Garden no 1: Kew (one of the main reasons I wanted to get to London). You read about it and you start to feel intimidated: so many plants, so many agendas, so much knowledge. You may think it will be stuffy and professorial and just plain dull. Thank goodness I was wrong! Yes, it’s big and the number of plants is amazing and the layout is quite professorial… but in a majestic rather than dull way. It is lovely from whatever angle you look at it, and if you like your borders, prepare to walk very slowly, because the broad walk is edged with amazing combinations of plants in fascinating layers with such a purposeful demeanour you feel inclined to apologize for watching them be beautiful. And everything there is beautiful, from the grates in the floor to the long catterpillars of sweet chestnut flowers to the heavy boughs of huge trees that manage to sweep gracefully to the ground. And the many plants are positioned so that their beauty is enhanced, light falling just so on the smooth white trunk of an Australian gum, the canopies of trees mingling just so when viewed from the Skywalk, an araucaria’s intricate branches casting shadows just so, lavender flowers contrasting just so against the palace, water and coins pooling just so on the leaf of that enormous waterlily…
Garden no 2: my grandmother’s garden. She’s gone, and the garden has fallen into disrepair. The vine is climbing the apricot tree instead of hugging the pergola. Former vegetable beds are now swamped by fast growing things, not all of them weeds. No more hyacinths, they are too small to remain visible under an avalanche of plant material. The roses, unpruned, fight for survival throwing up spindly stems towards the light. The comfrey is taking over the water butt. A myrobalan tree, heavy with fruit, continues its journey towards the house. That won’t stay intact much longer unless a human being intervenes. Permaculture theory makes this sound … tame. But nature is not tame. If a human being does not keep a garden in its juvenile (mostly herbaceous) state by force (read continuous, eternal struggle), the garden will grow into the forest it needs to be. Houses seem solid, but tree roots and branches are persistent and growing… no contest.
Garden no 3: mine, in August, the last month of winter. A structure of sorts is visible (smallish trees) although more needs to be done. Weeds grow year round here so always something to do and never enough mulch to cover the bare earth I have discovered at the expense of backache. I have learnt to plant small delicate things in pots because otherwise they don’t stand a chance against the spring and summer rampant growth. I need at least 3 days of good weather so I can do the winter pruning, especially for the mulberries and elder and fig. Trying to discover a good place for a small pond. Need to put wind protection around the berry patch and the maples. I notice that I tend towards a plantsman garden (one specimen or two of each). Never enough time… and yet the first daffodils and iris are blooming, some of the freesias ar starting out too, although they usually wait a while (I have had freesias in December, being so close to the sea and all).The dwarf nectarines, the apricot and the plums are budding out. The blueberry branches are starting to get some colour. The daphne smells intoxicating. The crocus ignore the thunderstorm even though their petals are as fragile as tissue paper. I have time to notice this. I will always have time to notice this. Because if I have to pay with backache, this is what I want in return: beauty, and food, and beauty.