Anonymous Gift

Late this afternoon I needed a blip and a break. I found myself in the enclosed garden, my oasis of lovliness when I need to escape for a while.

I was not alone. The hose was running and a set of gardening tools was set on a bench. A man emerged from the tall grasses, pruning shears in hand, wearing a big blue floppy hat, a striped shirt, bright red pants, rubber boots and a big wide smile.

We talked. He is a volunteer gardener who has laboured for five years to bring the garden back from neglect to the beautiful vibrant place it is now. Unpaid, anonymous he works. He works hoping that a few people will enjoy the garden and its beauty. He cleans up the rubbish left behind, spreads leaves on the soil every fall and is constantly surprised when flowers seems to spring up out of nowhere.

I have his e-mail, written on a piece of paper towel, the only paper around. I will send him my photos and he will write a story about the garden to go with for his gardening club's newsletter.

He was so delighted to see my delight in the garden. I was so happy to meet him and to talk with him. I am really in awe that someone can do such hard work, without thanks, without pay, year after year.