My mum and her garden

This afternoon the boys and I walked the the forty houses or so down the road to my Mum and Dad’s house (Nana and Grandad as they are more commonly called nowadays). I live on the same road I grew up on, it’s seems very odd to think it now with all my dreams growing up of where I would go and where I would end up but home is home!

When my parents bought the house on our road in 1992 I was nine. I remember coming to look at it and although I recall it was a bungalow I remember nothing about the house other than the garden. A huge space going back as far as the eye could see with beautiful miniature apple trees and huge horse chestnut trees around the edges. Growing up the garden was often used for adventures, camping, barbecues, quad biking and the occasional sunbathing session with baileys on ice (only after I turned 18 of course!). 

My parents had for many years talked of a dream to build their dream home in the large garden of the bungalow. I always loved listening to them talk about it but being honest never thought it would happen, the bungalow was big, lovely and well… Home.

Fast forward to 2010, I was long since married and living in another town in Kent with my husband and then newborn Nate when mum and dad got their planning permission and building works began. I couldn’t help but be sad, the gorgeous garden, the house I grew up in wouldn’t be there anymore and instead someone else would be living in the bungalow and my parents in the garden in a new house that had never been my home. I think I may have behaved a bit like a spoilt brat but I didn’t go and see any of the progress of the new house until summer 2011 when I was heavily pregnant with Leo who came a week before mum and dad moved into their new home in August.

Fast forward again to today, I walk or drive past the house I grew up in almost everyday and down the little private lane that leads to my parents house, The Orchard Farmhouse as they called it. A lovely couple now live in the bungalow who have looked after it and are cheerful and always nice to the boys (even when they are being noisy). When I get to the end of the lane and see my parents house I still feel like I’m coming home because you realise of course as you get older and become a parent that home is really where your mum is.

I’m not discounting Dad’s please don’t get me wrong but as a mum myself I have never felt closer to my mum. Sure we drive eachother mad at times and my decisions have left her fretting (let’s not talk about tattoos) but wherever my mum is she makes home, not just for me but for my boys too. I love the feeling of knocking on the giant metal door knocker on the wooden front door and walking in and smelling whatever is cooking that day (they feed us a lot, shift work again!) but what I love most is the garden.

When I was growing up I recall mum doing a lot of gardening and the garden always looking pretty but that was as far as my interests went however today I would go as far to say as I am fascinated by flowers and I can spend hours looking at the beautiful plants and flowers mum painstakingly grows in her garden. There are different areas that remind me of different times and things, like the rockery with Passion flowers and overflowing pink clematis climbing down it or the zen like pebble garden with old pots and fountains with different plants growing out of them, there is the vegetable patch and the country garden part which is literally anything you can imagine used to grow flowers from (old fire buckets, enamel jugs, clogs, you name it!).

I spend so much time taking pictures of mums garden and enjoy the moments we spend talking about what she is growing and me learning all the names (I’m getting there!).

I did just that this evening and would love to share some of the pictures with you. 

I love the saying ‘home is where the heart is’ but I think really home is where the family is. I’m just lucky that I have two homes, the one you have already seen a bit of where I live with Karl and our boys and the one in the garden of my childhood home that for a year I refused to look at! 

Lucy xx

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Author: TiredfromWhitstable

I'm Lucy, a 32 year old working mother and wife from Whitstable in Kent. This blog is for all my musings on life and follows my eternal struggle to juggle everything from being a mum, a volunteer youth mentor, a wife and making a lovely home and garden. Please join me!

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