When I Moved Into My Apartment, I Thought I'd Lost My Garden Forever

I'd lived in my Rosalie house for thirty years. The garden was too much, the stairs were getting harder, and after David passed, the rooms felt too big for just me. Downsizing made sense.

But I hadn't expected to miss grass.

My apartment has a courtyard with pavers. It's fine. But for six months, I barely left the building. I'd make tea, sit on the balcony, watch the birds. I got out for walks, but I wanted more.

Then my daughter sent me a link. "Mum, this looks like something you'd enjoy." A Come and Try day at a croquet club, fifteen minutes away.

I almost didn't go. I told myself I'd feel silly. I didn't know anyone. I wasn't sporty.

But I went.

It sounds ridiculous, but I hadn't stood on grass in months. Not properly. The club had this enormous green space, perfectly flat, trees around the edges, birds everywhere.

I just stood there for a moment, breathing.

Halfway through the morning, everyone stopped. Not to rush off, just to sit together. There were biscuits. Actual teapots. Conversations about everything and nothing.

I hadn't had a real conversation outside my family in weeks. That morning, I talked to a retired teacher, a former accountant, and a woman who used to run a bakery in Fortitude Valley. We talked about the weather, the government, and whether scones should have jam or cream first.

It was wonderful.

I thought I'd be exhausted, but croquet isn't like that. You walk, you think, you line up your shot. Gentle but constant. By the end of the morning, my Fitbit said 4,000 steps. I hadn't noticed.

My physio later told me it was perfect for balance and keeping the mind sharp.

That was a year ago. Now I play twice a week. I've made friends I actually call on the phone. I've been to gala days at other clubs. I've eaten more scones than I care to admit.

Moving into the apartment was hard. Joining the croquet club? Best thing I've done since.