Sunflowers

Grumble, grumble… Rhys was at it again.  Gwyneth left him to it and went to fill up the bird feeder.  It was early May and she gave them the last of the peanuts.  Shaking the bag out she noticed some of the wild birdseed left in the bottom of the box.  She would finish it up.  Pouring it out into a jug she noticed some large black and white seeds mixed in. 

‘I think these are sunflower seeds.  I’m going to plant them and see if they grow.’ 

Pleased at her find she bustled about getting some plant pots and compost.  The sun was shining through the window and it lifted her mood.  If only Rhys would cheer up a bit.  Since his redundancy he had not worked and was becoming more and more depressed.  She encouraged him to work in the garden but he had argued,  

‘What’s the point?  The slugs and snails will get everything.’‘Well we could put some pellets down.’‘I don’t like using them, the dog or the neighbour’s cats might eat them.’ 

She gave up at such a defeatist attitude.  He had a point but surely they could put in a few rows of potatoes and other vegetables.   

Later he asked what was in the pots on the windowsill. 

‘Sunflower seeds, I found them in the bird seed mix.’‘What makes you think they’ll grow?’‘I just hope they will.’ 

She had decided, that if he wouldn’t do the garden, then she would.  So one Saturday morning, instead of going shopping she put on her wellies, found a light spade in the shed and tramped up the path.  It was a typical Welsh garden, sloping on the hillside, but she had noticed that the neighbour had done a sort of terracing with his, working across the plot.  Rhys was inside reading the paper, she hoped he would notice and bring her a cup of coffee later.   

The birds sang, the sun was warm on her face and Gwyneth worked with a will.  She had bought some seed potatoes and looking across at Mr Evans’s garden made her row as neat as his.   

The time flew by.  She ignored her sore hands and aching back, unused to the digging as she was.  At half eleven she leaned the spade against the fence and looked at the house.  All was quiet. 

‘Rhys.’ She called stepping into the kitchen.  There was no sign or him or the dog. ‘He’s gone out.’ 

She sat with coffee and a bourbon biscuit and then, feeling refreshed put her boots back on and went back up the garden.   

By one o’clock there were three tidy rows of potatoes.  She had worked like a demon and was starving. 

‘It would be nice if he’d make me a sandwich.’ Muttering, she took her boots off. 

‘Oh there you are.’ Rhys was in the living room with the television on, waiting for the racing to start.  Their old Jack Russell, Tassie thumped her tail in greeting.   

‘What’s for lunch?’‘Didn’t you notice I was up the garden – working?’‘I thought you’d gone shopping.’‘No, I’ve put in three rows of potatoes.’‘Why?  You can get them just as cheap from the supermarket.’‘New potatoes fresh dug from the garden taste much better.’‘Hm, if the slugs leave them alone.’‘Can you help me get the lunch please?’ she asked patiently, pleasantly.‘In a minute, I’ll just see what’s happening at
Redcar.’ 

Gwyneth had decided if he didn’t help her, then he could get his own.  She would have bread and cheese with pickle, like a ploughmans, because that was what she’d been that morning.  She’d ploughed her furrows and sowed the seed. 

A week later there was a green shoot coming through in a sunflower pot.   

‘Look Rhys, there are leaves coming.’ He gave it a cursory look and announced; ‘I’m going down the pub.’‘On your way would you get some shopping please?’‘Why?  You always get it.’‘I’m busy in the garden.’He scowled, ‘On my way back then.’‘O.K.’ She was determined to get him to do more and if she was gardening then he could do the shopping.   

Gwyneth had discovered that she enjoyed turning the soil over.  It was satisfying having a neat row with carrot seeds scattered under a fine tilth.  Yes, she knew all the right words, she had bought a book. 

Gradually the untidy vegetable plot was tamed.  The potato leaves were pushing through and most evenings she went to pull up weeds.  

She had earnest conversations with Mr Evans who advised her what was compatible to grow with each other. 

‘I’m surprised,’ she told Rhys, ‘I didn’t know some plants got on better than others. I sowed spring onions one side of the carrots and marigolds the other side.’  A neighbour had told her this might help protect against carrot fly. 

