Page 127 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘Yes, darling, because it’s not native to Australia,’ she says, ‘and it will grow over and around native plants, which means they have a harder time growing. So it’s definitely a weed.’ She points to a plant with pink flowers. ‘That’s a periwinkle and it has to come out too.’
‘But it’s so pretty!’ Odette frowns. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘They don’t all look ugly!’ Lorraine says from a larger patch of periwinkle nearby.
Cynthia sees Shirl’s shoulders lift and her jaw set. ‘Just do what Shirl tells you, all right?’ she says to her daughter. ‘She knows more than anyone else here.’
‘And I’ve been in this group since theVietnam War,’ Shirl adds.
‘Have you?’ Cynthia asks. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Shirl arches an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t ask.’
Because you don’t make it easy, Cynthia wants to say, but she also knows the same could be said of her. Shirl tried to prise details out of her early on – about why she had returned to Noosa, why she’d left ‘that nice Pat’, because everyone seems to know Pat. The only subject they had in common was Von and her role in the society.
She could have asked anyway, of course, but she’s learnt most about Shirl through the way she teaches them how to care for the earth, for the gardens they tend and the environment they live in.
Cynthia decides to leave Odette to Shirl’s tutelage and joins Kathy, who is swearing at the trad as it snaps off when she tries to pull it from the root.
‘It’s so hard to get the whole thing out,’ Cynthia sympathises. ‘It’s almost as if it’s designed to not be eradicated.’
‘Yeah, weeds,’ Kathy says drily. ‘Who’d believe they want to stick around?’
‘Very funny.’ Cynthia peers at her more closely. ‘Is that salt on your eyebrows?’
Kathy blushes. ‘Yes. Why? How did you know?’
‘Pat gets that. Anyone who spends a lot of time in the ocean tends to. So you … ?’ She lifts her eyebrows.
‘I’ve been swimming. Each morning,’ Kathy says but she won’t meet Cynthia’s eye.
‘And?’
‘And what?’ Still no eye contact.
‘Andsomething.’ Cynthia grins. Kathy is usually so frank with her that she can detect her subterfuge a mile off.
‘I have a new friend,’ Kathy says lightly.
‘Oh, afriend.’ Cynthia nudges her, then reaches in and makes her best attempt to pull out a whole weed. ‘Well, I won’t press now but I expect to know her name in due course.’
Now Kathy allows herself a little smile. ‘Okay.’
‘Shirl!’ Elizabeth calls from deeper in the patch of land, under a gum. ‘Can you please tell me if this can stay or go?’
Looking like nothing would please her more, Shirl treads only on the weeds as she makes her way towards Elizabeth.
Cynthia glances over to where Odette is carefully plucking out weeds and inspecting each one; the same way Cynthia did when she started, not wanting to pull out something that actually belongs. Cynthia learnt by trial and error – often Lorraine’s error, and her subsequent guilty face as she held up a native grass she hadn’t meant to rip out along with a weed.
It pleases Cynthia immeasurably that Lorraine is with them now as they work together. Lorraine doesn’t know Odette well, but Cynthia likes to think that will change. There are aspects of Cynthia that have never been revealed to Odette, and if something were to happen to Cynthia it’s nice to think her old friend could fill in the gaps. Lorraine is like Shirl’s beloved native plants: taking up space where weeds used to be, enriching the soil as she goes.
Over this past year and a bit, Cynthia has learnt to tend to the people who belong in her life, and the people who belong in her memory, too. She never knew her mother was a Sunshine Gardener, but she remembers everything else about her. Odette will, by contrast, have memories ofhermother with her gardening gloves on, her knees dirty from a day’s work.
The Sunshine Gardening Society and its activities are not grand events in the span of a life, Cynthia knows. Being here, amongst friends, with her daughter, is not a wedding or a graduation or a promotion. She knows, too, that people remember those grand events because they’re rare. But isn’t what they have here rarer still? Small acts, consistent attention, respect and care.
Cynthia couldn’t have realised, before this, what her mother was clearly a part of: that they may save plants in this society, but they save lives too. Her own has come back to her, one weed, one tree, one precious native bush at a time. No matter how longshe turns up on weekends, whether it’s for months or years to come, she will never take that for granted.
‘Oops.’
Cynthia turns around to see Odette standing behind her, looking upset.
‘I think I pulled out the wrong thing,’ she continues, holding up a stringy stem.
‘No, darling, you didn’t.’ Cynthia smiles. ‘That’s meant to come out. And don’t worry too much – we don’t always get it right. You’ll learn how to tell the natives from the weeds in time.’
Odette’s face relaxes. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Barb! Need your help with this one!’ Lorraine calls just as Odette turns away.
Cynthia watches as Barb calmly approaches Lorraine and her quandary, then she turns back to pluck at the plants in front of her, tossing the weeds behind her as she goes.
