’
Diana had allowed a bit of pride to creep into her voice. Sam wondered whether what Diana was doing was legal, but it seemed so completely harmless it was impossible to imagine anyone objecting. She looked at the caravan and wondered how Diana could possibly use such a small space to store and preserve food to keep her going all winter.
In turn, Diana was watching Sam’s assessment. ‘Are you wondering if I’m allowed to do what I do?’ she asked.
Sam was startled and stammered her denial. Diana quickly interrupted her, before Sam could form a lie. She closed her eyes as she recited a passage.
‘“The first man who, having fenced in a piece of land, said, This is mine, and found people naïve enough to believe him, that man was the true founder of civil society. From how many crimes, wars, and murders, from how many horrors and misfortunes might not any one have saved mankind, by pulling up the stakes, or filling up the ditch, and crying to his fellows: Beware of listening to this impostor; you are undone if you once forget that the fruits of the earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody.”’
Sam remained silent, in awe of Diana and her knowledge.
‘Rousseau,’ said Diana, by way of explanation.
‘Oh,’ said Sam, who felt more ignorant than enlightened.
‘He was a philosopher in the eighteenth century,’ Diana said kindly, ‘and I’m an admirer. You should read him. Not everything, of course, but perhaps think about his version of self-love. That might help you.’
Sam knew she needed help. Of course she did. And while it was a bit alarming to know it was that obvious to Diana, who’d met her just twice before, the idea that she might be able to help herself rather than rely on therapists, medicines or even Danny, was appealing.
‘Well, that’s my homework for the weekend. Grow some grass and read Rousseau,’ said Sam, lightly. ‘I’d better head back. I’m going to go home and have a rethink.’ Diana continued to weed her vegetables and acknowledged Sam’s departure with just the slightest incline of her head.
Chapter 28
Sam devoted the next three days to reading, alternating between researching everything she could about Rousseau and, in equal measure, meadowland. Both often seemed beyond her grasp, but she persevered, motivated by a desire to please Diana. She also spent a good part of each day pacing up and down her lawn, thinking about who she’d become and where she might end up if she didn’t make an effort to alter her course. Though she wasn’t entirely comfortable with some of the conclusions she was coming to, she hadn’t felt the need to interact with her blog and this felt like a small step forward in the direction of progress.
There was more light in the evenings now and Sam, quite unaware of how late it was, had looked at her watch and rushed in to prepare an evening meal. Danny had come home, kissed Sam briefly, changed out of his suit, put on some comfortable clothes and gone straight out to mow the grass, all within ten minutes of arriving. Sam had been chopping onions in the kitchen and had barely noticed his movements, it was only the sound of Danny rattling the mower up the garden path that brought her out of her reverie and back into a world where the struggle of man versus nature was waged with relentless tenacity. She swore under her breath, wiped her hands hurriedly on a towel and ran outside.
Danny had lined up the mower in the far corner, facing the machine to the house and was just bending down to yank the starter.
Sam walked up the lawn towards him and stood in front of the mower with her hands on her hips.
‘Thought I’d get on top of it before the weekend, give it a little trim.’
‘Don’t, Danny. It doesn’t need cutting.’
‘No? I think it’s best, it will start to get a little straggly if I only get to it once a week. This way I can really focus on the sharp edges and the lines on Saturday. We’ll be able to play tennis on it by Wimbledon week at this rate.’
‘I don’t want you to cut it. Not now and not at the weekend.’
Danny seemed puzzled and looked at Sam, the grass, and back at Sam again. ‘Really? Why? What’s up, sweet pea?’
Sam still had her hands on her hips. She looked and felt combative which she knew was unfair because she’d not yet warned him that this was no longer a lawn, but a battlefield. ‘I’m going to take charge of the lawn, if that’s OK?’
Danny looked disappointed. ‘But I thought we’d decided the lawn was my thing.’
‘No,’ said Sam, shaking her head certainly. ‘You decided the lawn was your thing. I think it is my thing. Or at the very least, it is our thing. But I don’t want you to unilaterally decide to cut it. This is not a dictatorship.’
Danny laughed loudly but stopped suddenly when he saw the look of forbidding conviction on her face. He had never seen such blatant resolve in her eyes, not even in times of dire need. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘I’ve never been more serious.’
Danny gestured at the grass which had already grown a couple of centimetres since the weekend and to Danny it now looked on the brink of anarchy. ‘It needs cutting, Sam. It’s fine if you want to cut it, you’re more than capable. But I don’t want it to get unruly.’
‘I like unruly,’ said Sam, unreasonably.
‘Well, I don’t,’ said Danny, equally unreasonably.
‘I just want to let the grass grow a bit.’
‘Is this a feminist issue?’ he asked, seriously.
‘No,’ she paused. ‘This is a me issue. A Sam issue. I want to grow this grass and I want to grow some more grass.’
