Where there's a will...

There's nothing quite like pain to impede one's progress.

When we came to Charlotte Vale Farm 11 months ago I had two kinds of agonising arthritis in my hands as well as carpal tunnel syndrome (at least, that's what the doctor's diagnosed, but I am not left handed and that is where it hurt most of all). I put it all down to the stress of moving house almost single handed. After surgery in May I felt I had been given my life back. I could live with the niggling pains in my hip as long as I could get out and do some weeding.  I abandoned myself to my sewing and knitting, spinning and weaving throughout the winter. Then, one icy morning, I slipped as I was cleaning my windscreen. It felt like a shotgun blast through my left leg.

 My eager gait was reduced to a shuffle. The ten mile walker was reduced to 100 yards of maximum mobility. When I tried to use a walking stick, the arthritis moved into my right hand, elbow and shoulder. I felt officially old.  And so spring came, and I could not get into the garden. I am waiting for more surgery. 

Right up until this week I was blaming myself entirely for this trouble and folly. After all, I had intended to buy a small house in town, on the flat, with minimal garden and cleaning. After all, I've had arthritis since I was 23 and it has not shown any signs of going away in almost 40 years. Why did I go looking for the haven of green and peace?

This week all my garden dreams seemed to be evaporating rapidly. Evaporating is a significant word

• We have no water and it has not rained since the second week of May.
• I have no strength in my right hand for weeding and mattocking, and no strength in my left leg or hips for getting around the garden
• I seem to have spent the money I had and it has become an issue again because there are two kids living in the house now, and their school books and excursions usually cost a nice round hundred dollars apiece.

It feels like coming up against a brick wall....but I have to remember that the walls around our place are very beautiful and they have withstood the testing of time.Whenever I think about something as paltry as cash I recall the words of Lyndal on a shopping excursion in search of great fibres: "No matter how extravagant it seems, I always remind myself that I have not gone broke yet." Lyndal passed away earlier this year, still full of abundance and hope.

Hope is also characteristic of Linda, my lovely gardener. When we had time for a cuppa this week I felt apologetic for my own lack of industry, lack of resources, and even the lack of water.What could I possibly do in the garden without strength, money and water?

I want to build a small herbarium with flat stones leading to the still unfinished goose house where six goslings and their parents squark daily demanding their liberty.  They must remain locked up until the fencer, Roo,  returns...when my bank balance looks better....once I have paid for the next insurance "gaps" in surgery costs...maybe after Christmas. But Linda has a great can-do attitude. Linda's answer is to do what we can, with the stones we have, the plants that are over- abundant in the garden, gifts from other gardens and little indulgences from the nursery. Things that I did not dare to ask her to do, such as digging and carting, she is keen to undertake. Even carting ten tonnes of gifted horse manure is on her radar.

We are going to boldly map out the herb garden and path to the goose house, and get on with it.

The people who built this garden originally did it without resources. Water was always scarce. The roses were given a rare cupful of moisture. Plants were hard to source so far from town, and they grafted their own trees. The periwinkle was probably introduced a hundred years ago, along with the hardy iris in a dozen lovely colours. So I remind myself that gardening is often a gift for posterity.

To be honest, even if I had water and cash,  I would not call in the landscapers and truckloads of trendy ornamentals from the nursery. Gardening is about the elements and our own resilience. It is about gifts and surprises from nature. I am thinking more seriously about the kind of garden that is sustainable for a lady of advancing years who lives in the Australian bush, and not in England's green and wetter land.