Quick posting this time, not an essay. I recently went home to England for a week to visit my father who is now in a nursing home and, to be honest, not likely to come out again. There’s a lot of stuff I could write about Dad, about his career, his personality, how he and Mum raised me and my two sisters in a stable, loving and supportive home, but one of the primary aspects to Dad’s life has been his love of his garden.

From an early age I remember Dad creating vegetable patches, raising all the veg we needed through the year while Mum was an able assistant who also dealt with more decorative aspects, the flowers etc. This was his passion before the physical work got too much for him some years ago. Even after that, he brought in a gardening firm and gave them the tasks he had identified during the week. While staying in his house this year I felt the need to record something of the feeling I had, knowing that all he can do from this point onward is look out on the gardens for which someone else is responsible.

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It won’t be a surprise that I did this with a series of black and white shots in mind. I’ve written about black and white before and why I feel it communicates emotion better than colour in the right circumstances. Hopefully that comes through in this short series. It’s not meant to be a maudlin or depressing series, but one which illustrates the temporary nature of what we do and who we are. Hopefully the garden will be looked after by the next person to live in that house and something of Dad’s work, something of his passion, will remain.

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