I recently visited my wonderful friend, my oldest friend, who lives in the Sonoma Valley. We had a splendid time doing everything under the sun. One bewitching thing about her life is the garden she's made, like a vestibule--you enter a gate, and the entryway to her place is filled with small trees, vines, big and little pots, a wicker chair and an Adirondack chair, a little metal table and chairs (very French!), hanging baskets . . . we ate our breakfast there each morning, her little black cat, Sido, prowling the premises, it was just magical.
I am crazy about this space she made. It occupies my thought and I aspire to it. So today, I went to Home Again to see if there were consigned pieces of furniture that might allow me to approximate the lush, quiet spirit of my friend's garden. Ours is a very different kind of yard, but here's what happened, for my efforts.
This afternoon, after I'd set everything up, I sat out there, under the cherry and the apple trees. It's shady until after three, and in the evening, with citronella candles, it's rather heavenly. But back to the afternoon: the sky was blue with some clouds, spitting a little rain but not too much. The wind was moving in the trees, a kind of meditation.
Tomorrow, I plan to plant some lavender in some planters--I've got a lot of it planted in the ground all over the place, but I loved my friend's, growing in big pots, buzzing with bees. And tomorrow, I will be taking my breakfast in the garden.