Writing about my garden for Studio Cennen
I was recently asked to create a short piece (see below) about my garden and my children for Studio Cennen, a beautiful art gallery in Llandeilo. Check out their current exhibition entitled Body : Stitch : Soul : Grow which is on until 30th July 2022. Further information can be found on their website https://studiocennen.com/ or on Instagram @studiocennen.
Each afternoon, when the midday sun is at its highest and the top of the garden is partly in the shade of the ash, we venture barefoot to the old cherry tree. In the later years of its life, green leaves umbrella rough bark and is the perfect place to hang our bird feeders. We have three. My young children fill the seed holder first using doidy cups and, whilst most goes in, a spray of bouncing seeds scatter the ground, perfect for the larger birds. My children take it in turns to drop in two fat balls each, then the suet block, and we hang them from a stunted branch.
We then check on the vegetables and recite their names together: green cascades of beans, their tendrils gripping sticks; dainty yellow flowers on the tomato bushes; uniform rows of carrot tops. The rocket has bolted. My youngest runs her hand through the mint and offers her fingers up to my face. Mmmmmm, I breathe in the scent. She smiles, then carefully touches other plants, crowded nasturtiums and curiously shaped snapdragons, and each time she holds her hand to my nose. We attempt to count the number of bees on the phacelia. We check for woodlice under the insect hotel. We fail to find a snail (always named Jack) who is most likely hiding in a damp spot given the warmth of this summer day. We watch as blackbirds, wood pigeons and sparrows feast in the cherry tree. We bounce on the trampoline, pretending to be tigers. We chase balls, pretending to be dogs.
Our garden is our haven and our classroom, a place for play and a place for quiet. It is our space and our safety. It is a world much bigger and much more vivid than our imaginations could ever create.
