Increasingly, I treasure moments when my mind has time to think. Soaking in a warm bath offers one of the best opportunities; a close second occurs when gardening. I am not talking about gardening that is demanding, such as picking, planting or building; rather it is weeding, and recently this has been the ‘order of the day’. 

During our summers in Tréguennec, we garden almost every day. The time we spend has gradually shortened and now we rarely manage more than an hour at a time: usually, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. At the end of our summers there, when we prepare the vegetable patches for the winter, it is weeding that becomes a priority. Each bed takes up about two of our gardening sessions, giving plenty of time for thinking. This blog tells of the reflections that occurred last week in which each thought was stimulated by something the hour brought.

We almost always garden together and on that particular morning, while Rohan worked on the beetroot bed, I weeded around the strawberries several metres away. Suddenly she called me over – standing on the edge of a wooden plank that bordered ‘her’ bed was the tiniest of toads – later classified as a natterjack (see illustration). Because Rohan had learned as a child that natterjacks were poisonous – their skin secretes a milky toxin which if touched can cause an irritating rash  – she left it well alone and the two sat simply staring at one another. I was struck by how tiny her discovery was and certainly so when compared with a mature, female natterjack – presumably the mother – sitting some twenty centimetres away. We were both delighted when the ‘baby’ waddled towards her but dismayed when, on arrival a disinterested ‘mother’ walked away to hide under a stone a metre along a path.   

When I got back to my weeding I felt sad. I could not help wondering why the mother did not welcome her baby and even perhaps give it a hug. But then I realised that I was being a romantic anthropomorphist. Why should toads behave like mammals? Why should I expect them to hug? It then struck me that making assumptions about the behaviour of others, in this case other species about which I know little, was often part of my thinking. With this realisation came feelings of remorse. Although some inappropriate judgements won’t matter, they often might, and accordingly I promised myself that in future I would try to avoid jumping to conclusions about another’s motives and behaviour based on my own prejudices.

The second reflection that day was about global warming. When I returned to my strawberry bed, I suddenly discovered, under a tall bank of weeds, a solitary strawberry plant on which were fruit and flowers (see second illustration). Here was something that I would never have expected to see in late September. I assumed that this was the effect of global warming which, in our case, was in keeping with this year’s unusually large crops of fruit with branches bearing quinces, apples, pears, greengages, mirabelles or cherries, snapping under excess weight.  Then the conundrum, while I saw global warming as a real threat, in some places – like Brittany – it was a bonus and surely one that should be celebrated. My attempt to balance the personal ‘benefits’ against the global ‘damage’ of global warning has echoed since.

Finally, there was a thought that occurred during my weeding that has frightened me enormously. The weather forecast told us to expect rain and towards the end of my session I felt a few drops. These soon stopped and for a while I continued. Then there were more, this time growing heavier. Soon I had to rush for shelter only to witness the beginning of a downpour that would last for hours. During all this, my mind created an adage  – ‘Even the heaviest of rain storms start with just a drop’. The worrying part was that my mind likened the ‘rain drop’ allusion to Germany before the Second World War when hundreds of early Nazi ‘drops’ were felt but people did nothing. Worse still, I suddenly saw some terrifying right-wing drops now in the UK as being similar!

While the adage which says: ‘if you want to be happy for a lifetime plant a garden’ makes sense, I would say: ‘If you want to enjoy creative thinking, try weeding’.

The first illustration shows a photo of a baby natterjack toad (Epidalea calamita) sitting on a brave person’s hand (copyright-free photo taken from the web). The second illustration shows a photo of a strawberry plant that I discovered under the taller weeds in our Tréguennec garden in late September. 

For Helping me write this blog I would like to thank Anne, Rohan and Vivien