Brendan slowed the rental car as he pulled into the driveway at the address on his phone and smiled. It was perfect. The agent from Norwich had told him it would be, but after a thirty year career as a journalist, and as a skeptic by nature, he rarely relied on the word of another human. That was an easy ticket to disappointment. But for once, it appeared his doubt was misplaced.
The cottage was stonework with a newly thatched roof. The wooden front door looked old and sturdy, and the windows were clean and new, but still matched the classic English style of the house. But what really stood out for Brendan was the garden. Sure, it needed some tending, and some areas had overgrown a bit, but it was lush. Lovely flowers in planters under the windows, native bushes and plants in the yard with winding river rock pathways around them. And no grass to mow.
He turned off the car and headed towards the front door. He was early, as usual, and the agent would not be here for another fifteen minutes or so. Since the place was unoccupied, he figured he'd wander the grounds until then. Besides, he liked being able to walk quietly and observe without interruption. Thomas was a nice guy and a great real estate agent, but he did tend to talk too much. He was one of those that didn’t know how to sit in silence, so filled it with rambling.
Brendan admired the flowers up close. He supposed he would have to learn their names. Plants had never been his strong suit; that was Eliza’s department. Her green thumb had been legendary back in St. Pete among her gardening club. It also helped that she was a former biology professor, specializing in habitat restoration and environmental education. She was going to love fixing up this place.
He peeked in the window and grinned even larger. A huge stone fireplace commanded the living room, holding court over dark hardwood floors and some very comfortable looking leather chairs, and an inviting (and napworthy) couch. He was glad he had specified that they wanted a furnished place. Trying to outfit a new home from scratch - in a foreign country, no less - would have been time consuming and likely expensive. He was glad he would not have to visit an IKEA or some other furniture outlet.
Feeling a little giddy, Brendan followed the rock path around the left side of the house and opened the wooden gate to the backyard. His eyes grew wide and his jaw sagged when he beheld it. It was not a “yard”, it was a garden. If the front of the house had been a quaint and lovely exercise in landscaping and design, the rear was a masterpiece of a combined British aesthetic and loving plant cultivation. Roses he could identify, and the odd marigold and such, and he did recognize a few herbs and other edibles. But there was so much more. The explosion of color was a treat for the senses. The smell of the flowers and soil and morning dew was intoxicating. He could hear the lazy buzz of some very happy bees nearby (he nudged himself in the opposite direction, given his allergies).
As he walked slowly into the garden, his gaze wandered left and right, up and down, trying to take it all in. It was not a large space, but it felt like he had walked into a new world inside his new world. The back porch caught his eye. Just a few wooden steps up from the pathway, it offered up a matching set of four chairs and two tables, weathered but clean. Perfect for a morning coffee and reading the paper. Or even cocktails with the neighbors? He’s had to see about that. Neighbors could be tricky things. But certainly a bourbon with a nice pipe in the evening would be in order. Eliza would sip her gin and tonic and read the latest science article, trying to explain the finer technical points to him. He would nod and pretend to understand. She would laugh at him and call him hopeless.
Brendan moved to the herb garden for a closer look. Rosemary, dill, basil. He could already imagine the meals he would prepare. He wondered if cilantro grew well in this climate. Eliza loved cilantro. Maybe tomatoes? So much possibility. He discovered a trellis decorated with vines and small flowers and… were those cucumbers starting to grow?! Too good to be true.
A loud snort and snuffling sound startled him and he swung around to find himself facing a small creature sitting in the grass. It was a badger. Not the ferocious, “honey badger don’t care” type, but the polite, unassuming European species found throughout England and Scotland with a sensible black-and-white striped pattern running the length of its head and melding into a responsibly plain grey body. The badger huffed at him again, then turned and trotted off, disappearing into the foliage that lined the garden wall.
Brendan laughed. Yes, this new home would do nicely.
My dream garden!
This was lovely!