06 January 2013 by Sarah Tevendale
I went into the garden for the first time in ages today. After all the nastiness with the builder and landscaper, the builder virtually doubling the price and the landscaper lying to support the builder, I haven’t wanted to go near the garden or look after it.
K has argued that I should keep the anger I have about what was done to us separate from the garden (which was what the builder and landscaper worked on) and that I should reclaim the garden as the built monument to my dad and as a place of enjoyment. I know, on an intellectual level that he’s right, but on a visceral level, I just can’t do it. I’m so angry, with no outlet, and until the balance has been redressed and both parties have had what they gave out threefold, it’s a challenge to make the separation. I suppose that rather shows me up as an unevolved troglodyte, but I don’t care.
I had ordered some bulbs way before the court case and they either had to go into the ground or I had to accept I’d effectively burned a whole lot of money, as there were quite a few. The plan had been to move some debris and put in swathes of purple and lilac coloured tulips and then fill in with other plants as the fancy took me. The intended spot was the end of the long flower bed where the landscaper had left in a heap of stones, some the lovely buttery yellow stone that’s full of fossils from around here, and rubbish, like a broken spade handle and other rubble.
Earlier in the year, we had moved a lot of the stone to a corner to create a new Toad Hall where our resident amphibians could over-winter and also to give them a place to shelter from the cats, but we were still left with a great big pile of stone. One of our neighbours has taken some of the excess stone for a wall restoration and the remainder is sitting on top of the wall waiting for him to take it. K moved the remaining stone from the flowerbed and we rescued some day lilies that had been shoved in a corner and stones piled on them. K planted some of the bulbs and I did some tidying up and cutting back of manky old foliage, before we got too puffed out and gave up. I suppose we shall plant the rest of the bulbs next weekend, though now the stones have gone, I shall be able to do bits on my own, thanks to K’s efforts.
The worst part is that i feel so conflicted – I want to look after the garden and as soon as I start thinking about it, I can’t help but plan flowers for the coming year, and on another level, I’d like to bow the whole thing up with dynamite and never have to see it again. Actually, I’d prefer to blow up the builder and the landscaper, but I know I must let Karma do its thing and that’s where the problem lies. I’ve never been terribly good at sitting back and waiting for things to happen, or for the universe to do its worst; I’d far rather give it a helping hand… only I can’t. So, here I am, feeling torn about the thing which as meant to give me pleasure, commemorate my wonderful father and be a place of solace. Is dynamite good for smudging…?