In my grandfather's garden - The garden of an artist

It will not be possible to describe this garden in one post, but I can give you a glimpse, a feel of what it is like. It will not be an objective perspective and I will not even try to, as I believe the most powerful dimension to add to a garden is the story. 

Ever since I was a toddler, every time I visited my grandfather, the visit typically ended with a tour of the garden. It always went like this. 

Starting with the shadow garden, where elves live among the cyclamen and beneath the ferns in October; 

to the secret path, found by following the light, in November; 

to the pond, where the frozen gargoyle, silently overlooks the water in December; 

to the Magnolia, in front of the dining window, snow white against the blue skies in January;

to the stream, to gaze at the snowdrops beneath the elm with a hollow, where you should resist the temptation to look inside, in February; 

to the bridge, built for celebrating marriages, covered in daffodils in March;

to the atelier, to smell the scent of brass being sculpted, inspired by the garden, in April

to the rock garden, to identify each remarkable succulent, covered in a blue carpet of forget-me-nots in May; 

to the rose garden, to smell each and every one of them in June; 

to the vegetable garden, picking beans that grow to unimaginable proportions—even Roald Dahl would envy them—in the rich, fatty soil, in July; 

to the greenhouse, to secretly pick and eat grapes until your stomach hurts in August; 

to finish in the orchard, passing through the gate sealed with a rose, to collect nuts in September.

It was the garden of an artist: a story, a sculpture, a tribute to creation and admiration. 

A couple of years have passed since my grandfather passed away, and I have continued these visits. It’s astonishing how quickly a garden loses its vigor when the inspirer is gone, but its soul remains. 

The house and garden are about to be sold. I hope the future owners will breathe new life into the garden with their stories, stories yet to be told.