Gardening to my heart’s content

When I step into my gardens on a bright morning, before the sun is above the hedgerow and the shadows are long and the air is sweet, when the riot of summer colour is past and I catch the perfumed scent of the last rose, I feel such a deep sense of contentment, it somehow feeds my soul and I feel a sense of continuity and renewal.

Our house was in nothing more than a farm field when my husband began to tame it and give it structure – a stand of cedars here, a maple there, the weeping willow and the cherry tree.  But, I said, I’d like the gardens to be mine.  Happy with that arrangement, he left me to dig and till and gather rocks and remove stones and plant and seed to my heart’s delight, only assisting upon request with a particularly stubborn rock or the building of a fence.

And so, over time, I transformed our field.  From this …

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