‘Where?’
‘In the beds. I don’t want to grow plants and flowers there; I want to grow grass. I want to make it all lawn.’
‘Oh!’ said Danny, relaxing. ‘That’s a different matter. That’s not a bad idea at all. It’s not like we’re not surrounded by the whole of nature if you want to go and find it. Turning the whole thing to lawn will make it much more manageable and we won’t have to worry about the weeds in the beds anymore. That’s actually a great idea, Sam. But if you are going to commit to this project, it’s important to keep an eye on the quality of the grass. I picked up some lawn fertiliser, it’s in the garage, I’ll go and fetch it. It will suppress the weeds that will do their very best to infiltrate, the dandelions and whatnot.’
‘I don’t want you to worry about weeds, Danny. The weeds aren’t on your desk, they’re on mine.’
‘But I’ve noticed some are already getting away. That’s one of the reasons you need to cut the grass regularly. If they get big enough to grow a flower and that goes to seed then ‘puff’ he said, mimicking an explosion with his hands. ‘Seeds dispersed everywhere with the f
irst gust of wind.’
‘You just don’t have to worry about it. You’re banned from gardening. You can come home and sit in the garden and have a glass of wine, but I don’t want you cutting, digging, pruning, spraying or anything else. I am not going to let the weeds get away. I’m on it.’
Danny hesitated. He thought about his beautiful new lawnmower and the pride he was ready to feel for the maintenance of his immaculate lawn. He would have liked to put up a fight but Sam looked so wild. He wondered whether there was something else going on that he had missed. Sam stared back at him intently. She could see the imminent capitulation in the set of his jaw before he stiffened again, realising there was another skirmish yet to be waged.
‘What about the front, the drive area? What about the weeds there?’
Sam considered this, trying to weigh up any possible consequence of a hastily agreed settlement. She pictured the front of the house and decided this was an area she could afford to concede. She nodded decisively. ‘You can have those. I won’t touch that area. You can pressure hose them to your heart’s content.’
Danny was mollified. He surveyed the garden again. The back of the house was immaculate, the gutters were clear, the paintwork still shone. The brickwork was solid. Putting the whole garden to lawn was an excellent idea. One less thing to worry about.
‘OK, you’ve got a deal. I’ll take care of the front of the house and you take care of the back. But don’t take your eye off the ball.’
Sam stepped around the lawnmower and kissed Danny noisily on his cheek. ‘I won’t. I promise. Thank you, Danny. This lawn and this garden are going to help me heal. They’re going to make me better. I’m going to grow something.’
Danny pulled Sam into his arms saying into her neck, ‘You promise you won’t let it become a nightmare out here?’
‘I promise.’
‘What about the mower? Shall I put it away?’ Danny didn’t seem ready to relinquish control altogether.
‘It’s fine. I’ll pop it back. You can go and check the front, maybe use the pressure hose or something. I’ve got this.’
Danny shrugged and wandered off towards the front of the house. She could tell from his back view that he was disappointed that she’d taken this job away from him and she felt a bit sad, she hated to hurt him. But she couldn’t really afford to let him loose with the mower. She looked at the grass, admiring the even spread of clover that had reclaimed its hold since the weekend. Above it, insects hovered busily, liking the longer evenings too. This was her garden. Her grass.
Chapter 29
Sam had wandered into the woods to find Diana and had suddenly been struck by how different everything looked. ‘Just look at this!’ said Sam, excitedly, sweeping her arms around her to take in the lush green growth underfoot. The residual autumn debris of fallen leaves, fir cones and dry or wet mud that had carpeted the woodlands since Sam had first encountered them had now been completely resurfaced with the glossy green leaves of the bluebells. To Sam, it seemed as if the transformation had happened overnight.
‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ replied Diana, proudly. ‘This is one of my favourite times of year, the rebirth and renewal of late spring. Each day is one of immense change and progress, you can’t take your eyes off it for a second for fear of missing something.’
Sam inhaled deeply. The scent in the air had changed too, there was a promise captured in its sweetness.
Diana lowered herself into a folding chair beside the fire. She looked thoughtful as she considered the bluebells-to-be. ‘It’s funny, for the many years I commuted, the bluebells were a bit of a thing for me. I’d jump on a train in the dark and I’d return in the dark too. I had very little time for anything other than the relentless business of adulthood. But I’d always try to keep my eyes open for the bluebells. I’d congratulate myself if I remembered to look and, better still, if I caught a glimpse of that uniquely ephemeral blue. I think the first time I noticed them as an adult, it must have been a very late spring as for the longest time I associated them with May and so usually I’d barely start looking until they were already nearly over. Years would pass with just one glance of the blue carpet gleaned from a train window as we rushed by.’
Sam looked closely at the green all around her. There was no evidence of blue in sight but she waited patiently, knowing Diana hadn’t yet finished.
