Mum’s Garden at my MILs aged care, brought to you by my SIL
Top 5 Reasons to Start a Garden (Before You Think You Need One)
You remember you have hands—not just thumbs for scrolling.
Your senses wake up like they’ve been napping since 1997.
You feel alive in a way no techonolgy can replicate.
It quietly becomes everyone’s garden, not just yours.
Because apparently “eco-gerontology” is a thing—and honestly, it tracks.
The Garden That Refused to Die
When I open the door to my mother-in-law’s room in aged care, my eyes don’t land on her first.
They travel—past the bed, past the stillness—to the window.
And there it is: a carved stone that reads MUM’S GARDEN.
It used to sit in the yard of the family home where my wife Sandra grew up. Now it lives here, framed by glass, like a memory that refused to be packed away. On the days I can manage to visit—since losing my own mom, it’s not always easy—that stone steadies me. A small, stubborn anchor.
Sandra and her two sisters chose this room well. Light pours in, even on those moody Melbourne days that are shorter than needed and that like someone permanently turned the dimmer switch too low. The entire wall is a window, overlooking what’s called the “Sensory Garden.”
But this part? This is different.
This is Mum’s Garden.
After moving her into care, my sister-in-law—one of three devoted daughters—started bringing pieces of the old life here. Weekend by weekend. A bird bath. Garden gnomes (an ongoing family joke). Sculptures. Little tchotchkes with stories baked into them. Even a tiny disco ball dangling from a tree limb, catching light and spinning like it is the Dancing Queen of Abba’s famed song.
The bird bath is perfectly placed so my mother-in-law can watch what I now think of as Bird TV—a rotating cast of regulars who show up, chirping, with no regard for visiting hours. It’s better than The Crown. More plot twists.
My sister-in-law works in horticulture. Monday through Friday, she’s in an office. Saturdays, she shows up here, both of her glorious green thumbs ready to rock!
Recently, though, the place changed hands. Family-run became corporate. And like clockwork, the cuts began.
First thing to go? The gardener.
And you could see it. The long stretch of beds lining the building—once alive, now thinning, browning, giving up.
My sister-in-law took this personally.
“They fired the gardener,” she said. “I’m going to do something about it.”
And she did.
On Valentine’s Day—because apparently love languages include soil and defiance—she expanded.
What started as Mum’s Garden quietly… spread.
In a single day, she ripped out four massive beds and replanted them. Then kept going. About 100 meters of it. Digging, planting, watering. Tending to the garden. Tending to her mum.
No announcement. No permission slip.
Just roots moving outward.
Now, when I’m there—which is still rare, still tender—I stand at the window and watch.
A slow procession of women with walkers and rollators.
They pass by… and then stop.
A hand reaches toward a leaf. A flower. A tchotchke.
Someone lingers at the bird bath.
And every so often, someone looks up—catches the disco ball—pauses, turns their head toward the window, and smiles.
Sometimes even laughs out loud.
A garden, it turns out, doesn’t just grow things.
It interrupts decline. It invites attention. It insists on life—right here, right now.
And sometimes, when no one’s officially in charge, it refuses to die.
dōte.worthy:
wonderful gardening ideas from next avenue author ellen ryan here
i’ve just learned about monica eastway, and eco-gerontology here
curious about gardening and longevity? here is a quick read from the bbc.
anecdōtes:
Welcome to anecdōtes, our weekly writing prompt for those of us taking care of aging loved ones while simultaneously googling “am I having a midlife crisis or is this just Tuesday?”
This Week’s Writing Prompt:
is there something in nature that reminds you of an aging loved one?
dōt.age exists because we’re all navigating the uncharted territory of caring for aging parents, and we need to share our stories.
This isn’t about being a writer—it’s about being human and sharing our messy, unfiltered truths of eldercare.
Each week, we’ll drop a prompt.
You write for five minutes.
No polish, no pressure—just permission to be gloriously imperfect.
If you want to share what you wrote, send it our way and we’ll share it on our Substack so we can all feel a little less alone in this wild mixtape that is our lives.
SEND TO: LNahmie@gmail.com