They told me it would be peaceful. Idyllic. Full of birdsong and gentle pruning under dappled sunlight.
They did 'not' mention the 6:30 a.m. starts, the mysterious green slime that gets under your fingernails, or how impossibly attractive a man looks when wielding a well-oiled pair of shears. (It’s a thing. Don’t ask me.)
Welcome to my life as a trainee gardener on a country estate: where the borders are never straight, the head gardener’s eyebrows say more than his words ever do, and I’ve somehow developed a crush on a compost heap. (Metaphorically… mostly.)
In this blog, I’ll be sharing the 'real' behind-the-hedges stories: the blisters, the banter, the botanical missteps, and yes—those moments when I find myself suspiciously out of breath, covered in mud, and wondering how I got here.
Stick around. It’s going to get messy—in the best way. 🌱💋
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