Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
I love April. It’s a season where, with its sunshine and showers, you see amazing growth in the garden. It’s like a magic trick. You plant small, bare-root plants into cold soil, check on the Peonies and inspect the woody branches of hydrangea and roses to find absolutely no signs of life. You turn your back, go inside and the next day you wander out, suddenly there is a whole host of tiny green shoots along previously dormant branches.
Bright red, waxy Peony stems nearly six inches tall stand proudly in their pots, the first flush of gently folded leaves beginning to unfurl. The newly planted bare-root knapweed has burst through, a flurry of tall, furry, green rabbit ears, as if the rabbits themselves are hiding just underneath the soil.
Almost as wonderful as the growth spurts are the surprises. Things appear that you don’t remember you planted or thought had died. A dear friend of mine just moved into a property last November and asked my advice about her new garden. I said do absolutely nothing for a season and see what happens.
Already, bare twigs have turned out to be hydrangea, clematis, a ceanothus and wonderful clumps of primroses, daffodils and tulips have now burst out of the soil. She’ll suddenly ring me, full of excitement, as she discovers new things. A garden is a gift that keeps giving. Even the disappointments teach you so much about your own space: what thrives where, what your soil is like, which way the wind and rain generally blow – and what simply won’t work. With gardening, there are no mistakes.
Then there’s the sunshine. Waking up after the long, winter nights to crisp, brightness that adds colour and depth as the hours march towards summer. Often too cold (and wet) to sit outside, but when that sunshine hits your face, the heat is surprisingly intense. It’s bright ferocity creeps into your bones and warms up the marrow from the inside. Like thin filaments of utter bliss, genuine cosiness is stitched into your skin like threads through cloth, as surprising as those green shoots in the soil.
Lastly, of course, April brings those famous showers. Bursts of intense wetness soak through your clothes almost immediately, curling straightened hair and feeding the soil. This is followed just as suddenly by magic rainbows and magnetic prisms viewed through raindrops on glass windows. Ultimately, it’s so beautiful that ruined hair and a change of clothes are entirely forgivable
But I now have others to consider. Previously having German Shepherds, Leonbergers and Shiba Inu (to name a few), who loved going out regardless of weather, I am now faced with two miniature Dachshunds with enormous personalities and a deep aversion to rain.
Both are appalled and affronted by the very idea of leaving their warm and comfortable snuggle sacks to face any hint of nasty wetness.
I have tried gently hoofing their tiny bottoms over the kitchen door when a pee or a poo are necessary, only to have them cower dramatically under the garden chairs, wailing to come inside. But then, I reasoned, it was winter. It’s spring now, so it’s much warmer, or so I thought.
As I had been unwell, we hadn’t been over the field for a week. I was sure that, having only had pavement walks, they would be desperate to stretch their tiny legs off the lead. To charge forth with ears flying, a spring in their step, as Willow shouts her joy loudly at the world. But it didn’t happen.
As soon as I let them off, they refused to look at me and set off at full pelt back towards the car. Did they check where I was? Were they even the slightest bit concerned about my presence or welfare? No.
In fact, by the time I had managed to hobble back to the road where the car was, they were both clearly very unimpressed with me. Slinky coats, soaked through, ears dragging down dejectedly. Willow gave me the side eye while Bear wailed pathetically as if he’d been forced to stay outside for hours. They wouldn’t look at me, give me kisses, nothing. Both turned their backs to me, making it clear that I was the one in the doghouse.
Now, several hours later, I’m only just being forgiven, helped by a few treats and my putting the log burner on. Have I learned my lesson? Yes. It doesn’t work, they’re not having it and I cannot persuade them any differently. Spring or not, they are Dachshunds. They have tiny legs, low-slung tummies and a complete aversion to wet weather that will not be overcome. It just is what it is!
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.