The Tree Whisperer - Chapter 4

The sun cast long, lingering golden rays over the school’s well-tilled vegetable patch. Mrs Mac dug away enthusiastically while chatting away to several children clad in dirty home clothes. Each brandished a trowel and were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Gardening club was one of Adam’s favourite parts of the week. One hour after school where he was actively encouraged to get to grips with the outdoors, dirty his hands and learn more about gardening. What’s more, he loved it. He loved the feel of the dirt under his nails. He loved the smell of freshly turned wet soil and most of all he loved the satisfaction of seeing seeds, which he had planted grow into plants of all shapes and sizes. Being able to take home a share of the crop after the Summer term was also a great bonus, which Adam’s mum always approved of. Fresh fruit and veg, and all that. And, he reflected, they also tasted great!

Lex thought he was downright weird for bringing home vegetables, whereas Shaena would quietly try anything put in front of her and particularly enjoyed fresh carrots. Adam himself had a love of roasted parsnips, smothered in herby oil and dripping with his mum’s home-made gravy alongside her famous Sunday roasts. Adam’s mouth watered just thinking of them. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Mrs Mac dug in her spade and, with her usual mad sense of humour told everyone, “Time to pack up and get off, the lots of ‘yers!” It was either that, or risk being chased to the shed by a large pair of pink frilly pants on the end of a garden hoe. She may have been mad as a box of frogs, Adam reflected, but he loved Mrs Mac. She could talk the hind legs off a donkey, but she’d also listen to you like you were the only person in the room. Also, Adam knew that unlike most, she really understood how he ticked.

She’d also not been the most academic but had been born with a full set of green fingers and a true love for life. She lived loud, she loved everyone and was content in what she had and who she was. A good weekend to her was a Saturday down the caravan by the sea with her friends and family. Or, she confided once, just her and her cat, Archie! She’d invited him and his family over for a BBQ one summer’s evening and he’d been amazed as they drove up to the car park. He’d expected to see a green field with old decaying caravans, but what he saw was a winding, sloping park that crept down to a white cliff overlooking the sea. But the best was still to come. She led us down a rusted metal walk-way which clung to the cliff like a limpet, winding its way past stumpy trees and angry seagulls sat in their nests to a hidden beach. Heather’s beach, she called it. As he stepped down off the last of the stairs, he felt his toes slide into the cool, soft, moist sand of the beach and the sight nearly took his breath away. Tall, stony stacks of chalk rose like giant statues out of the beach, towering up into the sky and casting long shadows across the smooth sand. White horses raced across the lapping waves as they broke on the beach and Adam could taste the tang of salt on the sea breeze. Looking out over the calm, serene scene, Adam simply peaceful, tranquil, relaxed. All the things he often struggled to feel when he was around other people. He could see why Mrs Mac loved her caravan. This was her special place. This really was her beach.

As he packed away his spade, Adam wondered where his special place might be. Would it be near the sea, like Mrs Mac? He looked over towards the vegetable plot to see her chasing a worried-looking boy around, armed with the dreaded hoe. He smiled to himself. Maybe not the sea, although he had loved it down there on her beach. Though he’d never admit it, something about the sea frightened him. He could sense the raw power in the waves, the strength of the wind and had seen the bones of ships which he could see poking out of the sand at low tide. Part of him could never be totally relaxed by the sea. However, here in the school grounds, out there in the garden or up in the bamboo. Sitting down by the pond or following the stream up towards the field. Here he could be himself. Here he could find himself. Here he could just be, and not worry what anyone else thought.

Gathering up his school bag, he waved off Mrs Mac, who had finally given up the chase with the hoe and started the short walk home back through the park. He pulled his jacket collar up higher as the wind whipped at his neck, trying to run up and down his back. The day may have been long, but gardening made it worth it. Being outside always had the effect of calming him down, regardless of the weather. It was where he felt free. Passing through the gates of the park, he took one look back over the rustling grass, bathed burnished bronze in the light of the setting sun. With a deeply contented sigh, he hoisted his bag again and wandered down the street back to his house.