Saturday, 16 May 2015

The cold has hit

The plants are OK but I am not.
My fingers feel decidedly frosty and I am wrapped up in blankies.
I eat garlic and honey in vain attempt to kill this nasty virus, but what I really need is chicken soup. Except Mary and Martha are still alive. I ask mum if she would consider killing the chickens once they stop laying eggs, as it says in the Chicken Coop book. I don't think she will, she's far too attached. I say, they will be tastier than farmed chickens.

How far I have come since I was a semi-vegetarian from aged 12 to 24. I have to content myself with hardboiled eggs in congee. Or chicken noodle soup out of a packet. The chickens being cremated and crushed into a powder. Will those chickens sacrifice their lives so that I can live and be warm?

I don't do much gardening, Mum shells feijoas and makes up jars of preserves. I do pot up a choko that has sprouted, to plant out in spring after the frosts. Chokos are green and kind of bland, but they make good curries.
Mum not buy any more plants! I think she may have seen my bromeliads.

Oh for a place of my own! Then I can do whatever I like and plant whatever I like. Instead, like Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden, I ask meekly for soil, saying 'might I have a bit of earth?'. Mary was sickly and sallow and went around wearing black, just like Mary our chicken. But then she discovered a secret garden...