Morning, Today I wanted to write this blog on something that seems to matter a lot to me. I wanted to give a dual aspect in favour of nature's landscape and in a small way support the green environment movement.
So what is wikkjaz wilding?
Not too long ago I had the great fortune to become a carer to someone special. This person complemented and enhanced unknowingly my perception of the natural world of wildflowers and plants.
This was by no means done in a deliberate way. Never did this magic unfold because of skill, expertise or a desire to be taught.
I happened upon this situation due to Covid and a desperate need to work. At the time I cared for many elderly service users, some with simple companion needs and many with a lot more complex needs, so it was no surprise that a client arrived who needed full-time care. She had suffered a large bleed to the brain and was at the time making gentle strides towards recovery. My job was to support her effort in speech, walking, eating, all personal care, and generally keeping her company and stimulating her senses, you get the picture.
At the time I was working very long hours and was mentally and physically exhausted. I do not tell you this because I wanted the clap (hmm) that went out every Thursday evening during Covid. I tell you this because if I had found myself in a different financial situation I would have quit, and missed a very wonderful experience that the universe had in store for me.
So there we were, thrown together with a desperate need on both sides.
The lady in question was called Anne, and in my ignorance, I assumed I suited her perfectly.
Anne has a wonderful family and at first I attended to my duties at her daughter's home where Anne was staying until she could return to her own home.
We had a lovely time together, and I soon discovered that before Anne's stroke, her life had been very rich in all areas. She had previously spoke many languages, and in a time before strong women's equality was the norm, Anne had attended a place at university. She had a love of Germany and spoke the language perfectly, a happy marriage, a hubby now passed, four children and one adopted son. She loved nature and dog-walked every day, was well loved in her community, and loved animals.
Three months later, Anne's recovery had gone well. Her own home was made ready and there were live-in carers on hand to take over.
It was always the assumption at this point we would part ways and our journey together would end and had that been so, this would not be much of a story now would it.
Six weeks after we parted company my boss called me in the office, informing me that Anne's situation had become seriously discombobulated, and Anne's family had asked if I would once again help to put back together what had sadly become unglued.
This would require a commitment on my behalf as Anne needed seven days a week care, with twelve hour shifts each day. I agreed to four and would continue my other shifts outside Anne's time.
Now it is not for me to comment or explain on Anne's condition when I returned to resume work. Let us just say we both looked at one another with relief and I will leave it there.
We had to go back to the beginning and work through a broken pubic bone, Covid, weight loss, and confused speech but what was in our favour was Anne's strength of determination, her ability to grasp and understand my sense of humour - always an asset - and the one special ingredient that I wish I had naturally - Anne's calm, gracious patience that never ever wavered within her ability of expectance that surrounded her condition. (Anne would raise her eyeballs and not be best pleased with me saying that but it's true, I tell you.)
Now without much more ado about something let's skip to the good part and get on with wikkjaz wilding. On resuming my duties, I discovered what would become our glue and bond.
Surrounding Anne's home was a huge and overgrown garden with one large section called Mr Slade's, acquired years before from a neighbour, ten tortoises, four guinea pigs, one bearded dragon with no name at this point and one adorable, sweet natured, cunningly sly and perfectly intelligent, long-haired dachshund dog called Lucy.
Oh yes, and one Thom, not cat, but Anne's oldest son, who lived in the loft with two thousand and sixty pots of jam. This may be a little exaggeration on my part, but he does reside at the top of the house, is nocturnal and only comes out after dark, to make more jam. Thom would say, I don't think that's entirely true but it kinda is from a new, overall, onlookers uneducated perspective. Obviously, I know him better now.