featuring APPLES & PEARS
I grew up in a concrete jungle, in a flat at the centre of Bucharest. I learned to love walking to school among blocks of flats, reaching the city centre on foot, marvelling at architectural antitheses. I fell in love with grey.
My sister and I spent each holiday in Ploiesti – 60 kilometres from Bucharest. We would take the slow train, count every station and giggle with excitement as we reached our destination. A short walk from the railway station there were Grandma’s house and garden. A different type of jungle.
Grandma owned a green jungle, which by magic changed every year. There were two constant features: purple and red. In spring, the perfumed purple of the lilac tree, on the right, and the dark red of the tulips, on the left. In summer and autumn, the deep purple of ripe grapes, on the right, and the shiny red of beefy tomatoes, to the left.
Apart from that, every year, the scene would change: daffodils moved about the garden (did you know daffodils can be replanted?), peas and long beans would line in equal rows by different alleyways, there would be chrysanthemums and dahlias and pink roses dotted around in completely different places than the previous year.
I once asked Grandma why the changes. Why bother plant and replant, plan and rethink year after year.
‘Because it would be boring otherwise!’
I may have forgotten to tell you that Grandma was an artist, and gardening, one of her many passions. She tended to her garden with pride and care and, though shy about her own appearance, she wholeheartedly accepted compliments about her plants.
And then, all of a sudden, she started to grow old and frail, and another, different process came to be:
‘I am preparing the garden for my departure.’ Assiduous planting and replanting, but this time, rounds of trees, or rather saplings replaced the beefy tomatoes and the green beans. The trees grew taller and denser every year. They slowly started growing flowers.
‘One day, when I am long gone, they will mature and give fruit.’
A few years before she left, we went to visit her in Ploiesti. Without any prior notice, Pawel was rushed to one side of the garden and asked to plant a tree. Here he is, planting the greengage sapling, in disbelief that he had to leave his coffee grow cold. The garden, years after Grandma left, became a tree jungle.
That image of my husband planting the tree really stuck in my mind. Even when Grandma could not physically fulfil her art, she still took full ownership of the art piece. Pawel remembers this event very differently: as a constant stream of instructions and nudges: ‘more to the right! Dig deeper! Make sure it stands straight!’ The tree now stands tall and proud and is a reminder that an artist stays an artist and continues to create even when circumstances are not favourable.
APPLES & PEARS
I remembered this event soon after I discovered Apples & Pears. Apples & Pears raise funds to offer educational, exploratory or just fun trips to people in communities who cannot afford them.
They plan trips, such as tours of London, trips at museums, visits at farms for children and their families to discover new areas. Their results are impressive – they manage to organise at least one trip per week, all run by volunteers.
The testimonials speak on their behalf. Apples & Pears are a genuine grassroots organisation.
How did reading about this charity bring Grandma into my thoughts, yet again? Because what Apples & Pears do is not dissimilar to Grandma’s work. Most times, it is enough to simply plant one seed, for something really good to happen.
Grandma’s garden is full of fruit trees, and so was my imagination, each summer I went to visit.
The latest story about Grandma can be found here. The rest are linked throughout this blog post.
