Gardens...

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And there were my maternal grandparents, whose home in Dehra in the valley was surrounded by a beautiful, well-kept garden. How I wish I had been old enough to prevent that lovely home from passing into other hands. But no one can take away our memories.

Grandfather looked after the orchard, Grandmother looked after the flower garden. Like all people who have lived together for many years, they had the occasional disagreement.

Grandfather would proceed to sulk on a bench beneath the jackfruit tree while, at the other end of the garden, Grandmother would start clipping a hedge with more than her usual vigour. Silently, imperceptibly, they would make their way towards the center of the garden where the flower beds gave way to a vegetable patch. This was neutral ground. My cousins and I looked on like UN observers. And there, among the cauliflowers, conversation would begin again, and the quarrel would be forgotten. There’s nothing like home-grown vegetables for bringing two people together.

Red roses for young lovers. French beans for long-standing relationships!

 –Ruskin Bond. (Coaxing a Garden from Himalayan Soil, Rain in the Mountains.)