I don’t want to be too harsh on the garden or give you the impression that this was a bundle of weeds out my front door, far from it. When we moved in, we saw the lushest array of plants I’d seen since the botanical gardens. The front yard was alive with a riot of flowers (love that expression) in every color and shape imaginable. Gigantic Matilija Poppies at 7 feet with what look like fried eggs atop each, gigantic purple plumes of what we came to call Dr. Suess Plant, blue and white rosemary, 15 different kinds of heirloom roses, canna lilies, ginger, magnolia flowers, acacias, hibiscus, lavenders, love-in-a-mist, borage, oleander... It’s not a big yard, but every part of it was covered in blooms that April. Butterflies floated through our path as we brought moving boxes in the front door, bees swarmed the blues and reds, drunk with nectar, and hummingbirds dove through the foliage at speeds I thought unimaginable. We moved in at just the right time, spring.
That first weekend I took my coffee and sat on the wood bench in the front yard, writing. I thought, “Now I’ve really made it. A house of my own, a garden of my own.” After growing up as an Air Force brat and living for years among the expatriates of Los Angeles, it felt like I was finally at home.
I was at home. But it wasn’t going to be as simple as just sitting there with my cup of coffee and drinking up the cool spring morning.
