These were the wild flowers at my gate.
I cheated! I scattered the seeds myself, and it took quite some effort to prepare the soil!
The bright orange flowers are the clowns perhaps, but all made a cheerful welcome to visitors.
Thaddeus was a little sad. Sort of. He’d always, since his early twenties, wanted to own a little cottage with an orchard.
He’d worked hard all his life, but with the price of things – the rent, the groceries, his old car always breaking down – he’d never managed to save enough to get a mortgage for a house. He’d never married, but he wished he’d found that other someone. Sort of.
How he loved, when driving around, to see homes as he passed. That one has an orchard! That one has a lovely vegetable garden! Oh the flowers! How pretty is that old gnarled weeping elm! Look at the garden path with its rose covered gate! That house there’s for sale!
How did the people all have homes like that? How did they get the money? He couldn’t have worked harder if he’d tried. He couldn’t have saved more if he’d tried. He couldn’t have done any better than he did.
And now he was old. These days he was on the pension. Even if he had the money there wouldn’t be the time to see things grow. A mature orchard he had planted would never be his. A lily collection! A herb garden to defy belief! An old gnarled weeping elm! A dove cote!
These days, as he drove passed other’s homes, the hope had gone. Thaddeus was a little sad. Sort of.
Chantelle had a whole bank of convallaria majalis. It could be seen from the road, and it was frequently admired by people passing by, especially the smell. Of course, convallaria majalis’s season is quite short, but nonetheless, Chantelle thought their beauty outweighed the shortness of the season.
“Why don’t you have pericallis cruenta on the bank instead?” said Chantelle’s friend, Maxima. “Their season is longer, and they are more colourful.”
Maxima belonged to the same Garden Society as Chantelle and was an expert at growing dicentra spectabilis. There was nothing that Maxima didn’t know about propagating dicentra spectabilis.
“No, I’m happy with the convallaria majalis,” said Chantelle. “Besides, Angelina specialises in pericallis cruenta. I don’t want to be a copycat.”
Thus, Chantelle had convallaria majalis, Angelina had pericallis cruenta, and Maxima had dicentra spectabilis.
One day Jane applied to join the club. She grew Iceland poppies. “You mean papaver nudicaule, darling,” guffawed Maxima. Chantelle and Angelina giggled behind their hands.
Clearly Jane was not ready to join the Garden Society.
In the long run, Jane was rather pleased.