Frog Watch

After yesterday’s blog post about a snail, I feel the need to prove that I can keep up with faster subjects, too! Yes, I do appreciate the slower half of wildlife. I am however, also always intrigued by the fast and furious. Okay, so perhaps not so much about the furious. At least not in

Perfection on a Tuesday

There’s not much left to say when one comes face to face with perfection. This morning, in warmest, most delicate April sunlight, the alchemilla leaves in my garden displayed their morning dew harvest in such an exquisite way that it left me speechless. Completely and utterly speechless. For a bit. You, lovely reader, you know

April Abend

A picture from my evening walk. My home town, currently framed by bright-yellow flowering rapeseed fields all the way to the woods. Ah, April. I’m looking at evening from many different angles here. My dad certainly a good few steps closer. Still, there’s life, there’s beauty, and these in-between stages sometimes the most precious. Yesterday,

Slow

We’re almost at the end of our first week here in Germany with my dad and I have fully arrived in the slow lane. I struggle with the concept of slow. No. It’s more than that. I struggle to even say the word ‘slow’ the way it should be said. Slowly, of course. In German,

Blooming

I’m back in Germany, back in the house I grew up in. I’m here to spend time with my dad. Again. Dad watch. Always surprising. He’s not well. And yet, as soon as he leaves his care home, as soon as he wanders into his garden, he seems to forget that he’s terminally ill. At

Ghosts of Summer Past

Tomorrow night, we’ll fly back to Scotland, so of course our mood has taken a slightly melancholy turn. After two weeks with my dad in Germany, we’re nearing the time to say goodbye – and we’re all pretty rubbish at it. Abschied, not my forte. We are pottering, keeping busy, pretending that this is just

The secret of the universe

Some things can’t be written down in the moment of experience. They require time to settle. Percolate. Perhaps even fester. ‘Rest’ is not a synonym for doing nothing. Anyone who’s ever owned a compost bin will testify to that. You may notice, that I’m easing you in here. I’ve got a personal moment that I

Precision pruning

Here’s the thing: I do like a bit of chaos. I also enjoy order. There appears to be a slight problem in the timing of both. Minor detail… but my life has a tendency of going pear shaped, whenever I’d much rather prefer neat and tidy days, straight lines and a clear direction. And then,

Greenery

Three things green from my dad’s garden. One: An apple tree, the perfect surrounding for yet another one of the beautiful bird houses my dad used to make in his cellar during the winter months. Two: Grapes, still green, from a vine as old as the house – yes, over a hundred years old, and

Remains, or: What the fig?

My dad is and always will be a gardener. His life’s work, his garden, the place he planned, cut, pruned, created over the course of six decades, now a bit of a ghost. My dad lives in a care home and really only gets to spend any decent amount of time in his garden when