A year ago none of this was here.
Not the bench zones, not the greenhouse, not even the starter Japanese garden. Just a few trees and no real idea what any of it would become.
The gardens you don’t see much of in this one — my wife’s — have been here for decades, built by her hand, one bed and one transplant at a time, day after day, season after season, long before I had a concept of benches at all. I didn’t start growing anything until I started paying very close attention to what she’d already made. (She’s a gardening savant).
When I think about it now, the year feels slow. It wasn’t. You’re just out there every day with the water and the wire and the fertilizer and the spider mites and the clippers and the sun, not noticing, and then one late September day you turn the camera around and there’s a real place instead of an imagined plan.
And now, soon, winter is coming.
