When we first looked at the house we bought last summer, we had to use our imaginations a little. It’s not a remarkable house on its own, and the previous owners were in no way creative or very careful when they did “improvements,” all of which my husband and I would have done differently.
Sure, the outbuilding had a pool table, which we now enjoy, but it was basically a smelly, dirty, pill-bug-infested garage with a stained concrete floor, a stained ceiling of unfinished drywall, and unfinished particle board and pegboard walls. That’s what anyone would see looking at it. Except me. I saw potential, and I convinced my husband of my vision. And together, we turned it into a swanky, classy home cigar lounge that is the ultimate hangout spot, complete with one-of-a-kind furnishings, an incredible bar, a hidden movie screen, and, yes, that old pool table.
There were lots of other indoor spaces with potential too. My office closet has become a custom sewing closet. There’s a closet in the library/music room/guest room we intend to turn into a recording booth. The basement will eventually have some sweet custom shelving. All these things take is vision, time, and a decent budget. Some are easier than others. Some will take some intense creativity to accomplish.
But I think it’s the outside of the house that had the most potential. Because it started out as nothing. A completely uninspired blank slate back yard that was all grass (and weeds) and one dying (and ugly) tree. When we were looking at the house, my husband thought that for me this would be a big negative because I had created some showstopping gardens at our last house. Seriously, people walking by stopped and looked and took pictures and asked me about it all the time.
But to me the blank slate backyard was a huge selling point. I could do A N Y T H I N G back there. There was plenty of sunshine, no tree roots to contend with, no competition for future plants from thirsty trees. I had been gardening for nearly two decades in some of the most difficult conditions gardeners face—dry shade in hard clay soil under mature trees, including a black walnut, which gives off a chemical that poisons many other plants, including almost everything I loved and wanted in my garden.
Now? Everything was open to me! I had way more space and way more options and I spent the entire winter scheming about what I would do. Raised vegetable beds, huge herbaceous border, espaliered apple trees, climbing roses, and all the plants I loved but could never plant before.
The catch? It’s one thing to plan. It’s another to do. Creating a garden sanctuary from scratch is hard work. It’s hauling and sawing and screwing together. It’s digging trenches and laying bricks and preparing cardboard and pushing wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of soil and compost (12 cubic yards of it!). It’s sowing seeds and keeping soil moist. It’s cutting down bad trees and planting good ones. It’s research and buying and planting and building.
And I’m loving almost every second of it. Even the hard stuff. Because I love work that results in something beautiful.
Let’s delve into that concept—hard work that is nonetheless enjoyable and offers us intangible rewards—to create a character and a potential plotline for a story.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Experimental Wolves to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.