Isolation; it’s a strange old time is it not? 

 Given that I usually spend much of my time tapping away at a keyboard, isolation was pretty much the norm for me and truth be told, I have been self-isolating for about five years or so. My particular professional (sic) lifestyle has granted me an enormous amount of time to indulge in two of my absolute favourite pastimes, namely sloth and procrastination. 

Then, out of the blue, along came a pesky virus and my idyllic existence was upended due to something called lockdown.

 Management was compelled to work from home!

Suddenly my daily routine was under the microscope and, in no time flat, the jig was up! A time and motion study quickly concluded that my productivity levels on an average day were hovering just above zero.

The elusive novel I was supposedly hard at work on was, after thorough analysis by management, would in all probability,  only be published posthumously after engaging a ghostwriter to fill in the yawning gaps.

Management declared that drastic action was called for.  

We are privileged here in Bali as we live in a grand villa with a sprawling garden that gives me immense pleasure, gazing at it, as I do from the comfort of the couch on the terrace, as I prepared for my customary afternoon nap. 

Wayan, a knowledgeable and immensely talented gardener, performs an altogether splendid job of keeping this tropical paradise in pristine condition. This ideal state of being has worked exceptionally well, nay, brilliantly for the last few years; me on the couch watching as he snips, plants, digs and keeps the lawns to a standard where they resemble magnificently manicured putting greens. 

My ‘normal’ profession of travel writing stalled and then crash-landed about eight or nine weeks ago along, with most of the airlines around the world. The result of this catastrophe is that right now there is not much call for tales of exotic, faraway places where, until further notice, no one can get to. 

Management naturally came up with the ideal solution to help fill my days by doing something productive. (shudder!) I was a little distressed by the gang of one’s decision for, at no time was I consulted on the how’s and wherefores of her intuitive decision.

The plan was presented during a rather sombre board meeting where I was compelled to wear a gag so that no dialogue was possible. In short, I was informed that in these uncertain times, perhaps it would be wise to become self - sufficient by growing our own food! 

A noble and an altogether brilliant idea I concurred (much head nodding) while immediately formulating a cunning plan to secretly brief Wayan to get this project off the ground. Given that he is blessed with the greenest of green fingers, we would be feasting on all manner of exotic vegetables in no time flat! This illusion was shattered when it transpired that management and Wayan had conspired and I was told in no uncertain terms that I was to perform the work myself with no assistance to be given whatsoever. 

During these troubled times, we have all come to appreciate the value of those who work in essential services such as health care, teaching, supply management, law enforcement etc. but I seldom read about the plight of all the lonely farmers out there.

I have now realized that we farmers are not receiving the much - needed recognition we deserve.

For the last six or seven weeks, I have risen at daybreak, prepared the fields (actually, fields are a bit of an exaggeration as the project consists of two medium-sized beds) applied compost, turned the soil, watered and weeded. I have planted and nurtured seeds in their little pots anxiously checking at least three or four times a day as they begin to poke their way above the soil. 

Once the germination process was complete and, all manner of baby seedlings were becoming hardy little plants, it was time to relocate them to the ‘real world’ - the carefully tended 'fields'.

I did not take this step lightly given the perils they would undoubtedly face out there. I consulted with wise Balinese oracles who nodded and assured me in no uncertain terms the rainy season sudah selesai  (had finished) and from here on in clear skies and cooler weather was guaranteed.  Like an anxious parent accompanying his child to her first day of school, I carefully transplanted each budding plant from the nursery to the lovingly prepared fertile soil. 

As the sun set that day,  lines of tomatoes, courgettes, carrots, lettuce and herbs stood tall -  waving gently in a soft breeze caressed by a tropical sun that had lost its potent sting.  Even management and the traitorous Wayan seemed impressed as they surveyed the crops and discussed in low and conspiratorial tones,  the prospects of an acceptable harvest.

Exhausted, as farmers often are after a long and tortuous day in the ‘fields’, I ate my evening repast and collapsed into bed.

2.00 am. I was jolted awake by a gigantic peal of thunder as continuous bolts of lightening turned a moonless night into day. The rain held off for a few minutes, and then, a tempest of near biblical proportions arrived, intent on causing mayhem and chaos.

I was up and out into the torrent in a second; and standing, drenched to the bone,  I watched as the rain, as bullets,   systematically battered my helpless seedlings into submission and drowned them under a newly formed lake. 

The morning brought the devastation into stark relief; as the sun rose so did the heat, so fierce it was almost impossible to be outside.  Rows of seedlings lay scattered, roots exposed, their stems stripped of their adolescent leaves which lay curling up under an incinerating sun sucking from them any vestiges of life they still might have. To add insult to injury, the rain brought with it a plague of caterpillars who feasted on the carnage like cruise ship patrons descending on the seafood buffet.

Is there a lesson to be learned from this tale of triumph and disaster I asked myself as I made my way forlornly back to the nursery to start the process all over again?

Yes, there is. Even in this time of COVID 19 and unseasonable storms, there is one virtue that we can all cling to.

HOPE.

Bali. April 2020