How things are

This is how things are, really.

For months, I’ve found it hard to write because of what was not being said, not being acknowledged, which made it awkward to talk cheerfully of anything else. So I sat down and wrote an honest account of what had happened in our lives in the past year. It read like a catalogue of misery.

So I left it in draft form, and had a good look at myself and where we are right now, and it seemed as though things were looking up, the misery declining. So here goes.

The Gardener loves it here. He’s happy in the cottage, doesn’t notice the brown carpets and magnolia walls, enjoys transforming the garden little by little. He enjoys the friendly-but-not-over-friendly encounters with neighbours, and everyone’s willingness to help if asked. He thinks long term, aided by the planting of trees and shrubs, and hopes that I can do the same.

I have been less settled. After 11 months, I find I still don’t like the cottage much, finding it sprawling and inconvenient without enough storage, and I cordially detest the (practical and mud-friendly) brown carpet everywhere and the light-sapping magnolia walls. All new, therefore wasteful and expensive to replace. The low ceilings downstairs feel oppressive to me, and require more thought and attention to be given to improving the lighting. Too much of my furniture is brown and takes up too much space, and there are days when I feel like a constant moaner – not a self-image I particularly relish.

I have plans, of course, to change some of these irritants, painting some of the downstairs rooms white and replacing the duller floor covering with more fresh and cheerful vinyl flooring (bathroom and gloomy hall already done), and this has helped, with more to be done, and – as ever – with much decluttering required. I know I am never happier in my home than when making it calm and serene in atmosphere, and have set this as my winter project.

I know that underlying all this dissatisfaction has been my loss of my former home, no, not the rented annexe to the manor, but my beloved Tobias Cottage. It has been incredibly difficult to let it go, and I have had a prolonged period of delayed grieving that took me by surprise. I’ve found it hard to apply the same interest and sense of a worthwhile project to transforming this cottage, but as The Gardener pointed out a while ago, in this state of mind, I would probably have been miserable wherever I lived, and I think he was right, if a trifle brutal! But slowly, carefully, I am letting Tobias Cottage become a happy memory, not a loss, and looking instead at my life as it is today. Here and Now, Here and Now.

Tobias Cottage

But it isn’t all about me and my cottage. We are aware that we have had a very challenging two years together. Cancer, death of our landlady, sudden move to a new home. But this year in particular has been hard.

The Gardener was diagnosed last year with Parkinson’s disease. There now, I’ve said it: Parkinson’s, that common but cruel and unpredictable disease that has struck my fit strong partner, who was already coping with a chronic back condition. It’s a life-changing diagnosis, and no matter how positively you look at it, how optimistically you project its timeline and hope it will progress very slowly, it does not usually augur or end well, particularly just now when all services and support seem to have been withdrawn because of the pandemic.

It felt to me like a massive catastrophe, and my feelings of shock and hopelessness (behind as brave a face as I could muster) took a long time to subside. We had to re-evaluate our priorities and our own roles, and The Gardener had decisions to make about treatment options. Because of the pandemic, everything that could have assisted us moved at a snail’s pace, and we felt very alone.

The Gardener maintains a much more positive attitude; he has never been one to worry about what might happen, and is a natural problem solver when problems do arise. Catastrophe is not in his way of looking at life; if it did happen, he would find a way of dealing with it. I have always relied on him for this.

We had a few turbulent months, struggling with the long-term implications of his diagnosis. But recently, our initial fright passing and our pleasure in living in a rather unique place returning, things are changing and yes, feeling more hopeful.

The garden has proved a blessing to us both in recent months, giving us much rewarding activity and a place to stop and rest; it enables us to look forward more positively to the coming years. Throughout the warmer days of summer, I attached myself emotionally to the garden, and the cottage became easier to live in.

Day 1 in our new home Jan. 2021

We came here in January, when it was bare and rather bleak, and have set about making it interesting and attractive. Aiming for a cottage garden look, but with enough lawn to spend time sitting outside, we planted a mixed native hedge to hide the car park, grew hollyhocks and wild flowers from seed, transplanted roses and other shrubs from our pots. Our little trees are thriving, the beds have been enlarged (thank you, neighbouring farmer who came with a mini-digger to help turn over the stony compacted soil!) and we have planted many many Spring bulbs.

It is my first-ever proper garden with lawn, and I can understand that it may take years to make it as we would like. No instant gratification as with potted plants, just preparation, planning, planting, and oh so much weeding and mowing! Each young tree is a commitment to our future; I can’t think about impulsively moving when the young trees we have chosen and lovingly planted are just head-high.

We are surrounded by trees and fields, with sheep and horses, pheasants and many birds. The cats and the dog love it all.

Our first summer 2021

The hollyhocks aim for the sky

Friends and family visited throughout the hot summer, sharing meals at our rather haphazard garden furniture arrangement, relaxing and watching our many birds that visit the feeders, and we settled almost imperceptibly into this odd little hamlet of 100-or-so residents.

Fully vaccinated and boosted, we have stayed well so far, benefitting by life in a tiny secluded place where we do not run the same risks of infection as city dwellers. We have regular contact with our families in London, and joyous visits from them to us, where our grandson, now 6, can run free. The Gardener’s beloved daughters have returned from their travels and are often in contact. We have lovely neighbours and some new friends; we live in beautiful countryside, our pets are healthy, if ageing, and in comparison with so many other people, our troubles are bearable.

There is much to be positive about. I count my blessings, and I see signs of hope.