It wouldn’t be summer if I didn’t dedicate a post to the garden at my Mum’s now, would it?
We moved into that house when I was 17. Jason and I drank tea in the kitchen there after our first date (to a local Italian restaurant, he ate risotto and pannacotta, I ate salad because I was 18 and felt that was what I should do on a date, HA!), an acceptance letter from the dance school I’d trained my way towards for a decade came tumbling through that letterbox (I got halfway through reading the first sentence of said letter, then promptly burst into tears and screamed myself hoarse in joy!) and some of our most treasured family memories took place within those four walls.
And yet, despite how special the house itself is, it’s the garden at Mum’s I love the most of all. I love the sunken patio and how the garden itself slopes up and away from the house. I love the fact that, when the grass is long, you can see the track the cats follow as they cut a path up the garden. I love the twisted lilac tree branches that bloom for the briefest moment each spring, and the shushing noise the big tree makes in the wind. And mostly, I love the silly, insignificant memories attached to that beautiful outdoor space- like the time I hung tealights from branches when my Mum, Grandma and I sat out late one summer evening, and peace turned to drama when a tealight set fire to the bay tree, and the competition we all once had of who could spit cherry pips farthest down the length of the garden. The many, many glasses of Pimms drunk, and parties held, and meals eaten al fresco.
We gathered in the garden last Sunday evening for dinner. My sister is busy revising for her final few GCSEs and stressed beyond belief, so we left her to her frantic highlighting and scribbling and paperwork-shuffling and sat outside drinking cider instead. Mum cooked duck with bay leaves and juniper and roasted new potatoes and threw together a couple of different salads, whilst I pottered around twirling in my dress (it begs to be twirled in, what can I say!) and taking photos of bees and things.
Then, as if the evening couldn’t get any more perfect, a cheese board was produced as if by magic after we’d finished our duck, featuring a wedge of brie so runny and ripe it looked as though it’d spend the afternoon in a sauna. It was heaven.
Here’s to another hazy summer spent making memories in the most perfect little garden that ever was