A Patch of Potential

For years, our driveway played many parts: a makeshift workshop, a bike park, a furniture depot, and, more often than not, a quiet dumping ground for all things unlovely. I’ve done my best to keep it just out of frame, pointing the camera elsewhere and pretending it wasn’t there. But somewhere between the rusting tools and a stubborn patch of weeds, I knew there was promise.

This spring, I finally put on my best straw hat, channelled my inner Martha Stewart and got to work.

A question of mood

I struggled at first with the feel of it all. Did I want flowers, softness, something romantic? Or something a little rougher round the edges? A touch of the rustic, a whisper of the wild? In my interiors, I know how to strike that balance. But in the garden, I found myself unsure.

So I left it alone for a while and turned to another part of the house. At the back, along the sun-drenched southern wall, I planted rows of white hydrangeas — calm, classic, elegant. And somehow, that gave me a clue: I didn’t need to choose between softness and strength. I could do both.

Starting with what matters

What grounded me, in the end, was the same question I always ask indoors: what belongs here? Not in theory, not on Pinterest, but here, on this patch of earth, with this light, this soil, this view through the trees.

We live on the edge of woodland and grassland. So instead of resisting the landscape, I decided to echo it. I brought in ornamental grasses for movement and subtlety, and layered in perennials that felt as though they might have always been there.

There are fruit trees too. Not just for beauty, but for use. Two apples, a pear, a plum and a peach, all suited to sandy soil, with staggered harvests so I don’t find myself elbow-deep in compote in a single week.

Form, texture and colour

I thought of the garden in layers: tall grasses that catch the light, soft Achillea ‘The Pearl’ with its white buttons echoing the hydrangeas further back, and Lavandula for its silvery scent and slight Mediterranean tilt. I chose a blueish variety that sits beautifully within my palette: white, beige, green, rust, and a faded blue that crops up both inside and out.

Even the deeper reds of certain plants link to architectural accents — the colour of the window frames, the trim of a door. Every hue in the garden can be found inside the house. That, to me, is essential. It’s how the garden becomes part of the whole.

It’s not finished – and that’s alright

At the time of writing, the border is young. The plants have been in for only a few weeks, the soil still finding its rhythm. It doesn’t quite look like a garden yet. More like the promise of one. But already, it greets me differently. There’s anticipation in it. And I know that one day, I’ll walk down the drive and be met not with clutter, but with lavender and movement and a ripple of green.

There’s more to come. The outbuilding beside it is still awaiting its renovation and a pair of stone urns to frame the front door is high on my wishlist.

But even half-done, it feels like a welcome.