Crisis

I walk around my two-and-a-half acre garden, observing. Six months of relentless rain followed by an accidental fire in the shed has caused the death of twenty mandarin trees, as well as my precious Queensland waratah trees, once so bright and tall; I’ve had a deep connection with them ever since I moved to the property in Fountaindale thirteen years ago. They are still here, but dead. Never did I imagine the scale of such a fire, so much black smoke and fourteen fire trucks arriving. I didn’t think something like that would ever happen to me and my family.

Adding to my pain, I see that my other veggies, fruits and medicinal herbs are dwindling because of the wildlife. Locusts are working away during the day, possums and rats are devouring the produce at night. My effort in conserving the garden is not as visible as their will to destroy it.

Perhaps this crisis that I taste now is because my gorgeous son and daughter, all grown up, left for Sydney and full-time work on the same day, leaving my nest and heart suddenly empty. I wonder if my passion for growing organic food needs to come to an end, like the wick in the candle that has sadly reached the bottom. I have been lingering upon a thought for many months: maybe my husband and I should join our children in Sydney. Should I go back to my previous career that was seemingly more prosperous?

Then I think about why I chose this lifestyle in the first place. What was my vision? 

I close my eyes. Straight away I remember the grandchildren that have not yet appeared in real life. They are in the garden that I created, laughing with the kookaburra, chasing dragonflies, rolling on the green grass, munching away on scrumptious produce while asking endless hilarious questions about the plants with their sparkly eyes and inquisitive minds. 

I open my eyes and start walking again through the garden. Now I see pumpkin-sized organic grapefruits, juicy lemons, a bunch of sweet lady fingers. Purple, yellow, orange, red and pink blossoms surround me, waving with their joyful life force. 

They were always here. I just couldn’t see them before.