|Our espaliered grenadilla on it's new wires|
If you have ever tried to move any branches of a grenadilla once they are in position, you will know how brittle they are. They break for anything but the most delicate touch. So you may imagine my misgivings when my husband announced that he was going to run wires across the length of our garden's back wall which would mean cutting out the existing if temporary steel frame that was holding up our six-month old grenadilla. At the same time I was drawn to the whole project - we are going to espalier fruit trees all the way across the back wall (my husband was in the past very impressed with my dad's talents in this direction back home in England). 'Be careful!' I said when he appeared with his angle iron (he would have to cut through a number of half-inch thick rods) to extricate the frame from the plant's many tendrils. I should have saved my breath. As he finished cutting through the last rod, he must have relaxed his concentration a bit because as he stepped back, one of the best branches fell to the ground, (the one you can see hanging droopily to the left of the photo). Dumbstruck, I had picked it up and hoping against hope, stuck it into the ground, while glaring at my husband. Foolishly, I then berated his carelessness out loud. I should have known better. My ensuing silence was even worse, as I was told I was just like another member of my family, known to sulk for days, not speaking to his wife. This was too much: actually, I was suppressing a tear; ergo I was not sulking, merely in mourning for the lost perfection of my grenadilla. This lasted for about twenty minutes after which my grown-up self reasoned that it was time to forgive, forget and move on. No, this was definitely not a sulk, it was legitimate grief.
PS - Such are the Small Matters of which my life now consists in the world of retirement. But perhaps said branch will sprout a new root.