In this garden I am trying to take my cue from what is here already. I always seem to have had neglected gardens, perhaps Frances Hodgson Burnet  is responsible, I am drawn to the sense of opportunity they present. So, when I glance out of my back door towards the rhododendron near the path to the kitchen garden, I notice a bright shot of blue as the sun slants at a certain angle – pulmonaria, lungwort, one of my favourites though not visible in the picture above which was taken earlier this year. I happen to have some in a pot which came from Neil’s mother’s garden, so why not increase what evidently likes that spot and increase my pleasure also.

Nearby I will plant a rose given me in memory of Mum. It will sit here,

in a bed of which we can just see the outline, a semicircular depression in the soil. Then grandmothers will have a presence in the garden, whispering with the other souls out there. I’d like to put delphiniums here too, for my grandfather – who was a stern Victorian patriarch who loved his garden. Then take snowdrops from Cecil, hellebore from Sylvia and gradually a host of flowered faces will look at me over the seasons.

The garden as memory.

 

Today it has rained and rained – and with the daylight increasing you can almost watch the direct transfer of moisture from sky to soil to bud, flowing cell by cell by cell in that miraculous thing that is life and growth. 

Yesterday I had the pleasure of Pen and one of her wide variety of delightful daughters for tea and Trinity Wholefoods chocolate almond cake, which is always a treat. The cake and Pen and Alice, I mean! Time spent with her is always both fun and thoughtful. It was their first visit to our new house, there is always such pleasure in sharing a home with friends.



Also loving this over on Judy's blog - textile colour poetry!