Every garden is a story. In an abstract way our garden is our story, expressing our unique connection to the world. Like our familiar languages, the story is composed of a vocabulary that in varying combination produces different meanings.
We spent our childhood playing in landscapes animated by season, geometry, and space. We hid under bushes, sat atop lookout boulders, ran along paths to our favorite destinations. Before we were adults we created multiple worlds from mud, sticks and grass. Those worlds were sound archetypes, if not structurally durable. When we come to make a garden we carry the sensory vocabulary that we collected over our lifetime. It contains memories, images, sensations that are uniquely our own. Sometimes it is an organized collection, easily reviewed. Other times it requires an archeological expedition to uncover