Every Garden Has a Favourite Place

After years of working in other people's gardens, I've noticed something curious. Every garden seems to have a corner that people are drawn to, whether they realise it or not.

One of the questions I often ask when I first visit a new garden is surprisingly simple.

"Where do you spend most of your time?"

People rarely answer straight away.

Instead, they pause, look around their own garden and then point towards a particular spot. It might be a bench beneath an old apple tree, a chair that catches the evening sunshine or a small patio where they drink their first cup of tea in the morning.

It's almost never the biggest part of the garden.

And it's certainly not always the most impressive.

Over the years, I've realised that every garden seems to have a favourite place.

Not the garden's favourite place.

The owner's.

Sometimes it's obvious why.

A couple once showed me a weathered wooden bench tucked beneath a flowering cherry. They told me they'd sat there every evening since retiring, watching the seasons change together. The bench wasn't expensive and, if I'm honest, it had seen better days. The paint was peeling, one arm was beginning to wobble, and the paving around it had started to sink.

But I never once thought about replacing it.

That bench belonged there.

In another garden, it was nothing more than three old pots beside the back door. The lady who lived there smiled as she explained that she liked to stand there every morning with a mug of tea before the day properly began. It was only five minutes, she said, but she couldn't imagine starting the day any other way.

Those little rituals fascinate me.

Gardens aren't just collections of plants.

They're part of our routines, our memories and, sometimes, our happiest moments.

I think that's something we can easily forget when we're planning a garden. We become focused on borders, patios and planting schemes, wondering which shrub should go where or whether a path ought to curve a little more gently.

Those things matter.

But not as much as creating somewhere people simply want to be.

Some of the best gardens I've visited haven't been the largest or the most expensive. They've simply made you feel comfortable. They invited you to sit down, slow your pace and stay a little longer than you'd intended.

That's a quality you can't buy at a garden centre.

It grows over time.

Perhaps that's why I always encourage people to spend time in their garden before they think about changing it. Sit in different places. Notice where the morning sun arrives first, where the birds seem happiest and where you naturally find yourself wandering to at the end of a long day.

The garden will often tell you where its heart is.

You just have to be still long enough to notice.

Whenever I leave a customer's garden, I often glance back before closing the gate. Not to check the work, but simply to take in the whole space one last time.

I sometimes wonder which corner they'll head for later that evening.

The chair beneath the tree.

The bench beside the roses.

The little patio where the kettle's only just boiled.

Because, in the end, those places aren't important because of the plants around them.

They're important because they're where life happens.

And I don't think there's a better purpose for a garden than that.

Marcus

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Marcus Bergin

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