For the Love of Horticulture and Toes

May 12, 2025 Webmaster

by Lorraine Brockbank

A man called Arnold with a gimpy leg who lived in a house with an impressive garden on Maple Street, sprouted my lifelong love for, and career in horticulture.

As a young teen, walking home from my new school, I’d tag along with the prankster kids from my class. Upon spotting Arnold tending his garden, we’d drag our right foot and lurch forward in unison, mimicking his strange gait.

‘Hey, Arnold, have you counted your toes today?’ someone would shout out.

He’d pause his digging, scratch his head under his wide brimmed-hat, and resume gardening.

Convinced Arnold’s funny walk was because his right foot had the wrong number of toes, speculation was rife amongst us.

‘Chopped off a toe digging potatoes,’ Jason Gilchrist said.

‘Potatoes, toes. He confused the two. Get it?’ Simon D’Wit added.

‘Nah. I betcha he’s eaten an underground Toe-toad; hence, he grew an extra toe.’ Baxter Willoughby said.

‘Eat too many toads, grow too many toes and your shoes won’t fit,’ I said.

‘If you ate one of those toads, you would never eat another. They’re repulsive.’

‘What? Have you eaten one, Willoughby?’

‘Yeah, let’s see your toes.’

My father threatened consequences after discovering my role in the ‘harassment’ of Arnold – a word I had to look up in the hefty thesaurus.

He kept me in suspense until Saturday; then hauled me out of bed early, and, with planks of wood from our shed, marched me to Arnold’s to apologise. Shame-faced, I delivered my apology. Then we assisted Arnold to dismantle his rickety water-tank stand and construct a replacement. His agile, dragonfly-like movements mesmerised me, causing me to forget his limp.

Throughout that summer, I made frequent visits, and while we toiled, Arnold’s passion for horticulture, like a water sprinkler trickling into my head, nurtured my curiosity, tamed my mischievous ways, and my love for horticulture bloomed in the rich compost.

Similar to my father, Arnold emphasised the significance of consequences. ‘Actions have outcomes; positive, negative, and sometimes, like my accident, both. My reckless accident ended my twenty-year career in explosives, as a mine engineer. However, if it weren’t for that, I’d never have created this thriving garden. Creating is more rewarding than blowing things up.’

Although I wondered if he’d blown off his own toes, I did not ask and Arnold did not say.

Arnold beamed like a ray of sunshine sitting on his porch with his right leg resting on a stool, contemplating the garden, after our labours. ‘Who could want for more?’

However, a gloomy cloud hovered as we sat on the porch on my last visit.

‘My leg’s excruciating. Would you mind if I removed it?’ Arnold asked.

With a puzzled nod from me, he rolled up his trouser leg to reveal a prosthetic leg. As he gave me a sideways grin, he undid the straps, and rubbed his red-raw stump. ‘Had you and your mates guessing, didn’t I?’