I spent some time this weekend working in my rose garden. As I picked off the newly withered blooms and watered the thirsty plants, I felt a sense of connection growing between my garden and me. The drooping blooms looked like sleeping heads lolling forward on a warm autumn afternoon until the water I brought woke them from their slumber. They seemed to spring to life once again, renewed with energy. I felt a responsibility for my garden; to nurture it and to help it thrive. There’s a special relationship between a gardener and his garden, and one of the most famous relationships like this I know was between the Impressionist painter Claude Monet and his garden in the town of Giverny, France.

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I have the most beautiful places to write. When I’m at my writing desk, I look out the window and see two rectangular Lavender beds. In the summer, the buzzing of bees creates a noticeable hum as thousands of them hover over the flowers and sip the sweet nectar. When a gentle breeze wafts through the open windows, the scent of the flowers hangs in the air and reaches my nose. It creates a calm haven as I write, transporting me to the fields of Lavender I remember from traveling to Provence, in Southern France. I have always loved Lavender for its beauty and scent, but I didn’t realize how interesting its history was until I began writing The Suitcase Adventures: Paris-Behind the Peacock Gates.

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