Putting Down Roots

I am a fourth generation immigrant. My family first appeared in a UK census in the year 1891.

Having settled in Scotland and subsequently integrated with the Scots through marriage they continued to wander the land never settling in one place. My younger siblings were the first to be raised in the town of their birth.

Though circumstances conspired to keep me in that town I always felt an underlying sense of restlessness. Until one day when my own children were small and I planted a tree {to commemorate a much loved family dog} in that moment the feelings of restlessness vanished, replaced by the desire to stay around to tend the tree. Suddenly I understood the meaning of the saying

“putting down roots”

And I discovered a hitherto unknown love of gardening. The tree grew big and strong as did my children.

When the children left home and I found myself rattling around a large house all by myself I decided to downsize and moved to a small detached cottage in the heart of town. Behind the cottage is a large walled garden, concealed behind a high wall and a large gate it is hidden from the world.

My very own secret garden.

It is said that you should live with a garden for a full year before you begin to develop it allowing time to discover what is already planted, where the shady and sunny spots are. Barely here half that time I am already bursting with planting plans and dreams of garden parties…

In the beginning...

In the beginning…


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