The seed of thought was first sown in my mind when I caught her singing, yes singing, to a pot of campanula while stroking the leaves. She jumped when she saw me, and then smiled and carried on, making her way from one plant pot to another in our sun lounge. The process is now repeated several times a week.
Her Granny then bought her a miniature gardening kit for Easter, which she didn’t pay much attention to until we got home. I put it away in her bedroom, and the following morning, realising things had gone Very Quiet, I discovered she had extracted the watering can and fork from the kit, and was in the sun lounge pretending to water the flowers. While singing.
Now she insists on wearing her Wellington’s while doing it (pictured). I can’t imagine where she made the connection: CBeebie’s Mr Bloom’s Nursery presumably.
Either way, what a fulfilling vocation. And therapeutic. I will give this hobby my full backing, although the long term career prospects worry me. Does gardening pay? What are the hours? Do gardeners get lonely? And what about the toll on one’s face and hands?
Of course I could have got it all wrong. She could be channelling her inner tree hugger instead. I guess only time will tell…