A hat your sister encourages you to buy (and wear), a deck built in the most unlikely place and a new concrete slab purposely flawed. What do all these have in common? They are all crazy ideas with just the right amount of tenacity and they all work.
There are times to branch out or go out on a limb and what better place than in your garden where trees can actually grow. Think about what is holding you back. What will people think, its too corny or it will never work are a few statements I have run into. There have been enough posts I have written about yards renovations and makeovers that are outside of the box that I will not bore you with another one. When you look at seed catalogues and dream about your yard do not exclude the odd ideas that many tend to put to the side. A garden is a forgiving place to express yourself after all. Our garden coaches/ consultants can help with sound advice and ears that listen carefully to what your goals are.
I am attaching one of the stories I wrote about in Holland. It should be noted that my aunt was shocked at how manicured the lawn are on North America and when visiting the different outlook held in Holland really came through. We are bound in many ways to what we envision and culture is a very powerful one. This story is one from my first book if anyone is interested.
Day 1 Our Host
It is one thirty in the morning and I sit on the logs provided for the sitting. They are still fragrant from having just been cut and from not being hauled. They have been placed perfectly on the patio and they are the best of companions to their elders in the driveway. On those the potted plants thrive.
When we arrived yesterday everything was just as expected. The lawn perfectly manicured; some having been cut last week, some this week. Her hedge along the drive is trimmed but there are no other shaped hedges. It is better to say that there is nothing unkempt, and that every single plant belongs and thrives together. I consider weeding the drive edges and the undergrowth under the trees in the back but have this feeling of uncertainty of not knowing where to start or why I would. So I sit in it, on a log, and write about it instead.
I would be amiss if I did not tell you of the real beauty of her garden. It blooms while we are conversing on the patio set in the drive, my sister, my aunt and I. The petals sharply defined and soft as fluff, all perfectly spaced. There are no forced blooms here and no bag of dead heads exist. There is such a fragrance that it follows us as we bike and as we dine together that evening. I play with names for the fragrance like “tweed and loafers” or “wool and enamel” but I am at a loss. Perhaps “chopped onions and coffee”? I think “smiles on a breeze” is the best though.