Morning has broken

like the first morning…

Blackbird has spoken

like the first bird….

What an apt song that is for reflecting the joy and hope of life; flowers, friends, birds and gardens…..,

Spring and Summer in Zimbabwe are upon us…

I am feeling so very deeply the loss, the absence in our garden, of our father, our gramps our great grandfather, Arthur Barrie ….
He lived with us and was truly our ‘constant gardener’. From babyhood he thought us to nurture, to praise and to notice all living growing things, all seasons ….

What a roller coaster few months since my dear dads 90th birthday party at Mulberry Restaurant. We have suddenly lost him- he passed away peacefully in our arms at home in his bed.
I, my daughter Kelli, and my Sisi Clare (sister-in-law) were with Dad as he passed away, and we remembered with him, reminisced with him and reminded him with joy of what a legacy he has left all of us family and all of his friends…

…. A legacy of love for his neighbours and family, a joy in walking, in art, a passion for owls and all birds, for bush, sunrises, growing gardens, moonphases and flowers!

Dad’s hand painted cards and calendars featuring trees and spotted eagle owls were treasured by all of us…

Dad will be in every flower I paint, every seed I nurture and every rock I touch ….

My release from sadness is in waking up to birdsong, painting flowers, painting gramp’s flowers, painting friends flowers…

Painting the garden and flowers around me is my balm, my joy in the midst of grief…

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Gardening, watering and wandering Dad’s wonderful spaces gives me purpose…

The joy of gardens is in sharing special plants with friends and family- growing gifts…

Painting the multitudinous flowers is my therapy-

The full painting nestles beneath the white petunias that it features…

We plan a memorial morning tea for Dad on Thursday 7th October -10am till 12 noon at Mulberry Restaurant, BB Club, Borrowdale Brooke Estate.

The memorial for Gramps will be a bit different. I would like to ask all to bring their favourite herb, succulent or other plant in a sleeve or a pot and place it on a communal table, from which everyone can then choose someone else’s plant , taking away their new chosen plant to nurture in their own gardens in happy memory of dad.

Good friends and family, wide open spaces, bird song, and flowers to honour the legacy of love for nature, birds and gardens that dad left us all with.

Dad was not a purist gardener- he made good compost, sowed his seeds carefully and with love, and gave a multitude of different beloved plants the chance to spring fresh from the earth and compete gaily with each other for his admiration and attention!

When I came to Harare to be with my dad as he became ill, those few frighteningly short, yet astonishingly long weeks ago, little knowing the desperate turn things would take, I was able to drop some leadwood installation poles plus paintings at Gallery Delta hours before the sudden loss of my Dad in my arms, and hours before the creeping Covid caught me as well, put me into quarantine and laid me flat in my daughter Kelli’s arms….

Amidst all the grief of losing our dad, there followed a few “on-the-edge” days when physically I felt very down, and my lovely doctor Cathy Chidoori had an ambulance on speed dial with her finger poised, (!)…but that worry soon passed and my breathing never quite got to a dangerous point. Kelli’s and Cathy’s care of me prevailed and Kelli and I have both actually valued the mandatory isolation in our own quiet garden space together… time to grieve, to cry, laugh, remember….

I am indeed feeling empowered, liberated, to create from the intense memories and joy all around me in this harare garden.

Dad loved this head-height scarlet red begonia variety… called it “Painted Toenails” and said that the toenails belonged to naughty angels who had been barred from heaven because of their scarlet nails!

I am gardening daily as well as painting, doing seed collections, propagating cuttings, sowing Dads packets of collected seeds as the season changes and the strong August winds blow leaves and flower petals around my paintings and toss my paint and flowers artistically onto the concrete Verandah floor!

Our ‘Constant Gardener’ helpmate, Biggie, who was Dad’s true friend, a smiling and able companion in helping dad to create the garden that we love, tells me that the delightful Shona name for these particular fierce August winds is “Nyamavuvu”…

Biggie has become the ‘constant gardener’ and sieves fine homemade compost gently over the three types of zinnia seeds we have just scattered…

Dad’s garden tip: Clever use of a water bath in a wheelbarrow soaks the seeds from the base up so that water droplets don’t displace the delicate layers of seeds before they are able to germinate …

And a few weeks later- three types of seeds successfully begin new life… dad would approve!

One of our installations-a garden totem erected by Dad, is a leadwood fencepost from the cattle era of the Save Valley Conservancy, my other treasured home. This post presides over our fire pit, with offerings nestled in every notch….
Inspiration for my own leadwood post installation to go up at the “Freedom” exhibition at Gallery Delta.

Dad had such an eye for the abstract, the art, of everyday objects … bones on a string installation amidst artfully placed plants… and an old farm lamp burning with childhood memories…

A full moon rising over our palm trees. The full moon always draws me, a full moon = a full cycle of life

Morning has broken…

Flowers and birdsong fill my mind and my garden as I wake each morning and stare out at the promise of a new day- I thrill to the trill of the robin chat after a night of owl calls-

Each day feels like a new start… is a new start

treasures from dads plantings and gifts from friends…

The bunches of sweet peas and ranunculus I am gifted from Steph, grown by Di of Huku Mombe – look at those irises!
Hope in a flower….

and my painting of sweet peas and those affirmative irises grows…using charcoal and acrylic …

I have beaten Covid, am growing in strength…much as the stunning irises gifted to dad on his birthday are growing in strength in our garden…

Lying in bed I listen to Dads spotted eagle owls calling most nights, plus the barn owls, wood owls and greater galagos (bush babies) which thrive in the trees and dense gardens of the Brooke. As I imagine the flight of the owls out there in the night, I am excited for the “Freedom” exhibition that Helen Lieros and Derek Huggins were planning before we lost them also to COVID – I am so honoured to be part of that, as the delta trustees are forging ahead, honouring her wishes and setting up the show as her own last wish, her “last show”….
Helen had asked me to participate the last time I saw her in Borrowdale…. And then everything in our worlds turned upside down and we lost her, lost Derek …. So next weekend we’ll have an invited artists meeting at the gallery delta and plan from there. Something strong and good for me to focus on.

Dad, you have given me wings, strong foundations to build on as I sketch and paint the Nike, the Winged Greek Goddess of Victory, such a symbol of hope, freedom, flight….

the energy and love that I feel from our flowers, our installations, the birds and the butterflies in our garden empower me …

The windy season brings sweet colours and flower petals thrown together by the August gusts …

The towering trellis of sweet peas that my father always grew in our sunny garden when I was a child, a wall of colour and bees to look up at, a screen of delicious perfume to wrap yourself in, lies gentle and sweet-scented on my mind…

Summer in Zimbabwe will bring vibrant Msasa colour to our gardens and Miombo woodlands- memories of seasons past, favourite Msasa trees and birding walks with dear dad through one of our favourite bird ‘gardens’ – the Mukuvisi Woodlands …

No matter the season, we LOVE our garden, the memories past and the promise to come…