As we’re hurtling once again towards 100°F (38°C) and my desire to work in the garden is wilting with the climb of the thermometer, I’m beset with a strange longing to go back to Cornwall where surely the likes of 100°F have never been seen. As if I needed another reminded that I’m inextricably mired in middle age, I was taken aback a bit when I realized that our visit to Cornwall was seven years ago. My memories of that trip are very vivid; I remember walking down the country lane shown in the first photo bundled up in a sweater at the end of June. Surely the sun must have been out a time or two, but what has stuck in my mind all this time are the glorious gray skies of the south of England. Here in California, we have blue skies for months on end, and I tell you, they’re not that exciting. Give me clouds and a drizzle any day! (Come December, I will regret saying these words, but that’s how I feel right now.)
This post isn’t about specific plants and it doesn’t contain any gardening tips. Instead, it is about a place where everything seems to grow of its own accord—willingly and vigorously, without the constant nudging and nurturing plants often seem to require in our parched Mediterranean climate. There is green everywhere, and every plant seems to be desirable rather than a weed. I know this isn’t really true, but in my somewhat overheated mind, it’s what I’m clinging to.