In each of my books, I wax lyrical about flowers, cottage gardens, burgeoning baskets and the heady aroma of summer blooms. This blog may help you understand where all this passion came from.
I don't remember the exact point I discovered a love for gardening, I guess it just grew over the years. As a child I would watch my dad (a green-fingered man if you ever saw one) patiently dig out borders, cultivate seedlings and trim the edges of his lawn. I just couldn't understand the obsession. Back then, having a beautiful garden had very little impact on me. However, as I grew up I started to take notice of peoples reactions when they visited. 'Wow'. 'Stunning'. 'Have you planted all this yourself?'
Roses were his favourite. They jostled for position alongside salvia, geraniums, foxgloves, geums, peonies, agapanthus, poppies and erysimums. You say it, he grew it and he knew the name of every plant. I would stand impatiently by his side, rolling my eyes and wishing I was outside playing while he tried to teach me what grew in what soil, what flowered all season, the benefits of evergreen and the downside of slugs. At the time I considered it wasted knowledge, but my immature brain must have absorbed plenty, because I can still pick out most plants and tell you exactly how to grow it.
And this is the man himself, tired out after digging, planting, pruning and trimming, this is where you'd normally find him, sleeping on a bench with a cold cup of tea by his side (I've inherited so many traits!).
If he had money in his pocket you'd find him in the garden centre or in a nursery, and the seats of our car were constantly covered in soil.
I don't know who was shocked the most, him or me, when I asked for his help to create a garden in my first home. As dads often do, he trundled me off to the garden centre with his wallet firmly tucked in his pocket and we drove back home with what I can only describe as a 'jungle' in the back of the car.
Before the day was out, my previously neglected raised border resembled a small piece of dads garden. As the months went on, I devoured book after book on cottage gardens. Soon, my dad had someone to talk 'plants' with and my mum and David would bury their heads in their hands and groan.
However, mum couldn't complain too much! In Spring 2002, David and I announced we were to be married. My mum immediately bought wedding magazines, researched outfits, perfume, hats and favours. My dad got his gardening books out and started to design an Eden fit for a bride. This is my mum, on the way to the venue where we got married and you can just see me in the background, nervously saying goodbye to my bridesmaids.
I don't think I need to point out that walking underneath the arch of burgeoning blooms on the arm of my dad was a moment to remember. I truly felt like a Princess.
Sadly, not long after we married, we lost mum and then five years later, we lost dad too.
Emptying and selling their home was hard, but walking around dads garden knowing it would soon belong to someone else was even harder.
With the help of a family friend, we dug up his roses, took cuttings of his favourite plants and somehow managed to transport all this, plus his pergolas to my garden, along with the bench where he always sat.
Slowly, bit by bit, I'm building his garden of Eden. Every plant I buy, I can almost hear him by my side (it need ericaceous compost, read the instructions) or tutting when it dies within a week (you should have watered it, you daft bugger!).
I'm nowhere near as good as dad was. I guess green fingers grow with experience and time, but I feel like I'm getting there. These are today's purchases which I can't wait to plant up.
I've got his trowel, his spade, and most of his pots. For those few hours it's almost like we're together again. And then I sit back on his bench with a cup of tea and remember the good times.
With love,
Louise x
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