One of the most vivid and treasured memories of my childhood are of days spent roaming around my grandparents' enormous garden.
I remember the grave sense of purpose when faced with a several tennis fields worth of lawn to cross. The smell of the grass and the warmth of the sun on my back, as I caught grasshoppers with my cousins. The elation of pulling up potatoes with my Pépé, the glee of sneaking off with strawberries when my Mémé wasn't looking. The mindblowing excitement, and also the tiny nugget of fear in my stomach, as we carted our pillows and teddies and torches to the tent at the very back of the garden.
The Bean is still very young, but I think if I could explain my grandparents' garden to him in all its colours, images and sensations, he would understand its significance. He only has to venture into his own Opa's garden (for the garden is my father's domain) to see for himself.
I remember the grave sense of purpose when faced with a several tennis fields worth of lawn to cross. The smell of the grass and the warmth of the sun on my back, as I caught grasshoppers with my cousins. The elation of pulling up potatoes with my Pépé, the glee of sneaking off with strawberries when my Mémé wasn't looking. The mindblowing excitement, and also the tiny nugget of fear in my stomach, as we carted our pillows and teddies and torches to the tent at the very back of the garden.
The Bean is still very young, but I think if I could explain my grandparents' garden to him in all its colours, images and sensations, he would understand its significance. He only has to venture into his own Opa's garden (for the garden is my father's domain) to see for himself.
There are flowers to sniff knowingly (and never mind they don't actually smell - it's the thought that counts).
his Opa's garden has gigantic pine cones, and a toddler-sized wheelbarrow to put them in.
More trees that our city kid could imagine even in his most green-fingered dreams.
All manner of blooming and growing things, ready for harvesting with solemn concentration.
The Bean may be too young to put many of his feelings into words. He may still be a little too scared to roam the woodlands at the very back or to consider climbing the trees. But I think I can be confident there are many adventures waiting here for him, many afternoons to be spent rigging up snail race tracks with his cousins, many berries to sneak off with. And I also think he loves his Grandpa's garden as I much as I loved the one of my own childhood. After all, not even the rain was enough to stop him from taking the pine cones out for their daily walk.
