It starts with the first orange blossom. That smell—you know the one—that tells you winter is over and that spring in Spain isn’t really interested in sticking around. No, it teases, flirts, and then hands things off to summer before you’ve even found your flip-flops.
We’re back at Casa Amada. And she’s still here, still beautiful. A little dusty maybe. One of the shutters squeaks like it’s auditioning for a horror movie, and a gecko has taken up residence in the bathroom (I’m naming him Ricardo), but the bones of our beloved home are as solid as ever.
The List
Bryan and I arrived with a to-do list longer than a Mercadona receipt. Some of it practical: check the pool pump, clear the gutters, convince the lemon tree to stop leaning like it’s had one too many sangrias. And some of it wildly ambitious, bordering on delusional:
- Build a pergola (Bryan’s idea)
- Paint the outdoor wall mural (my idea, possibly involving flamingos)
- Upgrade to solar (still researching, but the sun is basically freeloading, so…)
And then there’s the garden. Half Mediterranean bliss, half rebellious jungle. Anna wants to plant lavender. Luke wants a trampoline. Bryan wants “low maintenance.” I want everything from a Pinterest board titled “Rustic Boho Summer Dreamland.”
Summer Prep: Spanish Style
Unlike Devon, where you might get three weeks of sun and spend them apologising for the heat, here we prepare for summer like it’s an annual guest we both love and fear. That means shade. That means airflow. That means hunting for fans before the shops run out in July.
We cleaned the pool with something that smelled like a thousand lemons and burned slightly if you sniffed too hard. Bryan reassembled the hammock with what I would describe as unnecessary tension. (Not emotionally. I mean literally. It nearly slingshotted him across the garden.)
Shopping Local (and a Little Online Chaos)
This year, we decided to properly furnish the outdoor dining area. Cue me, spiralling into a rabbit hole of rustic table inspo and Bryan comparing delivery fees like he was broker of the year.
We found the perfect reclaimed table in a local second-hand warehouse—chunky legs, sun-bleached wood, and just enough wobble to call it character. Around it, a motley crew of chairs, some painted, some peeling, all perfect.
It made me wonder what life would look like if we leaned even further into the rural dream—less IKEA, more authenticity. If you’re like us and fantasising about rural retreats, there are actually some brilliant places to find country houses for sale in Spain. Not that we’re buying another one. Yet.
What the Kids Think
Anna is already working on a sketch of the garden layout and has taken a bizarre interest in tile samples. Luke found a frog in the pool and now refers to himself as “Frog Whisperer.” They both sleep better here. They eat better. They… argue slightly less. Summer at Casa Amada suits them.
What Comes Next
Next visit, we tackle the mural. Or the pergola. Or maybe we’ll just eat peaches and forget we had plans at all. That’s the beauty of this place—time bends. Goals become suggestions. And the sun, always the sun, keeps rising whether you finished sanding the bench or not.
We’ll keep you posted. Maybe with flamingos. Definitely with sangria. Until then, Casa Amada is stretching her limbs and shaking off the dust, ready for another summer. And so are we.
See you under the pergola (if Bryan survives building it).