I didn’t think gardening in Spain would be this much of a headache. Thought I had it covered. I mean, I’d done my bit back in Connemara, knew my way around a garden. Or so I thought. Turns out? Nope. Whole different world. The soil’s weird, the heat’s relentless, the seasons don’t even make sense. Nothing does what you expect.
Swearing? That part of me thrived. The plants? Debatable.
First win, though—creeping thyme. That stuff? Absolute champ. Didn’t expect much, just threw some down, figured it’d struggle on. But nope, one day it just exploded. Purple flowers everywhere. Like the garden suddenly decided to sort itself out overnight.
Felt cocky after that. Tried wood sorrel, meadow buttercup—why not? And somehow, they worked. I don’t know how, but they did. Seeing them there, little bits of Ireland somehow holding up in this sun-blasted Spanish soil? Weirdly emotional. But also? Stressful. Every time the weather shifted, I was convinced they’d just give up and die on me. Never knew plants could cause actual anxiety.
Not everything played ball, though.
Irish bluebells? Total disaster. Tried everything—shade, extra water, pep talks. Nope. They weren’t having it. Gave up in the end. Some things just don’t belong here.
Oleander, on the other hand—what a nightmare. Grew like it had something to prove. Took over half the space, needed hacking back every week just to keep it from devouring the whole garden. Looked great. But also? Too much. If you ever think about planting it? Don’t. Or at least, be ready to fight it.
Then there’s Marta.
She’s lived here forever. Took one look at what I was doing and basically said, “You’re making your life difficult.” And she was right.
She taught me the trick—drought-resistant plants. Work with the land, not against it. That’s how I ended up with rosemary and rockrose. No stress, no endless watering. Just… easy. Built a little shady rockery for them, and suddenly? The garden made sense.
And then, the vegetable patch.
Tomatoes? Brilliant. Peppers? Happy days. Potatoes? Hahahaha. Not a chance. Spanish soil just said, “Nope.” Never even sprouted. Brian thought it was hilarious. Became a running joke. Every time I bring it up, someone laughs at me. I just accept it now.
But that’s what I’ve figured out. Gardening isn’t about getting it right. It’s about having a go. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s just a lesson in what won’t grow no matter how hard you try.
Right now, it’s a mix of both worlds. Got my rosemary, my rockrose—pure Spanish countryside. But then the creeping thyme, the wood sorrel—little bits of home. Best of both.
And yeah, I’ll mess up more. Some things won’t make it. But who cares? Just plant something else. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?