When I was younger, I liked making chains from flowers. I was always desperate to ‘make things’, to keep and treasure. Flowers worked as another, pretty component to my creative spinning. However of course flowers wilt and die when their long necks are cut. I had a flower press kit made of wood, but nothing compared to a blossoming bud. So, I found that I liked to run around a garden of flowers, make chains that lasted a day and drink elderflower – but my room never had vases or pots of them, apart from an oddly shaped cactus and later, occasionally blunt little peonies, my favourite.
It’s only been the last few years that I really appreciate flowers and plants in a room, their transformative and restorative powers. Like the secret garden, they unlock the mind and heart’s potential for warmth. They make me so happy. I was given a huge bunch the other day and kept on going into the room they were in to look at them. I even took them on the mini break. I couldn’t say why I have become so sentimental about flowers, but I want to fill my house with greenery and colour. Whilst I want the garden to be full of robust vegetables, delicate salad leaves and climbing ivy.