Until recently, all my thumbs knew how to do was press the space bar. But then my husband and I bought a new home whose backyard consisted of a stark bricked courtyard. Its main features were an ugly grey roller-door and an unconvincingly camouflaged clothes-line. Something had to be done: it was time to embrace my inner gardener. To turn those pink thumbs green.
My potted history (boom!) as a gardener consisted of several failed attempts at keeping flower boxes alive on my windowsill in London, and a neglected indoor palm that withered every time I looked at it. It didn’t bode well and I was not at all confident. But then Mum whispered in my ear that my nanna, whose formidable gardening talents extended to knowing the Latin names for most plants, had said she never expected my father to be able to garden because he’d never shown much interest. This bucked me up because Dad’s gift for gardening is legendary: my parents eat from theirs most nights, and each time I return home I am blown away by their creation. Abundant and beautifully nurtured trees and plants – some native, some not – sway in the coastal breeze, while Mum’s British heritage is evident in the cottage feel of the flower beds and many fat clumps of herbs. The saying,”You are closer to God’s heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth” pertains beautifully (and I’m not even religious).
This may be one of the blood vessels to God’s heart
It may be coincidence, but my desire to learn how to plant and keep a garden alive coincided with having baby Orla. How hard can it be, I figured. If I can keep a small person alive, surely I can manage a few plants?
Six months on, I look out from my kitchen at a fledgeling cottage garden. I have proudly roasted the three beautiful, shiny aubergines that emerged, and sliced and diced the four tomatoes that popped from the one plant I have. I still pray that the flowers that blossom will produce more sibling vegetables. Most days I head out with the scissors and ask myself, “What will it be today? Cos, beetroot leaves, rocket or silver beet? Mint, basil, sage, thyme, oregano or parsley?” I fuss over my leeks and spring onions and and fret over my beans and peas as they climb towards the sky. I greet like old friends the colourful faces of petunias, pansies, marigolds, gazanias and dahlias each morning, and wonder at the elegance of lavender and salvia. My lemon and olive trees, dwarf mandarin and oleander plants watch over me as I do my sun salutes, while the pair of doves that have taken to snuggling on the clothesline coo like lovers. I have even been known to cut off a phonecall to run out and chase away the evil white moth whose caterpillar offspring guzzle at my lettuces.
The ones that got away: these survived the caterpillars’ advances
The biggest lesson in gardening for me, a terrible perfectionist, has been to experiment; to not be afraid of failure. Some things – like my pots of flowers and the sensuous cardamom plant – worked immediately. Other things, like dill and befuddlingly,, geraniums, didn’t thrive. So what? I told myself. I’ll try something else!
Learning from others has been fundamental. My newest friend is the aptly-named Russell, owner of the local nursery. When he sees Orla and I roll in the door his big red face cracks into a smile and he braces himself himself for an onslaught of questions. “What should I plant in a west-facing position in the height of summer? Why is my coriander sunburnt? What should I plant against the trellis for autumn? How do you keep those dastardly moths away?”
Spot the garden gnome
And of course there are my parents, whose knowledge and experience is awe-inspiring. Dad has spent a couple of afternoons pulling out twiggy shrubs and espaling my olive trees, and takes great pleasure in contradicting Russell and advising me on plant selection, soil preparation and planting. Mum shows her love by sharing her knowledge of herbs, pulling out the weeds that grow between the bricks and bringing me cuttings (or indeed, “borrowing” cuttings from the neighbours’ gardens as we go for walks).
I have spent many an hour gaining inspiration on Pinterest, working out what I like and what I don’t, and finding quirky ideas for planters – such as the seatless chair and my beloved crates you see below.
While I have a long way to go – I plan to reposition the clothes-line, pull up the bricks and lay grass, plant a tree or two and put in another flower bed – I knew I had the makings of a gardener recently when my conversation with self-sufficiency pin-up boy, Rohan Anderson of Whole Larder Love fame (whose interview you can read here) turned to vegetables, and what to plant when. I nearly squealed when we got on to the subject of growing tomatoes, and found myself nodding vigorously when he described the satisfaction of eating from his own garden.
Go you good thing! Peas tower over my micro veggie garden
All in all, gardening gives me a lot of joy. In the hope that you may discover this joy for yourself – if you haven’t already – here are my five little pearls (or should that be seeds?) of wisdom, gathered up over the last six months. Of course I am an absolute beginner, so please send me your tips too. Anyone know how to encourage a geranium to flower, perchance?
FIVE TIPS FOR NEW GARDENERS, FROM A NEW GARDENER
1. Give up perfectionism. Experiment. Celebrate the successes; take note of the things that don’t work and move on.
2. Start small and cultivate confidence. One pot of flowers. One tomato plant. One bunch of basil.
3. Ask for help. Passionate gardeners love to share their knowledge (as this list attests).
4. No space is too small. As evidenced by my micro-veggie garden above: measuring two feet by two feet it contains peas, oregano, leeks, spring onions, beetroot and a flower I’ve forgotten the name of. (If I have overplanted, as I suspect I have, who cares! I’ll pull some things out.)
5. Take a little time. It has taken probably two full days over six months to prepare the soil and plant my garden, and roughly ten minutes each day to water and tend to it. But I find myself wandering out there and hovering over it more and more. When you love something it’s amazing how you can find the time to devote to it.
(Written by Julia)