Life at № 42 by E.M. Coutinho
They’re just glorious. At the moment we’re mainly using the kitchen doors (which are open in the picture) and it’s lovely to see those flowers as we go in and out.
As the garden blooms it feels slightly surreal. It’s basically my own plant list. The same plants in the same colours I had in our garden in Spain, or their close counterparts. Hydrangeas, irises, gladioli, hibiscus syriacus in purple and even rhododendrons in the same colour as the oleanders I had.
If I were religiously inclined, I’d probably say there’s a supernatural connection between the late Mrs. Stanton and myself. Rather, it’s quite obvious our connection is aesthetic. Before I chose this house, she’s the one who chose it. She tried to maintain the most important features, and so do I- and so there’s nothing supernatural about the fact that our taste in the garden coincides.
It’s a very nice feeling because it feels right and also because it saves me a tremendous amount of work. I don’t have to change anything. Just edit, which is my preferred way of approaching design.
The concrete for the terrace is poured. Next week we’ll choose the tiles. I haven’t considered much more than that. We have round and rectangular outdoor tables, so I’ll try both to see which looks best; and then we have to choose sofas and armchairs. It turned out to be the perfect size. The table will be to the left, and then the sofas to the right.
The lawn specialist came in to give us his ideas, and we decided to just re-do the whole lawn area. He’ll prepare the earth in mid August, then turf will be laid in September. He says doing it now would be an extraordinary waste of water (hence money.)
This evening we’re invited to a restaurant in the mountains above Mazamet, it’s supposed to have the most stunning views. I’ll try to remember to take the camera so I can take pictures.