Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.
When I was a kid, my grandma had a garden with a courtyard, a bit like this one. She had wooden slats between the flagstones and when they rotted away over the years, rather than replacing them, she planted thyme in between so when you walked on them it smelled nice. I think those weeds can be fairly easily replaced with something nice and sweet smelling.
It would be pretty to grow someclimbing vines or roses or something over the table, or I suppose that the rod irons would also fit a canopy. L.J.A.
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