a day in the life of a latvian mom

Yesterday, I went on a little adventure—a 100 km trip to a place that doesn’t just sell plants, but actually grows and grafts them. I didn’t drive myself (thankfully)—my friend was kind enough to take us there. We chatted the whole way, and the drive felt like part of the experience.

My plan was to pick up: magnolia, peach or apricot (yes, we have these available to buy, but non of the gardens around have this, so I don’t know whether it will actually give fruit), chestnut and cherry.

We visited the same place last year, and I remember it so fondly. It was my first time buying trees for our garden—3 plum trees, a magnolia, 5 apple trees, 4 lilacs, and a peach tree (which, sadly, didn’t survive). The experience itself was wonderful. A kind man helped us with everything—loading the trees into the car, giving directions around the place. He kept reminding us he wasn’t really a plant expert, just helping out with odd jobs, but his friendly attitude made the visit warm and memorable.

This year… things felt very different. It looked as though no one had touched the plants since our last visit. Weeds had taken over some of the pots, trees had fallen and were left lying like that, maybe for months. The whole place felt forgotten—quiet, neglected, and a little heartbroken.

I didn’t wander around this time. I simply told the woman working there what I needed, and she brought everything out. She didn’t seem particularly happy to be helping, and the whole interaction felt cold and rushed. It left me with a heavy feeling I wasn’t expecting.

I still brought home the trees I came for—but I also brought back a sadness for this place. Last year, it didn’t feel full of care, there were weeds, etc, but still it was alive and full of joy. This year, it just felt tired… sad.

I had hoped to get more chestnuts, but when she told me the price, I just couldn’t justify it. In the end, I left with one sad-looking chestnut—its leaves looked like they’d either been frostbitten or scalded, as if it had been frozen or doused in hot water. We’ll see how it does… fingers crossed.

Now my task is to get them all planted and give them a good start. The weather might make things tricky, but planting trees feels like a small rebellion against the mess. A quiet declaration that this place will be home, full of life and rooted beauty.

Ilze