‘And they’re still a big part of my calendar today though not always with such positive associations. The bluebells in flower are a bit of a thorn in my side. They bring out the fair-weather walkers of April and May. They flock here in their droves to take pictures of the bluebells, they marvel at nature, they “ooh” and they “aah” and they impress themselves with their ability to immerse themselves in the moment. But they’re not really immersing themselves in it, are they? All they’re doing is taking pictures with their phones as proof they were here. And, I can tell you this for nothing, I know for a fact that nobody has ever taken a decent picture of bluebells on a phone. Nothing captures the true depth of field that the bluebells create. Bluebells are a fleeting manifestation of their own elusive myth. They are like a rainbow, you can’t ever quite reach its source, as you walk towards it, it skips away from you.’
Diana looked out at the green lawn beneath the trees.
‘Now that I live in the woods, I have a very different relationship with bluebells. They appear early, those first green shoots. They push themselves up in February, giving promise that whatever the winter still has to deliver, spring will arrive and they will be here to herald it. I love that moment, their assertion. Once I used to congratulate myself if I managed one glimpse of blue in a whole year. Now I give myself a much harder challenge. It’s my job to look for the very first bluebell. Not the first handful, not the first haze of blue, not the moment before it becomes an explosion. But the very first. There’s always one, a scout sent ahead on behalf of the army that follows. And being witness to this first is being witness to the arrival of a season in one precise moment because it is solitary for only a second. Almost as you find it, you’ll then find a scattering wherever you look, as if they’d been hiding shyly, turning their heads but now you’ve found them, they will hold your gaze. And then the next moment they’re everywhere. There is a moment when they appear, the beech trees come finally into leaf – and there’s nothing greener than a beech leaf is there? – and there it is, sunlight filters through and the wood isn’t brown anymore. That’s the moment to savour because shortly afterwards they’ll be followed by the throngs of onlookers with their cameras. They lose their shine so quickly. They droop their heads, their green skirts are folded away, their colour fades, they lose their gloss and they wilt. And then they’re dead.’
Sam felt sad, grieving for the loss of her bluebells before they’d even shown their faces.
‘Don’t look so hard done by, Sam. Do you realise how lucky I am? I have prolonged my life by slowing it down to a pace at which I can actually live it. Once, that flash of blue seen from a train marked a whole year’s noticing. And you have, at best, seventy of those moments in a good lifetime if you discount your early years where all growth is rightly taken for granted. Seventy ticks on the clock’s countdown. But now, I have taken that one moment and turned it into so many moments from the first brave shoots, to the last pale, wilted death throes.’
Sam didn’t stay long, she walked home to Broome Cottage with her eyes on the green shoots all around her. She had walked in the woods daily without noticing these incremental changes and she realised she was no different to a busy commuter, charging around, attacking everything she did at pace and barely slowing down enough to watch a whole season arrive. She wondered how many more bluebell years she had and understanding she probably had fewer than others, she vowed to notice each one in the detail that Diana had described.
Chapter 30
Each morning offered a little more daylight and each morning, as soon as Danny left for work, Sam headed straight to the woods to find Diana
. She didn’t pretend to be passing or hover in the area hoping to get the timing right. Instead, she pushed the hazel boughs to one side in a decisive sweep, stepped through and took her place by the fire, in a space that she now considered her classroom.
She had been admiring some drawings in one of the leather notebooks, flicking through to find the next sketch and asking Diana for the stories behind them. Eventually she closed the notebook and said, with an envious groan, ‘You are so talented, Diana.’
Diana considered this. ‘I can draw, yes, but I’d very much like to paint. I’d like to put something beautiful into the world that came purely from within me, that nobody else had seen or dreamt.’
‘You definitely have the skills. These drawings are captivating. You make it look so easy but to distil the essence of these creatures with just a few pen strokes is such a gift.’ Sam shook her head admiringly and handed the notebook back to Diana. Diana left her seat by the fire and went in to fetch another book. She flicked through it and holding it open with her thumb, passed it carefully to Sam. The picture showed the base of some trees, the gnarled convolutions of bark depicted with swirls and whorls of brown ink and a fox peering through, staring with intensity at the artist.
‘That was here.’ Diana pointed to the base of two big beech trees close to them. Sam could recognise the trees immediately and sense the space left by the fox.
‘I was sitting here, writing my diary and it appeared – what is that – three or four metres away? No more. And I only had a few moments to capture it. I drew that in less time than it would have taken me to fetch my camera.’
Sam looked at the ink strokes on the page. ‘You’ve captured him beautifully. Watchful and sly.’
‘It’s a she. That’s the vixen. I had just finished my lunch and she came to see if there was anything interesting in the pan for her. She watched me, I drew her, and then she was gone. All within a couple of minutes.’
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