Almost first harvest time... of Lughnasadh... of the grain, and what feeds me.... and so, I turn to the garden once more for inspiration, to find that almost every square meter of garden I've made holds memories of people I have loved, and places I've lived.
Much of my garden has travelled with me throughout my life, and without the familiar scents and textures, I feel a little lost... Cuttings and seeds, saved from my own precious crops, and plants generously given to me as gifts, or passed down through families and friends, tell the story of me to myself... So precious is my small collection, yet to someone else, they may simply be greenery...
And this little rose, was originally propagated for me by my mother-in-law, a wise plantswoman, who taught me much about gardening. She loved this plant because it was a French rose her husband loved, and remembered it growing in his own mother's garden in Guernsey. When I moved to this place, my dear friend propagated a new rose from the one I'd been given. It had grown too large to be transplanted, & is rather rare. The same friend, gave me an elder tree, lovingly grown from a cutting taken from her farm, when she moved to the city... Now I have a small orchard of them, all grown from cuttings, and each one producing the frothy white flowers I love for midsummer champagne, which she says is as a Faerie's kiss... Ha! So on the story goes, my garden history merges with hers....
So, as you can see, there is much history in my garden, and in the gardens of all gardeners who treasure plants because of their associations, as much as their usefulness.
