Describing my garden as anything other than ‘full of potential’ would be unwise and untruthful, but the possibilities are tantalising.

What began as a blank room is slowly becoming an oasis of hardcover books, cottage charm, questionable furniture decisions and Facebook Marketplace victories. The chair may be uncomfortable and the sofa aggressively red, but the front room at The Willows is beginning to feel more and more like my creative home.

Bulbs planted (eventually), shoots emerging, and small gardening wins in Adelaide—plus a suspiciously quiet possum. Progress, optimism, and mild chaos

For some reason I find great satisfaction in taking the long way round.

I have done nothing in the garden this month, but I have thought about it quite a lot, which feels adjacent to effort.

A Little Obsessed With… Glow

The Inept Gardener. 

Chronicles from someone who gardens sporadically and expects miracles.

Part 2.

A look back at the colours, menus and table styling that shaped summer gatherings at The Willows.

I guess I tried…

How can I profess to love gardens so much, only to quickly and efficiently slaughter every plant I buy? It's a mystery to me. I love the colour and fragrance of gardens, the interplay of airy plants next to sturdy, impenetrable shrubs, but above all, the expanse of green soothes me. While some people seek the beach for renewal, I crave a garden, a sea of greens gently waving in a summer breeze, and I am in heaven.