Eremophila’s Musings

This week in the garden, I have been blessed with my first sweetcorn of the season. Sweet, juicy and succulent. Corn fresh from the garden has a taste far removed from the lifeless forms found on supermarket shelves. I am continuing a family tradition by growing sweet corn, as each spring my father would plant corn in the home garden. As a child I would hide and play amongst the tall plants, and let my imagination run riot. The family dog and I would have deep conversations, safe from interruptions in our “forest”. Ah, the sweet simple pleasures of childhood. I feel so blessed to have grown up with such experiences, especially when I see children today living in town-houses, with no patch of dirt let alone their own “forest ” to play in. Or living in carefully manicured so-called “gardens” where there is no chance for the imagination to escape from the confines of a conditioned mind.

This morning while I was tending the garden, I saw my young cat, a “teenager” in our terms, gazing up at the gum tree nearby. I checked to see if there was something unusual in the tree, but no, it seemed not. Mickey proceeded to climb the tree, more like a possum than a cat, so agile is he, until he’d reached a goodly height. Then he turned around and came back down again. The considered manner he displayed had my full attention. It appeared that he climbed the tree, just because it was there, and he could. No reason, simply playing.

Mickey also loves to play in the corn patch, and it reminds me to create places of play, as this new garden of mine unfolds. Places where children of all ages can let their imaginations run freely, where they can create their heart’s desire. Playfully.