My Dad was not a gardener. Valiantly he went through the motions, mowing the scrappy lawn, growing a few tomatoes, hacking back every now and then. His favourite job was leaning on his spade whilst laughing and joking with the passers-by. On one occasion he thought he would try to grow mushrooms. After getting an appropriate book out of the library it was soon decided that it was far too complicated and much easier to pop across the road to the Spar. That was my Dad, all or nothing.
After he was taken devastatingly ill, suddenly and unfairly, I wandered up to the greenhouse at the top of the garden. Previously I had believed this ramshackle self-build was for newspaper reading and escaping non-specific stuff. Much to my great surprise, languishing atop the bench in a plethora of pots, were hundreds and hundreds of marigold seedlings. Earlier that month my Mum had mentioned that she rather liked marigolds. He must have sown the whole jumbo bag in one go. That was my Dad. All or nothing. For his Peggy. For hours I stood and pricked these little love tokens out into pots, most probably weeping, clinging to the fact that somehow I was helping. Just keeping things ticking over. In denial of the fact that he would never come home again to plant these treasures in the garden.
My Dad was not a singer. This fact never held him back, in fact it underlined his resolve. He loved to sing loud and he loved to sing hard. All or nothing. Today, would have been his birthday. To mark this occasion I am having my first singing lesson. I am going to sing loud and I am going to sing hard. I shall give it my all.
Off The Edge Gardening 
Beautiful.
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A lovely, heartfelt post and a wonderful picture. xx
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Not the usual tears of laughter, but the real tears of feeling. You’ve done it again Gill ….all or nothing x
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Thanks Sue x
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Dad’s are Dad’s and if you love them you will always miss them when they are gone. My Dad is so old and frail and disabled and I hate to see him like this when he was such a tall, dark, handsome and energetic man in his younger days. I will miss him so much when he is no longer around. But, he still has a sense of humour and an appreciation of life and beauty and music, and he would encourage you in your singing lessons like he used to encourage me to play the violin when younger – much as it drove my mum mad! Have a good sing!
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Singing is always,always good and lessons ,as you think of your dad ,will do wonders for the spirit.
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And it did!
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Go for it Gill x
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Oh my that hit home! I’m about to break into my Dad’s art supplies for egg decorating. He’d have loved the idea of me attempting craftiness, Hope your dinging lesson was fantastic.
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It was amazing, I am sure my Dad would have been proud that I had a go, I am positive yours would too. x
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singing!!! argh.
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I knew what you meant x
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Tears to my eyes ;;; Hope you had a good singing lesson!
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Thank you, it was brilliant. Shall I tell you a secret? I cried a little and felt a bit embarrassed. Teach told me it was OK, which made me feel better. I am such a woss!
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I hope the singing helps – and go on enjoying the marigolds in his memory
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I will, thank you.
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You and your Dad touched my heart Gill. He was obviously a well-loved and well loving man. Sing loud and strong Gill, I know he will hear.
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He was both of those things. I am sure he did hear x
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Wonderful post – so poignant. A lovely tribute to a well loved man.
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Thank you for sharing this. It reminds me of how I tried to take care of my aunt’s garden when she died. She was a gardener, I was not and I really did not have any positive impact at the time. However I have become a gardener and I have many plants that remind me of her.
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Lovely story, thanks Jem.
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Lovely story Gill, keep singing and maybe see you down at the CB one day.
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Thank Bob, hope to see you soon x
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