When Someone Else Reaps What You Sow

About eighteen months ago, the Man decided to rip out the rather nasty, weed-like plants the council had abandoned in the nature strip outside our house about twenty years ago, and turn it into a herb garden. He thought about it for a while, then got to work, pulling out plants, shovelling, and adding quality soil in to fertilize it. I helped, pulling out weeds here and there and generally not being terribly effective. Gardening is hard, physical labour! I don’t know why I always used to think of it as a genteel, retirement hobby for floral skirt-wearing older women. Our garden was a job fit for Arnie himself!

So, the Man churned up all the soil, replenished it, then lovingly replanted it with herb plants bought from the local market. Most of them grew very well. We’d harvest them ourselves, and he often urged the neighbours to take cuttings for their cooking too. Our next-door neighbours on one side took a particularly keen interest, watering it as well as buying the Man new plants. He had this idea that it would become a community venture, and hoped it would encourage other gardeners to do the same to their nature strips. He fantasized about our street becoming known for its splendorous flowerbeds! He dreamed of the council closing off our road to cars; children would once again play in the streets and all the neighbours would know each other and leave their houses unlocked (note to self: must stop the Man reading those Jehovah’s Witnesses pamphlets!)

This winter, the Man decided to grow tulips, to make the garden extra special this spring. He bought a load of bulbs and kept them in the fridge for weeks. Despite a couple of near misses, they escaped being fried with sausages (you’ll know what I mean if you’ve ever shared your fridge’s vegetable drawer with tulip bulbs) and a few weeks ago, he planted them.

The tulips have been flowering in fits and starts. The first to blossom was a lone red one. It opened in solitary splendour and we complimented it every time we stepped out of the house. One Saturday morning, we came back from grocery shopping in Chinatown, and I admired it as I carried the groceries into the house. Ten minutes later, it was gone. Now, the Man is a cynic, and ever since he bought the bulbs he’d been saying that he thought people would steal them. But still, you could see he was upset.

I don’t take decisive action very often, but I couldn’t stand to see him so crestfallen and disappointed. So I ran down the street to see if I could see anyone carrying the tulip. Sure enough, in about thirty seconds I’d spotted a small boy wandering down the street, a red flower bobbing from his hand. I approached him and said, “Excuse me, did you pick our tulip?” He said he’d found it on the ground by our house. Now obviously, he’d picked it, but I didn’t contradict him. I just explained that the Man had put a lot of effort into the flowers and was very sad that his tulip had gone, and could I give it to him so he wouldn’t be so sad? The boy said yes, handed it over, and I thanked him. When I told the Man, he wasn’t upset any more. It’s hard to be angry with a young child for picking a bright red flower – even the Man’s hatred of humanity doesn’t extend that far! – and I hope that I handled the situation so that the child will understand why you shouldn’t pick flowers. So far, so good.

A few days ago, three more flowers came through: two red ones opened and a mauve bud poked out. It seemed that the promise of a colourful garden was going to come true! But this morning I opened the front door to find that all three had disappeared. All the colour was gone, and when I looked more closely I saw the rocket plant had been cut down near the roots.

The Man told me that a couple of days ago, he saw the local mad bag lady cut the entire rocket plant with a pair of scissors. He wishes now that he’d come out of the house and said something. This morning there were footprints all over the garden, and he reckons it she came and ripped out the tulips last night when he was watching the television. She has also taken the coriander plant. There are still tulip plants in the garden, nowhere near flowering, and he believes that she’ll be back for them as soon as they show.

I can’t adequately describe how I felt to see his disappointment and sadness this morning. He’s put so much love into the garden. He so enjoys having conversations about the garden with passers-by, and teaching the neighbours’ toddler about all the plants. I’m so angry that this has happened. He’s talking about uprooting the remaining tulip plants and putting them in pots indoors. I mean, he’s going to have to move them now. He can’t leave them out there to be harvested by that mad old woman.

Of course, it might not have been her, but I believe you should trust your instincts on these things. And maybe I shouldn’t malign the weak minded, but in my opinion, there’s loveably loopy and there’s just plain loopy. I don’t care how senile she is, she’s a selfish bitch to have ruined the Man’s flower garden, and I hope something really horrible happens to her. Why is it you can’t do anything nice in public spaces? This is why people get the mentality of locking their valuables away behind closed doors and distrusting their neighbours.