A dithering blaze of flowers

7am, early May, my Sussex garden

The birds are singing their songs as I sit, sleep still in my eyes, coffee in hand, and watch a fat, furry bumble bee drink greedily and fervently from ultraviolet purple camas blossoms.

This garden is still a stranger to me: every day, I am discovering new growth from bulbs and seeds that were planted by a previous incumbent. It is not a neat garden, and I do not want it to be. I want dandelions and daisies to spring up in the grass; I want this space to be a playground for wildlife.

Once you have a garden, gifts from other gardeners come pouring in. Lily of the valley from my grandmother; New York aster from a family friend; a Thunbergia, sometimes known as a Black-Eyed Susan, from James’ mum. It is an act of love to pull roots and bulbs from the ground that you have so carefully tended, to take cuttings from tender green leaves, so that someone else may know the joy of watching them grow. How special. This garden, though still new to me, is full of love and precious memory already.

The mild spring weather we have been experiencing of late has allowed me to settle into a peaceful new morning routine, and I am already dreading the inevitable arrival of autumn, when I will no longer start my day among the flowers. 7am and I am downstairs in my favourite dressing gown, measuring ground coffee into the machine as my beautiful garden stirs and wakes. I watch as dark, rich espresso drips slowly into the mug, steamed milk gorgeous and frothy and smooth. Lilac crocs on my feet and coffee in hand, I shuffle outside to greet the sun.

Vanessa Bell once wrote in a letter that her garden at Charleston was, “…simply a dithering blaze of flowers, butterflies and apples.” As I sit and watch the bumble bee flitting amidst the vibrant purple of the camas, I can only emphatically agree with her. A garden should be a blaze of colour and joy, a place to trail your fingertips through soft green grass, to squint at each other in the midsummer sunlight as it peeks through the trees, to laze and snooze and forget that time exists.

My enthusiasm for my garden seems to know no bounds. I want to be outside in this theatre of birdsong and rustling trees, feeling the earth between my gloved hands. For the first time in my life, I am apprehensive about how I will feel come October, when activity in the garden winds down and I must think about pruning and cutting back and digging over ready for next year.

Sat on the wooden steps that lead to the upper part of our tiered garden, I tear my gaze away from the bee to land on the raised beds, where lavender and primrose and forget-me-nots are growing in abundance. They were gifts from my mum and grandma’s gardens too, as were the potted herbs that sit on the patio by the house, and the lily of the valley bulb that I have just planted.

The serenity that I have known in the short time that I have been the custodian of this garden has surprised and dumbfounded me in equal measure. I knew that I would relish the opportunity to nurture a garden long before I had my own, but I never expected to become so entrenched in its rhythms, so purposeful about how I spend my time there. For someone who often struggles to show up for herself, the garden has given me a clarity of purpose that was utterly foreign to me just a handful of months ago.

For my birthday in June, I plan to visit Vanessa Bell’s garden at Charleston, the Sussex home where she lived and painted (and gardened) for more than four decades. I want to walk the paths of the walled garden, brush past the hollyhocks and the tulips and the dahlias, see the orchard in glorious pink blossom. No garden has captured my fascination quite like the one at Charleston, and I am already planning the borders that I will dig out in the autumn, the abundance of bulbs that I will plant and seeds I will sow to create a feeling of overflow, wild and beautiful and free.

I finish my coffee, draining the last dregs as I rise from my spot on the wooden steps. The bee has flown off to find other floral prospects, and I too must take my leave of the garden and crack on with the day’s to do list.

Thank you so much for reading! Do let me know if you enjoyed it (feel free not to tell me if you didn’t) 🌼