I open the back door, step outside, and pause, drinking in the air which always smells and feels so fresh. I look to the right, past the terrace, to the steep bank beyond the pool admiring the pencil cypresses which have grown so tall so quickly. I set off on my customary walk around the garden, following my normal route, past the crab apples, up the hill towards the ancient walnut, passing the enormous fig tree, so prolific with fruit in its appointed time.

My route takes me past every single plant in the garden. It is a route I’ve followed so many times and ensures that I miss nothing, not a single plant. The grass borders, so different at different times of the year; the nut walk; the one remaining sweet chestnut where there should have been a pair; the lagerstroemias and cercis both of which thrive in this harsh climate, and the baby magnolias which are still in the “Will I or won’t I” phase. Slowing walking around the orchard, carefully looking at each tree, drinking in the exquisite blossom with its promise of fruit to come. Across past the hornbeam hedges which define the orchard and the potager, and adjacent buddleias (must prune them) into the potager itself where we look for signs of life from the rhubarb. Must get the beanpoles and other supports in before the ground starts to harden as it dries and heats. Thinking of the bounty to come and how we will be virtually self-sufficient for months.

Down the steps from the potager, back around the phormium bed (which dahlias to plant this year to provide contrast with the phormiums and give the pops of colour I so love?). Looking down at the pool bank from the top. Past the quartet of catalpas, planted with the intention of forming a single canopy to provide natural shade near the pool, gazing hopefully at the hedge of specimen oleanders, severely frosted from the very harsh weather of the 25/26 winter (is it too soon to prune them?). Past the barn and the east side of the house, dreaming of how cool this area will look as summer approaches with its white and silver theme.

Across the car park into the rose garden. So many new shoots, so much joyful fragrance to come, must finish tying in the climbers. Slowly right around every one of the five large island beds in front of the house, revelling in the shoots and blossom of spring, looking for signs of tulips, snowdrops, narcissi, muscari, leucojum, anemones and all the other spring underplanting. New shoots of geraniums and hemerocallis. At the furthest south turning back on ourselves to meander along the spring walk, delighting in the growing collection of hellebores built up over the last ten years, examining and drinking in all the spring growth on the ornamental mixed hedge.

Early signs of hundreds of wild orchids everywhere. Bulbs naturalised in grass. So many special, unusual trees. All planted by us.

Looking back down the drive from the house, marvelling at how tall the pencil cypresses have grown, now forming a strong avenue on arrival past the entrance gates. Eyes lighting on the five ancient plane trees at the entrance and thinking back over what they have seen in their 200+ years of life. Down the steps to the exotic garden, big leaves and hardy tropicals beginning to awaken from their winter slumber.

Casting our eyes over the beds nearest the house, packed with camassias, alliums, and so many other wonderful things, yet to show their faces. A last nostalgic look at the Wollemi nobilis (Jim’s tree, a gift when I finished work).

And the faint echo of voices, children’s voices, family …

And back to the house.

Except not.

Because this final walk took place in my mind not in reality. For the time being I cannot bring myself to return, notwithstanding that our buyers have made sure to let us know that we are welcome. And of course I know that the garden is now theirs to do with what they will.

But it’s been my life’s work of art. It’s been something wonderful we created together. So for the time being I prefer to hold the garden in my memory. I’d love to see the avenue of Quercus ilex in a few years time, providing structure and shade beyond the pool cypresses, to sit and read under the shade of fully mature fruit trees in the orchard …

And in due course I will be very interested to see how it has changed and developed under its new custodians. For now the loss is too recent, so for the time being I shall stay with the garden in my mind, frozen in time.