Dear garden, 

On hands and knees, uprooting Spring weeds, I come across a tiny figurine, buried deep, lost in time. I brush the earth from the crevices, polish it against my gardening glove and reveal a miniature Peter Pan, remember vividly a time when it lay in a small child’s chubby palm.  

I spiral back quarter of a century, sit back on my heels and spin through those years like a Tardis, see your configurations morph back to a simpler time. Do you remember? When you were as fresh and green as we were? A different time, before you were established, when you were a newly turfed lawn, a basic path. Nothing more. A clean slate, before memories were made, before life surrounded you in so many different ways, before scars. 

We began to change you, improve you, test you out, use you.  Do you remember how we started to shape you? How we always trusted you to do the right thing. 

Have you forgotten about the swing? We bored deep holes into you, pored in concrete, pinned it securely. Remember the way our eldest scuffed you with her feet, swinging incessantly, back and forth, testing her nerve and mine as she soared higher, higher…higher.  Soothing herself by kicking at you, wearing you away to a trench of mud. A scar that took years to heal, still faintly visible when the storms come. 

The dogs gave you a good bruising too. Rudely bleaching patches of your best green turf, frantically digging at you, tearing round your corners, ruining your best summer displays. The cats claimed the territory, at night, silently stalking invisible borders, mewling like witches over a caldron.  

You were resilient, continued growing, reinventing, rejuvenating, breathing new life. You never gave in or threw in the towel. At times, you looked patchy, weak and pale, but you always fought back, even if it took a while for the sunshine to repair you. 

We gradually set borders, laid paths, invested in bulbs and trees, made corners to view your growing life. We planted new challenges, changed your outlook. Did you feel the same anticipation as us? 

Do you remember the enormous, over ambitious paddling pool? The one that we all puffed into for hours and hours. The long queue of shivering children, dithering in their swimsuits, desperately waiting; the eternity it took to fill with gallons of water from the hosepipe, the grumpy husband muttering about the water bill; the infinite kettles of boiling water required to take away the icy chill, the grumpier husband moaning about the electric bill. The black clouds that blew over just as it was finally pronounced lukewarm; the huge splots of rain that started to threaten. The sudden rush of children storming in…   

… the spiteful thorn! The tsunami that a street full of freezing children surfed like a tidal wave as the waters gushed out and flooded you. The husband’s incredulous face.