I inherited my nan's plants – the most precious thing she could have left me

When I look at the huge expanse of tangled woody stems on my Nana Davies’ giant Christmas cactus, it’s like something out of Jumanji. 

It’s more than half my size – and I don’t know where (or how!) to start trimming it down.

It’s a plant that has been in my dad’s side of the family for over 30 years, but there isn’t a room in my house big enough to accommodate it.

Until I can repot it and share some cuttings with the family, it’s been living in my shed.

It’s wild and impractical, but it makes me smile every time I see it.

Since Nana died in June, I have inherited around 12 of her most prized possessions – her house plants and garden shrubs.

As a family, we each had the chance to visit Nana’s house before it was emptied so we could choose anything special or sentimental to keep.

I chose to pot some of the shrubs from her garden to enjoy at home. I dug up and carefully transported a hydrangea, some aquilegia, lavender and an Acer tree in Nana’s pots and soil.

As I loaded up my car and drove away from her house for the last time, I blinked away tears thinking about all the sweet chats and lovely moments we’d shared in her garden.

She had been such a constant, no nonsense and loving presence in my life. I knew I was going to miss her hugely.

At Nana’s funeral, I shared some of my earliest memories of being given tours of her garden in Crickhowell, South Wales.

There were rows of flower beds bursting with shrubs and overgrown vegetable vines.

We’d walk up and down each row together as she’d pull at stems to show me new growth or where buds were blooming.

Nana would be wearing her wipe-clean tabard and comfortable gardening shoes as she picked tomatoes from the vines. I remember the earthy and pleasantly sour smell of the tomato plants.

As we walked, she’d rip open these iridescent flat seed pods to show me the magic inside.

I would totter along behind her, from about the age of three, fascinated and happy to be included in her passion for gardening.

So looking after her plants now feels cyclical to me – like the love and care that Nana put into growing them is all around me.

I wish she could chat to me about the best position and soil for each pot. Which plants need direct sunlight or less watering. She’d have so many tips.

Whenever my family visited Nana and Grampa, Nana would take me on early morning walks by the canal with their dog Scamp. She would point out different trees and how to recognise them by the shape and size of their leaves.

I remember the wonderment I felt at being out before dawn smelling the damp morning air, marching past the dew-covered banks of the canal together, each munching an apple. All while my parents were still fast asleep at the house. It felt really special. It was moments like this that gave me my huge appreciation for being outside in nature.

Back at the house, Nana had a sunroom packed with plants. With the warmth of the sun coming in through the glass, it felt like a tropical jungle.

In their retirement, my grandparents enjoyed exploring new countries and always shared their photo albums with us once they got home – which usually included eight or nine images of the foliage in their hotel’s reception, or an exotic bloom by the side of the road.

We’d roll our eyes as more pictures would get handed out, but there was something lovely about seeing the world through Nana’s camera lens.

As the years went by, my grandparents moved from Crickhowell to Abergavenny.

And after Grampa passed away, Nana kept busy with her gardening, knitting and church community.

She stayed in Abergavenny until it was time for her to have some more support in a residential home.

During Covid we could only visit in the garden due to social distancing, but it brought me a lot of joy to know how much she’d appreciate the fresh air and beautiful surroundings of the lovely garden at her care home.

It meant we always had something organic and genuine to talk about as she pointed out her favourite flowers.

Then, this June, we said our final goodbyes to Nana D in hospital.

Before she passed away peacefully, I thanked her for everything – but it’s hard to express the loss of such a comforting presence. I will really miss how easy it felt to be in her company.

As a young adult – when life can feel busy and complicated – the simple afternoons I spent with Nana, admiring the shrubs in her garden, were so calming. Even when she’d force tinned fruit and evaporated milk on me, or her favourite diabetic ice cream.

When I visited Nana’s house in Abergavenny for the last time in September, before my cousin and aunty finished the task of emptying it all, it felt strange not to see her there – pottering around in her tabard, with the news on blast.

Taking her precious things – her plants, and photographs of her garden and her holidays – it felt important to me to honour the things she loved.

I’m so proud to carry on some of her legacy of have-a-go gardening. I remember she’d catch rain drops in saucepans to water the plants and anything could be a planter – including an old wheelbarrow or a paint tub. Gardening in this way makes it low pressure and fun.

She collected seeding pots and planters in huge piles stacked by the back door and in her mini plastic greenhouse. Ready to create something beautiful from nothing at any given moment.

Now, some of that effort is showing in my own home. Seeing Nana’s plants cheering up my shelves and corners of the house brings me such joy and comfort.

I am patiently waiting for the gorgeous vibrant red leaves of her Acer tree to come back after they all fell off in shock as I transferred it from the ground to a pot. I check every day for signs of new buds. I’m determined to not let her down.

The labour involved in this caretaking fills me with pride and connection to my Nana.

Audrey Hepburn said to plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow. By continuing Nana’s efforts I feel like I’m giving her love many more tomorrows.

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