After decades abroad, I settled near southern Ontario’s Lake Erie to create my own tribute to haunts I had enjoyed in England, Provence, Morocco, and Persia. My goal was to bring together the lushness of a cottage garden, the harmony of a symmetrical parterre, and the mystery of a reflecting pool, all nestled within the seclusion of a secret retreat enclosed by hedges and walls. And weather permitting, the central arbour became my favourite writing room.
Even during snowy winter, the view over that setting opened up an irresistible vista before my indoor desk. And from early spring onwards, an unlatched window welcomed birdsong to stream in on a beam of flickering sunshine. Like all well-planned gardens it was not only vividly itself, but also a cheerful memento of so many other settings that would never vanish entirely from memory.
That kind of indelible recollection permeates each chapter of Providence Point. And writing beneath that arbour, or simply within sight of it, was an irreplaceable strategy for recovering the memories that make every episode in the novel sing.
Possibly there are places with similarly powerful associations for you, too. If so, take your opportunity to revive their echo while reading Providence Point. Also, perhaps leave a record of them as a comment below.
(Illustration generated by AI)
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