How does my garden grow?

It grows steadily in my absence

The distance isn’t great. 150 metres. Perhaps a little more. The path is clear, the spring light hazy, life giving. Both crutches forward. Good leg next. Bad leg after. Repeat as needed. Great tits, robins, blue tits, magpies above. The unexpected honk of a Canada goose on the wing. Muscari emerging from the base of stone walls. The first of the tulips. Gone over crocuses. Narcissi reaching for a currently invisible sun.

Focus is needed here. Distraction is the cause of this current malaise, after all. Both crutches forward. Good leg next. Bad leg after. A brief chat with a neighbour. Broken leg. Padley Gorge. Two places. Tibial nail. Out the next day. No cast. A lot of pain. A crutch in the air to say goodbye.

And here I am at last. The corner of the street. Where Strelley Road meets Abbey Lane. The 76 bus. The occasional dogwalker. The Peak District beyond the avenue of trees heading south. Breathe it in. Breathe it out. Head home.

The walk back is slightly uphill. The throb around the surgery site greater with each pace. My fibula fracture, left to its own devices, feels a little crunchy today too. There is the magic of coffee and codeine waiting for me indoors.

First though, a more natural remedy. In the 10 days since breaking my leg, my front garden appears little changed, perhaps rather sorry for itself. The coldframe has gone from the raised bed, a victim of the gusty winds which streaked across South Yorkshire last week. A dead reed lies on the surface of the pond. Yet I know better.

Reaching for the sun, March 2026 © Joe Minihane

The hazel bushes I planted last year are slowly unfurling their late catkins, the female’s red flowers emerging too. The syringa is readying itself, buds primed. The salvia won’t be far off either. New daffodils emerge along the bed that runs in an L shape along the garden’s southern and western edges. Alongside them seedlings too, the first sightings of the cornflowers, marigolds and harebells I scattered a week before I wound up in hospital.

There are weeds to clear. The raised bed requires some early lettuce. There are marginals I want to plant around the water to attract more insects. But as I have learned in these past days, nothing can be rushed and plans can be easily torn asunder.

The ache is more noticeable now, painful even. I am trying to limit the number of high strength pills I take, for no other reason than my ADHD and anxiety lead me to believe I shall become a hopeless addict if I don’t. But I need them now and indoors is calling. The garden shall continue to grow in my absence. The annoyance of not being out at all hours shall subside. It will still be there when I can walk properly again.

In the meantime, I will redouble my efforts. A few metres further tomorrow. Maybe the local coffee shop next week. And on my return, more plants, more growth and more hope to go with it.