It was Marie who identified it. Standing in the garden, quite certain, the way she always is about plants.
I had assumed the large shrub at the back of the garden was an overgrown ornamental of some kind — something planted by a previous owner and left to its own devices. Marie took one look, crushed a leaf between her fingers, and held it out to me.
Bay. Laurus nobilis. A bay tree of considerable maturity and self-possession.
I have been cooking with it ever since. There is something deeply satisfying about walking into the garden and returning with an ingredient, even a small one. The bay goes into everything now — soups, stews, the occasional rice. I have become one of those people who recommends fresh bay leaf with what some might consider unreasonable enthusiasm.
Marie, characteristically, is unsurprised by my conversion. She has been right about plants from the beginning.