WHEN I WAS LITTLE, one set of grandparents lived in Sydney in the house where my mum grew up. Under the living room window sat an enormous, flourishing gardenia, and to this day every time I smell gardenias, I am transported to Willoughby in the late ’70s, to a shrub I’m happily burying my face in, or hiding behind, or standing in front of with Pop, a proud gardener.

Gardens are powerful