The view from my kitchen window

“I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.”

Dodie Smith

I am aware that seeking a view from one’s sink is a common trope. That there’s a joy to be found in gazing out over the washing up. I’ve seen it on Location Location Location. It’s not so much that I dissmised it previously it but I certainly viewed it with a sense of bemusement. How can this be such an important place? Is it merely symbolic or do people genuinely stand over their sinks washing up and looking out? I’ve always loved cooking but hated washing up so while I’m likely to be found standing over the chopping board or pan, the washing up bowl has never been my zone. Nobody places their hob so that they can best view from beyond it do they? Why is that not a thing?

However, his phase of my life has brought with it a whole new host of sink standing duties. A baby that needs 3 meals and 2 snacks prepared from scratch every day. An allotment of dirty veg that needs more processing than your average supermarket haul. A foul collection that need looking after. And cleaning up after. I’m constantly hand washing and rinsing and emptying. And though it feels very middle England to admit it, I do regularly find my self pausing to gaze out of the window and release a happy and contented sigh. And daydream about the garden we will have one day.

Today Matt and Flo are doing blackbird watch. I’m not sure what it entails but it involves them sitting in the garden gazing at the trees and I find it very sweet. Matt is quite newly home and Flo is still thrilling with the excitement of seeing his dad again after a long day, his little limbs pulsing and tensing with the sheer joy of it all. Matt has him on his lap but he can’t stay still, jigging and bouncing and digging his fingers into Matt’s flesh. He reminds me a bit of a gibbon at the moment; skinny arms too long for his little body. When held he sort of hangs onto his host and lets his feet dangle. Matt is pointing up at something and Flo is looking in an entirely different direction. I will later find neither one has seen a blackbird. As usual.

This is the back part of the garden, the business end. It has a long washing line, doubled up, where we can hang at least two loads of washing. Rainy Manchester and a powerful combination of my stubbornness and laziness result in it almost always having washing on it. It’s not unusual for one of us to have to dash out in our pants to get clothes for the day. That person is usually Matt.

The rest of the garden is pretty overgrown though the chickens keep the lawn at bay. Last week I found an apple tree. The week before, plum. We tried one the other night and it was delicious. Made me think of my time in Paraguay where the locals are accused of lacking ambition due to having plentiful fruit growing around them and therefore wanting for nothing. It’s an interesting analogy that.

On some occasions, standing at the sink, my eye will be caught by some movement in one of the bushes and a duck will emerge, her beak covered in mud from nuzzling through the soil for worms. As she waddles down the lawn she is almost always followed by her sister and it’s not unusual for one or more of the chickens to come after. It’s a bit of a Tardis that area of bushes. It’s where I want my forest sauna. On others I will look up and see a chicken prance across the lawn. Chickens mainly scurry or dash, so on the rare occasions that they prance, comb thrown back into the sun, it’s a real treat.

I imagine for some people, there’s a feast to be seen from the sink. A view of the road or open countryside for example. An ever-changing stage show of seasons or community. My garden changes only in how green it is. There are the most beautiful roses from other perspectives but you can’t really glance them from here. Just a rather ugly but prolific rhododendron bush and a lot of awkward looking branches.

I don’t know what it is, necessarily about that view that causes me to pause. Maybe it’s the metaphorical significance of the handwashing; moving between jobs in the day. Putting an end to one task, reflecting on that and considering what comes next. There’s never anything very special to see and yet everything feels content somehow. Just as it should be.