The garden surrounding the Laberehuesli (Swiss dialect for the “little house on Liver Street”), isn’t just an outdoor room in the manner of landscape design parlance. It’s lived in, a place for meals and tea and reading and conversation and celebrating.
While lovingly tended it remains as tussled as curly hair allowed to dry as it will.
I know this garden almost better than my own. I know, too, every sound and scent of the house at its heart.
That’s where I’ll be for the next couple of weeks.
See you in November.