A Spring Visit Home to the UK

Spring in the leafy suburbs of London is always a step ahead of New York. After enduring a lengthy NY winter, there's something magical about arriving in the UK to find it in full bloom. As I journey farther from Heathrow, familiar scents begin to weave their spell: wet mossy hedgerows, the tantalizing aroma of bacon cooking somewhere (a cruel tease for my jet-lagged stomach), and a faint whiff of creosote. It's an olfactory homecoming that never fails to tug at my heartstrings.

For those who don't know, I hail from Surrey, a mere 20-minute train ride from London's Waterloo. It's my hope to make this trip to my childhood home at least twice a year. As anyone living far from family can attest, these visits are a delicate balancing act. We try to pack in all the experiences and conversations we've missed, while still leaving room to simply be present with each other. I also try not to revert to being the 17 year old that last lived in my family home and endeavor to forge new and healthier dynamics.  As we all know, that’s easier said than done. During these precious days, my parents and I mostly putter around the house and garden, with the occasional walk or trip to a local village or a pub lunch if everyone's up for it. This year, our outings felt different. We recently bid farewell to Cobber, our beloved black Lab and my dad’s most loyal [gun] dog. His absence was palpable - after all, walks and dogs have always been inseparable in my mind. Yet we pressed on, our steps a little slower, our conversations a little more reflective.

A walk to Chertsey lock and D’Oyly Carte island

Back in the garden, nature seemed determined to lift our spirits. A lush carpet of primroses played base to a frothy overlay of forget-me-nots, while the daffodils stood at attention, neatly corralled by Mum's meticulous hand. The resilient bluebells had mounted another successful invasion, much to Mum's chagrin and my secret delight. This year's showstopper, though, was the camellia bush, absolutely laden with blooms. There's something about spring that mirrors that camellia bush - an almost overwhelming abundance after months of dormancy. Part of me wants to press pause, to make these fleeting moments of beauty and connection last just a little longer. Perhaps that's why I'm drawn to painting nature; it's my way of preserving these ephemeral wonders, paying homage to each petal and dewdrop, and holding onto the precious time spent with family.

When you visit the same spot year after year, you can't help but play a game of "what should be where and when." Nature, though, doesn't always follow our expectations. This year, Mum's garden was ahead of its usual story, as if eager to show off its spring finery. But what's truly caught my eye over the past two decades (a number that still surprises me) are the changes in the bird population. The suburban garden I grew up with, once filled with starling swarms and sparrow choruses, has transformed. Now, crows have taken up residence, and the wood pigeons... well, they've certainly been prospering.

Enter the unexpected star of this year's visit: a wood pigeon of truly impressive proportions. I nearly choked on my tea when I first spotted him on the roof at the end of the garden. This feathered fellow was roughly the size of a well-fed duck, and I found myself genuinely concerned about his descent. To my surprise, he managed quite a majestic landing. We affectionately dubbed him 'Pudge the Pidge,' and he quickly became a highlight of the trip. Lacking my usual art supplies, I embarked on an archaeological dig under the sink, unearthing some childhood crayons (side note: why do art supplies always smell so heavenly?). With these time-worn tools, I set about capturing Pudge's likeness. It's a cherished memento of this year's visit and the ever-changing tapestry of life in my parents' garden.

No trip home is complete without our pilgrimage to Wisley Gardens. Over the years, it's donned a more commercial coat (mum and dad still miss the shed that used to do bacon sarnies and tea IYKYK). But don't let that fool you - Wisley's horticultural magic still thrives. Despite its newfound fondness for gift shops, the garden remains a treasure trove of quiet corners and hidden nooks, playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with visitors. For fellow flower enthusiasts, Wisley is bliss. They also have an incredible library on the grounds that I could get lost in for weeks. If you find yourself in this verdant corner of the UK, do pay it a visit. 

Wisley gardens

The illustrations in this post were made on my return from the UK and Paris (Part 2: Paris, coming soon!!) I love flexing new muscles and styles as a painter and illustrating is always something I’ve enjoyed. Over the years I’ve tried a lot of different illustrative styles for jobs and clients, I’ll share some in another newsletter :)  These were painted in Gouache on watercolor paper.

 Some prompts for travel:

• Nature Journaling: Next time you're visiting family, take a few moments each day to sketch or paint a small detail from the garden or surroundings. This could be a blooming flower, an interesting leaf, or even a quirky bird like 'Pudge the Pidge'. You don't need fancy supplies – even old crayons can work wonders.

• Scent Memory Box: Create a 'scent memory box' of your visits. Collect items that capture the essence of your time there – perhaps a pressed flower, a pinch of herbs from the garden, or even a scrap of paper with a description of a particular smell that struck you. It's a lovely way to revisit those moments later.

• Family Garden Timeline: Start a family garden timeline. Each visit, document what's blooming, which birds are visiting, and any changes you notice. Over time, you'll create a beautiful record of your family's outdoor space and how it evolves.

• Quiet Reflection Spots: Identify a 'quiet spot' in your family home/ garden or a special spot on your travels, where you can retreat for a few minutes of peaceful reflection each day. Use this time to write, sketch, or simply sit in quiet contemplation.

  Until next time!

  xx, Helen