It was such a lovely sunny day and we arrived at the churchyard with all the flowers and trowels and spades along with lots of other people all doing the same thing. Quietly and discretely planting and tidying up. When I went to get the water there was a whole queue of us and we started to chat and swap information. Someone had been to school with one of my aunts, another remembered my dad in the playground throwing ink pellets at the girls.
If my dad had been there he would have been prodding me in the back and saying, "come on Angie,
get on with your knitting, cut the cackle, you''ve got lots to do, children to feed, work to be done." When we had finished it looked very pretty, just right, natural and casual but brightening up the place.
As we moved away in my heart I heard, we loved you very, very much, we missed you so much, you were a great daughter. But do cut the cackle...
Here is a lovely poem that tells us about the healing power of gardening and nature.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
All my hurts
My garden spade can heal. A woodland walk,
A quest of river grapes, a mocking thrush,
A wild rose, a rock-loving columbine,
Salve my worst wounds.