The garden of my parents in Boecillo (Valladolid), where we have the house, there is an air of Tuscany, but so dark and secluded suggests in some cloisters. In the late 70's that managed the barn, the bread basket, and made it habitable as a dwelling, planted in the wasteland around him who pines, poplars, tamarisk, feather Santa Teresa and other trees and shrubs. My father died at 88, followed by the garden in the hands of my mother. "Conchita, where you going?" my uncle asked him after lunch, he left shot, "I'm going to water the garden." This has been years and years, watering the garden until it was too old.
For three decades have worked the garden and I have looked everyone in my family except me, who was not even enrolled me boecillenses studies that say my brothers. Paco and Irene especially after Josiane, who has maintained the garden for the past three summers and especially the past when my mother died. And Charles, the pastor, who has been the unofficial gardener, but they have been pampered with care from 70, helping out, saying that here or there had to trim or do this or that. Carlos is an institution in Boecillo and deserves not an entry in a log, but a whole book dedicated to him. Wrote at the time something is a mine life and literary. Yesterday I brought a bird in a bag "See, you who know ... what is it?" I had no idea, I had not seen and the Peterson guide to lose my hand. "A cuckoo clock is a cute ..." he said. And he began to speak to Rafa, the husband of Bridget, the queers (magpies, are called fags around here) that attack the cuckoo lays eggs in nests that others do.
Life takes many turns, and as today I am the least busy person in my family, which has fewer responsibilities and more time at the moment, this Easter I can take a look and see how goes the garden my parents. It was time to do something. May we
a bit a few weeks ago, first the son of Hope, Alberto, yours were brown and dry, so thick that marred. Carlos then followed him with the ax-ax handle or simple knife is a joy, "I did something with scissors to other plants (lack of practice: a blister by rookie). I have also tried to find out what happens to the elms, which seemed to have something but it was not aphid aphid, but as an egg inside, "dents" is called a fungus. I went to see another Charles, Wet, gave me a solution, let's see how it is working. I worry about the tamarind, the santolinas have died, tied Arbor rosemary, ivy crossed the wall, we should remove it, says Carlos.
On Sunday I celebrated my 50 birthday in the garden of my parents, now my brothers and me. We ate fried plantains and salad, ice cream and birthday cake, drank Ribera de Duero, also years met my cousin, we went 15 to the table, rather than celebrate it, a tough year and it has been difficult.
I hope to help maintain what so lovingly planted my parents and have cared for my brothers and Irene, Charles and Josie. I am enrolled in college over gardens and field studies, core and elective, hopefully not too late and I admitted to test.
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