On Moving Countries

What I miss most about having moved from South Africa to Jerusalem, is my garden. The absolute greenness of it.  The profusion of flowers all in pastel shades of blue, pink, mauve and some purple, soft butter yellow and bright  shining white.  I miss the birds that visited every day and who came to splash in my two bird baths, from the tiny white eyes to the large and noisy hadedas. I have photographs of a hadeda standing in one of the baths on a particularly hot day.  He stood perfectly still for over an hour whilst his partner shouted at him from below. It was very entertaining.  I miss the butterflies, the bees and even the cheeky squirrels who would come right up to my patio steps looking for treats.  I collected acorns for them, which they loved and did not forget, from one year to the next. 

I miss my pet spider, who made the largest and most intricate golden web. It stretched across one of the pillars on the patio and was attached to a bamboo wind chime on the other side. She was there for more than a year and I was very careful not to disturb her. 

But most of all, I miss the peace.  It was just the most tranquil of places. Everyone said so. It was a quiet oasis not far from a busy road and yet shielded from the noise by the high hedges and several big old trees.

The house next door was where I had often played as a child, with the granddaughter of the owner, who just happened to be an old friend of my father's family.  In fact, my father's boyhood home was just one block away and I always thought how very strange that was.  That I should have come down from Central Africa and eventually, year's later, bought my home in a complex built on land that I knew so well from my childhood.  My parents said that it was meant to be and I agreed with them. I felt safe there and cocooned. I had made the garden into a perfect picture, a living picture, always changing as the seasons changed and yet always filled with a certain magic.  It was definitely where I belonged and yet, after sixteen years, it was time to move on.

I will always miss my garden, my perfect little patch of beauty.  My own small world which I had hoped to keep forever, but it was not to be. I now live in an apartment five floors up.  It does have a small balcony where I have put a few pot plants. I have a wonderful view over Jerusalem and the biggest bonus of all, my daughter and her husband live just downstairs. This is my home now and I am grateful for it every day. Who knows what the future holds?  Perhaps one day I will be blessed to have another beautiful garden.  In the meantime, I  have the use of a green and quiet park, just five minutes away and of course, my memories..  

This post is written by Rosemary Kahn, retired teacher, freelance writer and author of Grandma's Hat, Naomi's Tonsils, Why Unicorns Eat Lavender, Relationships and a number of School Readers