71) All Hallows
I was awake early for a Sunday. It seems that spring is finally here, and sleeping in is so much harder at this time of year. The warm weather wasn’t the only reason – my botanist friend had told me that the macmillanii was still flowering at a site just down the road. Quite by chance, another friend texted at 7am saying, “A nice warm day for hiking in the bush” – not that I needed any persuading.
And so, breakfasted and showered, and having twice checked the directions, I jumped in the car and headed out to the orchid meadow.
Nothing prepared me for the sight that awaited me. I have never seen so many orchids flowering in one place. Sun orchids in a dozen different colours were open to the sun and warmth. I thought to myself, how could this place of wonder and beauty have been such a mystery to me all these years? Eden on my doorstep and I didn’t even know it![1]
We scratch the surface; we wander around with our eyes half closed. And we miss the beauty that’s all around. There is wonder and love and life just waiting to be experienced if we’d only open our eyes to it. In flowers in the bush. In all of Creation. In everyone we meet, something beautiful, something made in the image of God.[2] A God who makes all things good.[3]
I know – I know it’s hard to see beauty in the mosquito that bit me four times on my elbow on Saturday, or to find anything redeemable in my neighbour’s dog that won’t stop barking at all hours… And yet, there in that orchid meadow, surrounded by colour and rarity, beauty and wonder, with the butterflies and bees busy at their work, it was hard not to think of all life as connected and perfect and wondrous.
*
Hard to believe a week has passed since I witnessed the orchid meadow. I took annual leave on Wednesday and returned to the site, but there was no repeat. Everything had finished up. Everything pollinated by the looks of it. That colourful blaze of glory last weekend was already existing only in photographs and memory. I found myself wishing I’d lingered longer in that meadow when I had the chance. While the light lasted. I wish I’d remained in the presence of beauty maybe long enough to imbibe some of it, soak it up through my eyes and hands, write the images into the front of my mind for later rainy days.
And those rainy days didn’t take their time in coming. Despite that day off midweek, last week was an ordeal. Noisy neighbours, a speeding fine, a heavy workload, unhelpful people, $4000 to replace the gas heater, and that complaint at work from a handful of folks who doubtless need more distraction in their otherwise small lives. Oh! And this back pain, my new unwanted but determined companion. I have more x-rays and scans next week, and the physio is doing a great job with me every few days – massaging and stretching and patiently repeating my exercise instructions. I’m sure it’ll come good eventually. And my back hasn’t stopped me from tackling the weekend household chores, though there was a twinge or two as I changed the sheets. I am racing ever closer towards 60, so perhaps I should expect the odd ache every now and then.
With the chores out of the way, my studies up to date, and the storm having passed over, I can spend an hour now in the garden deadheading and sweeping. A blackbird keeps startling me every time I wander down the side of the house. His mate is sitting on their nest which is mostly hidden in a climbing rose. Right beside it, I have planted a new yellow rose which is flowering for the first time. The blackbird is not happy with me taking photos of the yellow rose. I hope he’ll leave me be to prune the other roses down the side. Other birds have nested in the climbing roses each year, and none of them have been so jumpy as this one blackbird. Though, to be fair, perhaps it’s me who is the most jumpy lately. Maybe the blackbird is mirroring me.
Thinking about it, I’m probably more restless than jumpy. The other night when I was chatting to Alan, I moved from the sofa to the dining room table, and to the armchair before propping myself up on pillows on the bed. My back was so sore I just couldn’t get comfortable. I guess that’s part of my restlessness, though I think there’s something else stirring. Maybe it’s the end of orchid season. Maybe it’s just birthday season again and its annual reminder of years spent and lost chances. Maybe it’s because my heart is utterly in another place. Yes, of course, that’s what it is…
*
I don’t know where the weeks are going. Another week has flown by. The first of November already. I’ll spend an hour or two in the garden this afternoon. Or maybe hike out to Kuitpo to see if anything is still flowering. November brings its own unique sadness – something to do with the end of orchid season, and preparing to write and post Christmas cards to folks I miss. Last week’s birthday came with scores of messages and cards and gifts – reminding me how much time I’ve been spending on my own lately. The results from last week’s scans arrived and, though expected, were not what I wanted to hear.
Yesterday evening, my head full of thoughts about geography and support networks and time, I pulled down the awnings at the front and retreated towards the rear of my cottage. I left the lights off at the front; I didn’t want folks thinking there was anybody home. My annual practice every Hallowe’en. For me, it’s the worst day of each year – the day when folks who show no neighbourliness for 364 days suddenly send their kids knocking on your door.
Deep in the house, in those quiet hours before bed, I thought about the ending of seasons and the week just past. “You’re a terrible writer. Really, really terrible,” said one person last week. Funny how some voices cut through the noise and linger. I’m quite terrible at a lot of things, I should have replied. You should see me try to catch a ball…
I don’t know. We seem to spend our lives recovering from criticism and unkindness and rejection but forget to remember the praise. And there was so much love last week.
I guess I’m still restless. Such a fine line between restless and reckless. “Come home if you can” – the email from home this morning. I am now really thinking about it…
I should get out into the garden. It’s a great anchor. Besides, the rain has put paid to Kuitpo. The blackbirds seem to have abandoned their nest already. Maybe I walked past them one too many times. Strange that I’m the one in the way in my own back yard. But at least I can do some pruning now without alarming them. The roses, geraniums and salvia are all magnificent this year. Eden on my own doorstep. I’ll let the garden work its magic on me.
***
Olly Ponsonby, November 2026
[1] Gen 28:16
[2] Gen 1:26
[3] Gen 1:31