Mum was already annoyed with me once she heard my husbands relatives had invited us to stay for the summer. They live near the coast and would gladly have my daughter and me for the whole summer. Naturally, I want to gothe doctor has recommended that we take the little one to the seaside over the summer, to help her fend off colds through the rest of the year.
But Mums in tears, insisting its outrageous because summer is the busiest season in the garden and she cant possibly manage on her own. She relies a great deal on my help, and now shes reminding me how little I helped last year. Shes not wronglast summer, the baby was only a few months old and I simply didnt have any time for Mums garden.
Honestly, even when I was in secondary school, Id had enough of that garden. While everyone else enjoyed their holidays, I had to trudge down there nearly every day, clutching Mums never-ending list: weeding, watering, endless chores. My parents both worked and could only make it at weekends. I was free, so why wouldnt I spend my free time getting muddy in the garden?
While other kids were out having fun, swimming, and playing, there I was, slaving away over vegetable beds. All so Mum could spend the weekend correcting everything Id done wrong as she tended to her precious plants.
When I was at university, I wanted to earn some extra money in the summer. Of course, that only brought on another round of guilt trips.
After I got married, Mum tried roping my husband into gardening too, but he went a few times, realised the work was never-ending and felt pointless, and flat out refused. Mum was outraged, insisting she grew everything not just for herself but for us as well. My husband pointed out that it was far less hassle and expense for him to buy what we needed from the supermarket, rather than slog through Mums allotment every week.
I stopped going so regularly myself, though Mum would lay on the guilt about me being miles away. Then I became pregnant, and the issue more or less vanished. I couldnt bear the heat, let alone digging in the dirt.
Once our daughter was born, I skipped the gardening entirely last season, even though Mum dropped heavy hints it might be possible to manage both. Even she realised, with a baby like ours, it just wouldnt work. Still, she started planning for next year.
Mums reasoning was that by then, the child would be older, we could take turns looking after her, and I could once again contribute to the vegetable patch.
And the little one will be fine here. The citys too polluted, and all the greenery gets grimy. But out in the countryside, its all clean air and sunshine. Well get a little paddling pool, pop up a parasol, and let her splash about, Mum would say dreamily.
None of that appealed to me, but I didnt say anything, to avoid starting an argument. I had entirely different plans.
At Christmas, my mother-in-law was visited by her sister, my husbands favourite aunthis godmother, really. She and her husband live by the sea, and their grown-up son works abroad, so its just the two of them at home now.
They invited us to stay at theirs for the summer, completely free of charge. They said theyd be delighted if we came.
At first, I assumed they were just being polite, but the aunt phoned my husband a few times, reminding us that wed be very welcome. Of course, my husband cant take the entire summer off, but he could get a week at the startto bring us downand another in the autumn to collect us.
We were keen to go to the coast, especially since our doctor said a seaside break would do our daughter a world of good. So, my mind was made up. But then Mum spoiled everything.
Suddenly, sunshine was bad for the child, and what business did I have holidaying with other people? Besides, her garden apparently offers every possible health benefit. She reminded me that last year, she had to manage the whole plot herself. Me being determined to go only irritated her further.
Honestly, who in their right mind chooses a garden over the seaespecially if you dont need anything from the garden? We buy all our fruit and veg from the shops anyway, and Mums pickles and jams are still stacked in the cellar, untouched. We dont eat them and, really, were just not fansI wanted to shout: Mum, Im not a seed to bury in your soilI need something of the world for myself, for my daughter. But I didnt. Instead, I packed our bags: swimsuits, sand toys, bright sunhats for us both. I pressed our train tickets into a pocket and wrote Mum a note:
We love you. Well be back before the tomatoes ripen. I hope this summer brings us both something weve been missing.
When we arrived at the sea, the salty air was cool on my face and my daughter laughed in the surf, her hair salt-tangled and wild. Every morning, we searched for shells as the tide receded, and at night, I sent Mum a photogrubby toes in the sand, chubby fists clutching treasures.
Back home, Mum didnt reply much. But one evening she sent a snapshot: a single pink peony blooming beside our old digging fork, sunlight pouring over the garden fence. No words. I smiled, and for the first time I thought maybe, just maybe, Mums summer would be full as wellher garden unruly and lush, her daughter away but happy, the world larger for both of us.
On the morning we packed to return, my daughter held my hand and pointed at the sea. Again? she pleaded.
I knelt down, kissed her sandy cheek, and promisedwed always come back, but never plant ourselves in just one place.
