illuminousopptomist

I had an old neighbour who kept a magnificent and very productive garden - lovely old pine trees in front with daffodils and crocuses among the trees, a little patch of lawn, fruit trees, vegetable garden, lots of shade plants, a fence that he built himself that supported vines, and an ingenious irrigation system that carried water around the property without having to set out a sprinkler or tug a hose around to the far corners. He had only one arm thanks to World War II, but he managed fine.
Then his wife died and he withdrew into himself. He came out to cut the grass but didn't do much else. About three years later he followed his wife. The meals on wheels person was the first to contact the police to check on him as meals had not been deliverable. He had no relatives, no children, and the consulate of his native country had to step in to rescue his personal papers, guided by an old friend of his who knew his work, so they wouldn't be disposed of in a skip by the local authority (he was a prominent academic and poet during his working life).
A developer bought the property and tore it all up, filled in the back garden irrigation trenches and ploughed the vegetable garden leaving only two fruit trees, cut down the fragrant pines from the front, and put down sod all over the flower garden. Yes, a lovely family moved in, and their children loved the new garden, but I often wondered what the old man would have felt.
I had to sell my own house after divorce, and was crushed to see the garden that I had put my heart and soul into was completely destroyed by the next owners and their two St Bernard dogs. They sold the house three years after buying it and I saw it online by accident. I wish I hadn't.
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The saddest house I saw was one that smelled like a cross between a public loo and a brewery and had a kitchen sink full of empty cans and bottles, bottles and cans overflowing the bin, bottles and cans and very little else in the fridge, bottles and cans both empty and full in the master bedroom, on the bedside table and on the floor beside the bed. It had once been a family house, with wallpaper from the 70s still on the walls, photos of parents with three children... The garden in the back was overgrown and littered with cans. It was February and the Christmas tree was still up. It was very eloquent in its deadly quiet way.