2591. Old Mrs Handisides’ garden

Old Mrs Handisides (Hannah to her friends although her real name was Allison) lived alone in a little cottage surrounded by what was once a cottage garden and now was a substantial plot of weeds. Once, a few years back, she had made an effort to do something with the garden, but she was not a gardener by nature. She had known a farmer up the road who let her collect buckets of cow manure which she spread on the garden. All that succeeded in doing was to propagate species of weeds that weren’t there before.

Mind you, having an unkempt plot of land didn’t stick out a mile in the neighbourhood. Most of those with some sort of lawn and garden space around their house had let things go more than a little bit. In fact, the street had quite a reputation.

Young Ocean McDonald lived with her parents next door to Old Mrs Handisides. She was all of twelve and interested in gardening. Unfortunately her parents had no garden whatsoever. Ocean McDonald visited Old Mrs Handisides and asked if she could have a little garden – on her side of the house – so they could see it from where they lived.

Old Mrs Handisides was delighted. “You can have as much garden as you like. And I’ll get you some pretty flowering plants you can use.”

“My father has already got me some flowers as well,” said Ocean. “So it’s all go.”

Within weeks the side garden was a picture. Ocean spread to the front of the house; and to the back of the house. It was a veritable symphony of colour! People would stop in the street and say WOW!  Sometimes Ocean McDonald’s father would come over and give his daughter a hand. He seemed as keen about gardening as his daughter. That was when the police came and arrested Old Mrs. Handisides for growing marijuana and opium poppies in her flower beds.

1899. Digital poppies

Yvette came up with a brilliant plan, although it may not have been as brilliant as one might like to think. She had come across a website that listed the fallen dead in various wars. If you clicked on a button on the page dedicated to each fallen soldier, you could leave a digital poppy.

Yvette chose the First World War. Some soldiers had a single poppy left, others had several poppies. One or two, here and there, had dozens of poppies. Most soldiers however had none. These soldiers had been forgotten. There was no one left who remembered them; no one to be grateful specifically to them for their sacrifice. Yvette knew exactly what she was going to do.

Methodically, because she was a careful and methodical person, she would make her way through the pages dedicated to the fallen soldiers of the First World War. If they had no poppy she would click on the button to show that the world still cared.

It was early August. If she hurried she could give each a poppy by the 11th of November; that was Remembrance Day, also known as Armistice Day. Oh, but there were millions of names! Yvette quickly discovered that there were too many for her to say “Thank you” to.

“This year,” thought Yvette, “I shall simply do those whose family name starts with an A. Next year I’ll do the B’s.

Remembrance Day came and went. She was nowhere near finished; not even halfway through. Not even a quarter. “I know,” thought Yvette, “I’ll get it done by Christmas!”

Christmas came and went. “I know,” thought Yvette, “I’ll get it done by New Year!” New Year came! Would you believe! Yvette had finished the As! She finished at 11 o’clock on New Year’s Eve!

Midnight came. It was the New Year. The computer program deleted all the poppies left in the past year. This was a New Year. The leaving of poppies would start from scratch.

1723. Roadside poppies

Certainly one couldn’t be too critical of the way the local Regional Council spent money to improve the lot of its residents. The neatness of back-country rural roads and facilities was indeed something to be proud of.

Julia’s little house in the hinterland was next to a road. It didn’t matter greatly because only half a dozen or so vehicles would pass by each day. On the opposite side of the road was a bank that had a few self-grown ferns and various weeds. Julia set out to make it a picture!

Her garden poppies had flowered profusely and there were literally hundreds of seed pods with thousands of tiny poppy seeds. She would collect them and scatter them onto the bank. When next spring came around there would be a feast of bright red poppies. One would hope that the sudden beauty of such a vision wouldn’t distract a vehicle driver and cause an accident!

Spring arrived! And indeed there were thousands of poppy plants all in bud. It was going to be a picture! A marvel! A wonder!

That was when the local Regional Council came along and sprayed the weeds.

1684. At least the parson’s sermon was short

My dear brothers and sisters. Let me tell you a story; a fable with a profound message.

A woman called Esmay once sowed a whole garden with bright red poppy seeds. It was her way of remembering her late brother who was killed in the war.

“When they are in flower on his anniversary it will be as if heaven is looking down, and saying all is well!”

But they didn’t flower for his anniversary. They hadn’t even given a thought to sprouting a bud for the occasion. They burst into flower several months later. Esmay couldn’t bear to look at them. Basically they were weeds. She pulled them out and planted some carrots instead. It was the wrong time of the year to plant carrots (or potatoes for that matter) and so they came to nothing. She should have planted something like Swiss chard or even some heat tolerant spinach.

So, my dear brethren, as we reflect upon this story let us remember that our Divine Lord choose fishermen to be his apostles. Well, some of them anyway. And we should love everybody. And there’s global warming. Remember that too.

In conclusion may I add that it’s incomprehensible to me as to why so few people come to church these days?

Amen.