Passing on what is precious

Gardening is in my DNA. I had no choice. I blame my parents. 

I was a 70s child, growing up in working class Richmond (Naarm, Melbourne). Typical wogs, we had tomatoes growing in the front garden, spanakopitas baking in the kitchen and winemaking out the back. Everyone was expected to be involved in growing and making home produce.  

Later, I got to garden on larger land when the family moved to our farm in Cranbourne. My Greek parents were children of the Great Depression and they never forgot the hunger and deprivation – the “Pina” as we say in Greek. Mum and Dad were hardwired to not go without. That, combined with our Greek innate sense of hospitality and generosity, meant that the farm’s bounty was always put to good use. Nothing was wasted. 

We grew everything, butchered our own meat, bottled, baked, stewed, smoked and made jams. We children grew up on the Mediterranean diet long before it became ‘The Mediterranean Diet’. 

That sense of providing for your loved ones from your own bounty has remained constant with me. I like nothing better than taking my old battered brown bowl out to the garden and picking the vegies and fruit fo our next meal. Very satisfying. Very rewarding. It’s how we Greeks show our love. It looks like love. 

My husband, Michael, and I now live in Rosebud (Bunurong Country) on one-third of an acre and are very grateful that we’ve inherited an established mixed (natives and non-natives) ornamental garden. We’ve added to its joy by putting in four large raised vegie beds and planting ten fruit trees.  

I love learning about this new garden of ours and what it teaches me along the way; like humility when I try to control nature and nature cheekily peeks over its shoulder and says, “Yeah … nah”.  

So, I’ve learnt to live with mess (cause a garden is never quite done, is it?), slugs and smart King Parrots who know just the exact moment when the tomatoes will be at their finest. Instead, I’m learning to work with nature. 

And because life is messy and not all sunshine and roses, working in the garden also helps heal me. It’s my meditation studio. Planting my fingers into warm soil and toiling the land become my solace and comfort during difficult times, helping to reenergise me. 

The garden experience has taught me patience and grace. 

I expect I discovered Diggers in a very similar way to many Diggers members. It all began with tomatoes …those pungent little seedlings flirted and then ultimately seduced me into a lifelong romance. My brother Jim recommended the seedlings many years ago. He bought some for me; I loved them; I became a member. 

Happily, this annual tomato transaction developed easily into something so much more; I had unearthed a community of like-minded people. 

Why leave a legacy to The Diggers Foundation? 

I believe in what Diggers believes in. 

My parents survived war-torn Greece and made it to Australia in the 1950s. They got lucky. They got a second chance to carve out a rich life here. My parents’ journey, indeed that of a whole generation of immigrants, is a reminder that progress is possible, even in the face of insurmountable odds. 

Now, when I see progress in action, I am empowered to help it along. I see Diggers working for the environment and for our planet’s future. I see it having a go – always with purpose, meaning and care.  

Mum and Dad inspired me to use my privilege for good and for nothing else, because I will always be fine. I will always have enough. I will always be able to provide for my family. Mum would say we have too much when others have too little. 

So, when I am old and ancient, that final tree in a forest, I want to continue to help Diggers protect and preserve what is dear to me for future generations to enjoy. I choose to leave a bequest to The Diggers Foundation because I can and it’s the right thing to do.