Rhys was washing up.  Gwyneth had come home from work to find a simple ham salad on the table.  Garlic bread was warming in the oven. 

‘This is lovely!’ She was delighted. ‘Thank you. Is it our anniversary?’ 

‘No, but you were tired last night, you went to sleep in the chair.   All that gardening’s wearing you out.’‘I don’t mind, I really enjoy it.’‘It takes me all my time mowing the grass.’ He groused.Gwyneth said nothing; he had all day to mow the lawn. 

Three sunflower plants had been potted on and Gwyneth had prepared a spot by the fence.  She dug holes and scattered in some fertiliser bought at the garden centre. She had realised that she preferred wandering around the local nursery to trolley pushing in Sainsburys.  Plants4U actually sold everything and Gwyneth wanted a new wheelbarrow.  She could have it for her birthday, with some chocolates and perfume.  

The sunflowers were a metre tall already and given canes for support.  They were called Molly, Polly and Jolly. They had become important to her, they were friends and Jolly had a slightly bent stem. 

What with hoeing the weeds, watering the sunflowers and picking a fresh lettuce and some radishes the days whizzed by. 

The sunflowers were up above the fence now and she had tied string round them attached to the fence.  They had flower buds showing but were still growing.   

Every morning she looked out of the kitchen window to see if Molly, Polly and Jolly were well.  By July the huge flowers were the size of dinner plates.  Mr Evans said he had never seen anything like it and did she want to enter for the local show. 

That was a new idea for Gwyneth.  Rhys came back on the Saturday morning with the shopping and an entry form.   

‘Here.’ He showed her, ‘You’ve worked hard, you might as well enter.  The official comes round and measures it.  Don’t be disappointed if you don’t win.’ 

That was it, Gwyneth was determined. She’d show Rhys and everyone else.  Molly, Polly and Jolly would have double fertiliser and gallons of water. 

By mid-August they were enjoying the freshly dug new potatoes.  Even Rhys had to admit they were delicious.  With baby carrots and roast lamb for Sunday lunch Gwyneth felt very proud.   

The annual gardeners show was on the first Saturday in September.  Molly was now a head taller than her friends.  Mr Evans advised concentrating on her.  Gwyneth had had to have a very long bamboo cane delivered from Plants4U.  Mr Evans even gave her some of his special, secret recipe fertiliser. They were using Polly as backup in case Molly developed a problem.  Jolly had not grown as straight and listed at an angle.  Remedial staking had not worked.   

The measurement was scheduled for nine thirty in the morning.  There were apparently over twenty entries so Gwyneth did not hold out much hope.   

Rhys took himself out and muttered he’d be back later.  At half past nine precisely Jack Smith the garden club official and Mr Evans walked up the garden path.  There was nothing more Gwyneth could do to Molly.  She was still slightly taller than Polly.  Jack had a stepladder and a measuring tape.  Holding onto the fence for support he dangled the tape.   

‘You’ve got a monster here Mrs Griffiths.  This is going to take some beating.’ 

It was 3m 60cms and Jack folded his stepladder and went off to the next entrant. 

After lunch Gwyneth went upstairs to change.  She was going to go down to the show, see the exhibits and find out the sunflower results.   

At the top of the stairs she stopped, hearing voices.Rhys was saying, ‘I’m really proud of her, she’s done brilliant this summer with all the vegetables and now this prize for her sunflower.’  

Gwyneth paused, Rhys was proud of her… but he was always so dismissive.  She thought for a minute of how he was trying, in his own way to help.  The shopping, the meals, the washing up – yes, he had changed.   

‘I’m no gardener myself,’ he laughed, ‘but I can do a Gary Rhodes with the vegetables she grows.’ 

‘Well,’ said a strange voice, ‘We thought, as she came second and is a novice we’d award a special prize.  The photographer would like to take a photo of Mrs Griffiths and er…Molly for the paper.’ 

Gwyneth walked downstairs, there were smiles all round but none bigger than hers.