A memoir to my childhood garden
BY ROSIE LAWRENCE
One of my earliest memories from my childhood is cycling up and down the broken path that ran down the very centre of my garden, dividing it (almost) perfectly in half.
The sun shone down on the soft green grass. I followed my older sister and brother, while my younger brother followed on from me, as we travelled on bikes, trikes and a tractor to the end of the path. There sat a small wooden hut next to a large pole, the home of one end of a washing line, though on this particular day hung red, blue and white bunting. Near that was a climbing frame I had claimed for my own, for the tag that was stitched in the netting donned my initials. The Union Jack bunting matched the hats on our heads, none of us truly knowing what exactly a “Queen’s Jubilee” is other than an excuse to dress up and have some fun.
From memory, I can’t recall what I wore, what my siblings wore, or any words exchanged. I just remember how much fun I was having as the sun set on the day, blessing us with a golden hue that warmed our skin and the air. Our adventure continued; back and forth up the path, to the house to the end of the garden and back again. On one such journey round the path, our dad captured a photo of the four of us on the Nikon F90 that sits in my camera bag today.
If you were to look back into the same garden today, the picture would be very different. Both the wooden hut and the broken stony path are gone, the former torn apart and used for an entertaining bonfire that I cease to remember; the latter upheaved and replaced with more grass. An abundance of trees have since taken the space. They have grown tall, producing yearly cycles of pink and white blossoms that gently fall as quickly as they arrive as the wind and rain pass through. One of those trees fell ill and had to be chopped down, recently. Its remains sit propped up against the shed.
A swinging chair that’s missing its cushion seats and a white sun lounger older than me are littered across the garden, being constantly dragged around the garden between the shade and the sun, the destination depending on the perpetrator. A run-down shed that is somehow still standing sits behind a large trampoline that sits behind a washing hanger, the replacement of the poles (though one still lives, swallowed by the hedge that separates our garden from the next). The patio has stayed the same, as do the hedges that define our space. A 7ft fall fence now shuts us in.
Weirdly, the garden feels bigger now as I walk to the end with a cup of tea or a glass of wine. My almost full-grown siblings, there being seven of us now instead of the original four, play fight and join to bathe in the warmth our sun has to offer.
Despite there being more furniture, more nature, higher fences and more people, it feels as though each addition added an extra metre or so. Lazy summer days that merge into one are spent here, finding joy in the rare days where all nine of us come together for an evening. My mother regularly spends her time at the back, weeding the soil and planting more and more everyday. My youngest sister built her a table from an old wardrobe that is used for a gardening station.
How handsome and rich it is to see these additions with the ever-coming years and how each new toy is just as amazing as the last, how it instills that same excitement as the previous. Just as it did all those years ago and will continue to do so in the years to come.
Rosie Lawrence is a 22 year old nature lover, constantly outdoors and preferring the outside space. Having just graduated with a degree in BSc Geography, she's finding new ways to entwine her passion for the earth with creative outlets.