I misjudged the Sunday supermarket opening time and arrived a few minutes too early and so joined the other early arrivals outside the roller doors, like horses waiting to race from the gates.
A woman joined us and asked me what time the supermarket was opening. From there we started discussing the weather, which led to her talking about flannelette bed sheets and the fact that she used to live in Toowoomba. I used to live in Toowoomba, says I, and then I told her about our moving process and buying a house on acreage (well, one and a quarter acres). But wait, she lives on acreage and loves to garden.
So, we started talking about gardening. She used to plant floral gardens, but is turning her garden to subsistence gardens; her plants have to be useful now, such as fruit trees.
At this stage, a third woman rolls her empty trolley over to us and starts telling us about her no dig vegetable garden techniques. We were deep into making compost and mulching gardens when the supermarket doors rolled up.
I love being being in my fifties. When I was younger I would have been mortified that I arrived too early for the supermarket and would have stood there so self-consciously, twisting from foot to foot. Now I just join a conversation and feel lighter for the effort. Small riches.