Over the last eight years I have loved and left three gardens; a surprising statistic considering I raised my family a mere four miles from the house I grew up in. For over 50 years I called the same community home. For 16 of those years, a garden we carved out of the woods next to our small log house was my passion.
This was the herb garden. On the other side of the greenhouse to the right, was a flower and summer vegetable garden. Below the house was a 64 x 64 foot fenced vegetable and fruit harvest garden, from which I filled the freezer, cold room and pantry every fall. It was truly a good life.
We lived on 60 acres with a 45 minute/50 km/30 mile commute to work. Our children grew up and moved away. My parents health grew worse and they had to move into town. Work stress increased until all these things came to a head one winter, causing us to make a rash decision. We’d move into town, buy a condo, try a new life on for size, minimize what stress we could and make way for a new phase of our life.
For three years I was a balcony gardener, four floors in the air…
Condo Balcony Summer 2016
At an age where many choose to downsize, we sold the condo and closed on a house in town.
For three summers I worked like a mad rabbit transforming the lawns-front and back-into gardens.
Front yard Spring 2020
We filled the backyard with a ridiculous amount of raised beds. Or as I liked to say, just the right amount!
A few months ago we moved to a city of 1.5 million people.
We recently signed on a house and are just waiting for some things to get sorted on the sellers end before closing, hopefully in the next few days.
Once again we bought a house while winter was only just waning, so I have little idea about the garden I am about to inherit. Whatever the melting snow reveals, I will be eagerly waiting, trowel in one hand, seeds in the other.
I hope the person who bought our last house is doing the same.