Back in autumn I had a vision, sparked by memories from my childhood. I recalled that my parents used to grow sweet peas and we’d often have a vase of sweet peas in the house during spring. I have have retained a great fondness for them since that time. I had the idea that I would re-create that fond memory and grow a batch of sweet peas myself. I imagined a vase of brightly coloured sweet peas on my mother’s old dining table, which now lives at our place.
I also remembered that my mother used to have a kitchen garden, where she always had a good crop of mint, chives and perhaps parsley. If a recipe called for mint we’d just pick what we needed from the garden, rather than paying $2 for a bunch of mint from the greengrocer and throwing 3/4 of it away.
So I set up a chicken wire trellis and planted the sweet pea seeds, and I bought a nice healthy pot of mint and planted it outside the back door.
I now realise that project was doomed from the start. It’s now well into spring and this is what the thirteen sweet pea seeds have become:
Pathetic, isn’t it? And the once-healthy mint has been eaten and doesn’t look like it will provide enough leaf for my dinner plate for a long time, if ever. I suspect that my mother’s garden productivity was actually due to lots of continuous work, done quietly by my father.
So I ripped out the sweet peas and mint and tore down the chicken wire trellis, so I wouldn’t be constantly reminded of my foolishness.