Gardening with my eyes

Back in May a friend and I went on an Expotition. Outside of the house! She had to wrangle my fold-up wheelchair into the boot of her blue VW. The wheelchair is not large, but is cumbersome. When she lifted it the wheels spun madly in the air. "Put the grapes on!" I yelped, worried she'd lose a finger in the spokes. She put the brakes on. I seem to recall we had this problem last time.

We nipped into the city where a gardening expo was being held - put on by my favourite gardening telly show. I was highly excited. I wore earrings shaped liked flowers. It felt marvellous and reckless to be out of my pyjamas.

The expo itself was not tremendous, but I was exhilarated at the temporary reprieve from bed and had a bonzer time. I expected lots of garden displays, like I'd seen on the expo footage from the other states. There were several piddly little displays in the middle, but they were surrounded by too many stalls selling things. I hadn't expected it to be so commercial. Also we'd chosen to go on a Friday thinking it would be quieter, even though it meant missing out on our friend giving a talk about Wollemi pines on the Saturday. In the end we regretted missing her talk, but we did say hello to some spiky Wollemis.

We saw a moveable chicken house like a wire igloo. My friend took a photo of it, and two men sitting beside it on a bale of hay pointed at themselves, saying, "You can take a photo of these two ole roosters if you want!" "Only if you get in there!" she laughed, motioning at the chicken house.

Our favourite display was a cottage garden by a local nursery. We gazed at it with reverence. There were white cosmos, I love white cosmos, and a silver and purple cabbage nestled amongst low pink flowers. A grey-haired lady asked us the name of the plant right in front of us. It was a rosella, a dark-red tropical fruit from which we'd once made jam. The lady wanted to buy one and proffered a notebook for us to write the name down. My friend drew a picture of it for her too.

I noticed this same lady had a fine leather strap wrapped around her wrist, connected by another short strap which then wrapped around her walking stick. This struck me as a very nifty invention because I'm always dropping mine. I told my friend about the strap later and she said I could make one for myself with a pretty ribbon. She has a lovely old-world innocence about her. I don't think I've heard anyone say "pretty ribbon" for years.

We left early. I stared hungrily at the autumn world as my friend wheeled me through the bumpy streets. There were dry brown leaves in the gutter. Road-workers in fluorescent orange vests. An androgynous-looking person wearing a cowboy hat smoked a clove cigarette. A nervous lady holding a clip-board stopped people and tried to subject them to a survey. Trees growing in the foot-path lifted kerbs and cracked asphalt. Everything was dry and dusty because of the drought. A couple strolled together, eating ice-creams. The audible traffic lights beeped. The sky was soft grey. I loved it all. I felt my cells swelling with the nourishment of seeing new things.