Last year, my mum did something I honestly didnt see coming she started selling us veg from her own garden. She said it was because we never came round to help, so thats just how it would be. Funny how she so quickly forgot who paid for the water supply, the polytunnel, or the blokes who helped dig everything up and put the raised beds together.
Lets be real, the fruit and veg were always cheaper from the supermarket anyway.
We never had a proper little cottage in the country or anything like that. We grew up in the city, and I dont think Dad had ever seen what potatoes looked like in the ground before they ended up in the shop. Mum, on the other hand, was from the village shed long had enough of all that magical childhood garden nonsense, and didnt want to go back to it.
While Dad was around, there was never any need for us to grow our own produce. He always made sure the family had what we needed, even when things seemed tricky. Mum had a job too, of course, but Dad covered most of the bills.
Honestly, not much really changed after he was gone, either. All the while I was still living at home and working, I chipped in when I could. We split the expenses as you do. I only moved out after I got married a couple of years ago.
Last year, Mum retired, and suddenly decided she wanted to buy a little plot with a cottage desperate to recapture those childhood memories of running wild in her own grannys enormous garden. She took out money from the bank and went for it. Personally, I think its not exactly the most comfortable place but shes happy, and really, thats what matters.
Naturally, my husband and I had to pitch in to get the place sorted. We were in a decent spot financially, so it wasnt a hardship. Its not as if we could build Buckingham Palace, but we managed to get things in order, sorted out plumbing for the house and garden, and even had the veranda glazed.
We drew the line, though, at coming out every weekend to help. Weve got no energy for that kind of slog we’re both city people and the idea of working the land doesnt exactly fill either of us with excitement. Our ideal weekend is more sleeping in, going for a wander with our mates, or just spending quality time together.
We got plenty of stick from my mum about our lack of respect for all her hard work, but she usually calmed down with the next financial top-up we sent her way. And, trust me, there were plenty of those. There always seemed to be a new request she wanted a new polytunnel, then raised beds, then there was digging and shifting shrubs. We paid for all of it; Mum didnt have to lift a finger when it came to that sort of thing.
We even sorted her with taxi fares whenever shed loaded up on garden centre purchases and couldnt be bothered to lug it all onto the train and walk it home.
Every now and then Mum would send me updates about her latest gardening adventures, complete with photos of how bright, tidy, and colourful everything looked. I never really showed much enthusiasm, to be honest all of it just went a bit over my head. That is, until she sent me a snap of the strawberries.
They looked amazing plump, bright red and, honestly, my mouth was watering just remembering the taste. So, I asked Mum to pop some aside for me, and said Id swing by after work to pick them up. It never occurred to me that shed then send over a bunch of photos showing the containers she could use, along with a price list.
I actually read it through twice because I assumed shed changed the topic and Id missed it. So I called her up, just to double-check, and asked if Id understood correctly was she actually planning to sell me the strawberries? Yep, turned out she was.
And what were you expecting? she said. Im here slogging away, fussing over every strawberry to make sure they come out this lovely, but you and your husband two layabouts, havent helped once! And why should I just hand things over for free? If you dont graft, you dont eat simple as that, was her position.
So I reminded her about all the times wed actually supported her with money for the garden. And then she turned round, all righteously indignant, telling me, How can you speak to your mother like that?
On principle, Im absolutely not going to buy produce from my own mum. She can flog it to someone else. As for us, well just get our stuff from the market its simple enough these days. Mums kept on trying to sell us her cucumbers, courgettes, and whatever else is in season, but I keep saying no, and my husbands with me on this one.
Weve drawn the line: well only help Mum out with things that actually matter bills, medication, anything really important for her wellbeing. But the garden? Shes on her own there!
