As I drove by our last house on the way to my friend’s house – who lives in a lovely house in Encino (‘north’ of the Boulevard, thanks dah-ling) – I almost had a heart-attack. Not from fearful shock, but more from a jitter of pain travelling from down from what my eyes were seeing, down my spine. We had sold our house to a couple, believing that they must have bought our house because of the multiple quirky gardens surrounding it. But no, our beloved gardens were gone. Instead was flat green turf, freshly laid, sitting prim and proper like a dowager queen at the opera house. Aagh!!
I drove in silence for fifteen minutes, debating on whether to tell my husband on what I had just seen. For two years, he and I (him mostly) toiled in the front and back yards, constructing gazebos, fences, patios, installing concrete fountains – hauling in gravel, flagstone and boulders one shoulder jolt at a time, saving up for days to drive exaltingly to the nursery to choose carefully among salvias, fruit trees, roses, grasses – this was our first house, our first garden, first dogs together (two very beautiful boxers) – we laughed and cried together as we built, cooked, cleaned and planted beautiful dreams together – all the while making our relationship stronger. It hurt to see all that wiped clean in one fell swoop. I’m posting some pictures as a tribute to our first home and garden, which now exists only in these photographs.