When I contemplate my dream house, I rarely think of the number of bedrooms, what the kitchen looks like, what colour the walls will be. I think of the garden, of the little piece of paradise that I could create there. I have a garden in my mind. The trees and flowers and vegetables. I dream of a little orchard of fruit trees, raised garden beds, bird and butterfly attracting natives, perhaps a frog bog and creek. I'm thinking about cubby houses made of trellis and climbers, plants to touch and smell and taste, trees to climb, hills to roll down (and climb back up!) Gardening doesn't bring so much satisfaction when renting, my pots full of plants will come with me when I move, but I would prefer to be planting in the ground.
In the last week plants have brought me so much joy. The first pink camelia greeting me on my way up the driveway, brightening a frosty morning, beautiful regardless of my dislike of camelias. The morning sun rising over the hills, bathing the tops of the majestic mountain ash in gold as I walk into school. My little potted veggie patch growing growing growing, getting ever closer to harvest. Buds appearing on the bare magnolia tree, though the brilliant flowers are a long way off.
