The most miserable man in the world paid his first visit on a cool damp day in early summer. I had recognised by then that I was going to need some help with hard landscaping, and a chance encounter at work had introduced me to the role of the landscape architect, someone, my informant explained who would “build my house but not tell me which pictures to hang on the walls”.

I was doubtful of my capacity to explain my ideas adequately in French, and was delighted to find an Englishman offering the requisite skills only 50 km away.

Things did not start well. He climbed out of his car, took a quick look at the garden, and enquired whether we had thought of selling some of the land! He was working on a local chateau, and had perhaps hoped for another. He was clearly not living in France out of choice and had much to complain of. I suggested we might start with the scrubby area between house and garage which sloped up from the parking to the pool, the top terrace, immediately below the patio, and the area around the pool where I thought a prairie garden might be appropriate. He suggested a full survey, not inexpensive, to which in my innocence I agreed, only discovering later that I should have asked for some outline concepts first.

He returned, with the survey, 6 weeks later, proposing an English country garden, complete with the “pictures on the walls” in the form of a detailed planting plan, for the area beside the garage, a couple of beds of grasses and perennials in lieu of a prairie, and with no ideas for the front terrace. I settled his account and we parted.

In the meantime I had managed to clear the rockery

 

 

and had planted the bed below the hornbeam with alostremarias, which continue to grow, but not with much enthusiasm, possibly it is too shady in summer.

Dominique had also found us a local farmer who came and chopped down the incipient oak forest on the edge of the meadow, waist high when we arrived. More or less still under control with frequent mowing and lavish application of weedkiller.

My Dad came to visit in September, and was lucky with the weather. By then we had identified a range of local walks on which he was happy to join us. The painter turned up too, to paint the volets, not quite the shade of blue I had intended, and slightly surreal as he hung them on frames in the meadow to spray them, but certainly an improvement.

September was also the month we trimmed the overgrown yew tress on the top terrace to elegant columns, and I decided that a formal garden was the design solution. A second landscaper came to visit, French this time. He was full of enthusiasm and went away armed with my survey and promising a plan and estimate. I haven’t seen him since.

Finally Dominique made some enquiries on our behalf and suggested we contact Jan. She visited for the first time in the spring of 2012, garden planning was finally underway.