Today I was helping my Gran move in to her new house. In their mid-70s, my grandparents are downsizing significantly & have had to wade through years of sentimentality as they practically packed as few boxes as possible.
After spending most of their lives in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe, this 1 bedroom Kenilworth semi with not an inch of grass is quite something to make sense of I’m sure. We cheerfully walked the length of the paved outdoor strip; musing about how lovely the pot plants & window boxes will look once they’re in. How easy it will be to grow veggies in a pile of old tyres.
Her daughter gave me a love for window boxes & even when I have garden space there’s something about cheerful faces right at the edge of the room I can’t get enough of. My dear Gran passed many useful & precious things down to me as she moved, & today I’ve been going through some old papers. I came across a poem that made me smile happy tears. Her young daughter’s love for window boxes from 40 years ago.