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Last Resting Place

posted Aug 4, 2014, 12:21 AM by J Norton
What happened, I hear you say, to the open gardens projected earlier in the year?

They went ahead of course, as naturally as sun follows rain, but not in our village.

Some of the usual stalwarts of the gardening scene were away on holiday, others hadn't the time, or inclination, for it is something of a formidable task, and as we had lost a our usual gardener, a casualty of domestic discord, it soon became apparent, that it just wasn't going to happen, especially when my husband's mother became ill.

A lady who had reached her 91st year, and looked set to get the traditional telegram from the Queen, became suddenly rather frail, and within a few weeks had gone, leaving behind the usual chores dependent of such matters, and the disposal of the accumulation of possessions of the previous years.

But all the work of the spring months was not for nothing, indeed, as we totter on the edge of reclaiming the garden from the onslaught of weeds, we are very thankful for our earlier efforts, especially as finally the box trees have begun to grow and the lavender is now in flower.

The June dates of the Open Gardens was actually the weekend we went (with my husband's brother and sister in law) to Durdle Door in Dorset to scatter, in accordance with the last request, the ashes, in a beautiful landscape depicted on many a calendar.

A tranquil beauty spot, just above a beach which echoes to the laughter of children, in the summer months, within sound of the eternal crashing of the waves upon the shore, and the lonely call of the gulls, it is a lovely last resting place.

Just off the footpath which has been traversed for centuries, where people hesitate, and stop to look once again at the sheer majesty of nature, it is an ideal spot to have ashes scattered to the four winds, so they were, the final act which can be performed for anyone.

It naturally gives one pause for thought, where I wonder would we choose to be cast or buried, if the world were so to speak our oyster? For a moment ones imagination takes flight, but then the answer emerges from all the choices, one would like to be scattered were one feels at one with nature, be it on a wild moor, hallowed ground, a country field or a bluebell wood, death is very much like life after all.