From a distance, my parents' backyard (foreground only) looks like this. It's there where the tallest betel nut trees grow. Because of the trees, no fence can be seen. Beyond my mother's garden is my aunt's, and beyond that, is the public area.
This is my childhood garden, where guavas, mangoes and passion- fruit ruled. Or according to the season, plums and peaches, Indian blackberry, grapes, pears, pomegranates and pomelos. Somehow, the sweet scent of summer fruits waft into my memory. Endearing images of my siblings, all five of them as children, are intricately linked to my many garden-associated memories. The bottom of the garden has this spring water on its tireless journey to the lake. As children we would follow its path right from the hilltop where it gurgled and rushed on its downhill journey. In winter it's just a trickle. I've always loved this view at the bottom of the garden. Although the pond isn't ours, in photographs, it looks as if it's part of the garden. But in reality, it's across the small road and belongs to a neighbour. When you think about the most useful plant it's the bamboo which comes to mind. In our parts it's indispensable. Bananas and betel nuts seem to be everywhere. Another view. The backyard is roughly about half an acre. The area has undergone some changes. Some fruit trees have been cut and some have been severely pruned as the lush growth impeded the growth of smaller plants. Caught this common yellow butterfly on a mustard bloom. The bean vine goes on and on and on. A few tomatoes are ready for the picking. There are just a few flowers blooming now. These roses added a splash of colour to a drab front-yard.
I hope you've enjoyed going through these photos. My love and respect for plants started here. I've always felt that my mother's connection to soil went beyond a gardener's relationship. And in my small plot, I carry on this legacy of love, for garden soil.
Glory be to God for dappled things- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. Gerard Manley Hopkins
The first flowering shrub I planted on our land
Every flower is a soul blooming in Nature.-Gerard De Nerval
Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself? -Henry David Thoreau