On this day 20 years ago, 6 September 1996, two people had their first meal in this garden. Setting up a small table on the small lawn, in the evening, in gathering darkness, after a long day. Moving in day, long awaited.
About the time I’m writing this they were drinking champagne. Then feeling relieved and happy to be here at last, in this house that nearly wasn’t theirs, was almost sold to someone else, but came back to them like it was meant to be.
It was our perfect place. Felt like it was meant to be.
And then years of making a home and a garden here, so many years.
A website called Turning Earth describes the garden-making part of it.
In early 2014, one of them left.
The one who stayed knew that the most important thing was to hang on to what was left, what remained. This land. This piece of land, our home, our garden. My home, my garden.
With the sparrows nesting in the eaves and the blackbirds nesting in the ivy and the young birds blundering in occasionally through open windows and doors, and the frogs in the pond. And the protected space of it all, a kindly sanctuary for the small beasts and birds, and for me.
Small miracles do happen.
I was pushed into a skydive, in early 2014, far above the earth I know and love, plummeting downwards. But many small parachutes came to assist, and, in the end, the landing was gentle, back here on the bit of earth I know, the bit of land that means the world to me.
20 years of knowing this piece of land, planting in its earth, and repairing and painting and renovating the brick, plaster, wood and iron of the house this garden wraps around. And still sparrows in the eaves and blackbirds in the ivy.
I’m popping out now to Millennium Shed to celebrate/acknowledge this 20 year anniversary, which, after recent happenings and changes, means more than I can say.