The answer was in the garden all along

| Gary Webb

I knew something was wrong but it was the garden, as often the way, that helped me figure it out…

Upright, resolute and with its happiest face ablaze in the morning sun, my whippersnapper white flowering cherry tree shivers outside in a fresh spring morning breeze. Two blue tits are skipping amongst the twiggy birch tree branches, daisies are acting all daisy-like across the lawn and lavender cushions are covered in new season growth, yet something feels amiss.

White cherry blossom flowers washed in early morning sunlight
Cherry blossom doing its thing in my garden…

Tight bright pink ‘Jan Bos’ Hyacinth blooms are emerging from a terracotta pot newly planted last autumn. A chest high Acer is bravely pushing its first claw-like leaves out into the world, and along the fence line bright green ‘Mrs Robb’s bonnet’ Euphorbia stems stretch knee high to the sky as if to say, “don’t forget us!” The borders are clearly beginning to fill out right now but still, something is not quite right.

Continuing to study and quiz the garden, I tune into some long thorny rose stems that were tied down so very carefully back in February, where eight-inch new shoots now stretch upwards all along the stems – just as planned. Then my eyes pause on two box topiary shrubs that have rested tightly in their pots all winter, now whiskered with bright green tiny new leaves. Taking it all in, it is clear that the garden, following the longest wettest winter is now growing strongly again, but still, something is out of sorts.

Then it strikes me, it is this of course, not the garden but my writing that is out of line, where after an extended break I am once again deep in thought before a page, with a willingness to write. I haven’t stopped writing completely of though, if keeping a personal journal counts that is, but publicly my garden and nature inspired articles ceased to exist as we approached the end of winter. So why have the words from this Gary-made-good disappeared and what brings me back here today?

Well, until recently I would write each morning and almost every single day. I’d jot things down in notebooks or on my phone whilst out and about, and given a good chunk of time would hide myself away and type feverishly once a hint of an article had formed in my head. Then and without fail, I’d lose myself in a washing drum cycle of editing and re-editing whilst working to polish my creation into something half decent, before hitting the publish button and sending out into my tiny world.

For some time though my daily writing sessions have dried up, along with my articles too. It’s not for me to get into it here but suffice to say that life has weighed heavy for a while now, suppressing my motivation for gardening let alone writing; which is not me at all. My pens have collected dust in their pot, my laptop has been mostly closed and my creativity put on hold. Daily work has continued of course, but in no small measure have I been called to question again and again my working ways and gardening in general, so with all this in mind I’ve not had the will to write.

As I sit here today though whilst pondering my predicament, sun washes over the garden I previously described and the room inside is half in chaos. Furniture is piled high, dust sheets are laid down, and a half empty paint tin awaits re-opening so to coat another living room wall. A while later I’ll be taking one of my lads to the football through the Saturday traffic, and later still I will visit my dad in hospital; but right now and for the first time in weeks, I’m called to write.

Indeed, having fallen into a groove where I would do almost anything but make time to write, I now find myself sitting here with words bursting to get on the page. Things may be on pause for a little while and for sure, life is waiting to pull me hither and dither, but in this moment, I block it all out and write. 

Today then and for a while at least I shall roll with it, let the words flow, and go with that pull of creative energy that I know is life sustaining for me. It is not just the gardening, but the capturing of it in words that matters to me this day, and I must not hold that back come rain or shine or decorating for that matter. (Especially not for the decorating!) 

The garden will carry on being the garden, doing garden-like things, and work will carry on challenging me as it has for ever and a day. Little old me in the centre of it all however will sit here and write, come what may. Thank you for reading to the end, you’re one of my stars!

Gary Webb – Gardener, and yes: writer, dad, son and decorator too. (Whether some folks like it or not!)

When Clouds Dull The Day

| Gary Webb

Well, these first few weeks of the year certainly haven’t done anything to water down the notion that our nation is rain-soaked and dreary. I mean, yet again during daytime hours I find myself writing whilst knowing that I really should put the big light on! Nevertheless, as gloomy and wretched as the weather has been yet again today, beyond the large windowpanes all is brilliantly bathed by the sun’s light; even if filtered by a wishy-washy veil of grey cloud.

As I look out, raindrops cause tiny splashes as they spit spot across paving stones, with yet more droplets tapping lightly on the doorsill. Nearby and across a shallow pool surface silvery rings quickly erase each one that came before, and sky-lit watery beads build beneath branches, readying themselves to free fall into saturated soil below. Everything shows signs of moisture in a garden that’s already full to the brim.

Undeterred by the murk, fascination is still to be found everywhere out there however, my view being into a gardener’s garden of course. Mind you,

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Garden Journal (No.12) – Outside Influence

| Gary Webb

Welcome to my garden journal, the place where I pause to consider my current gardening journey and look to the days ahead.

Firstly

It’s great to be back journaling again though it does seem an age since the last one, even though it was only December. I’m also delighted to confirm that this entry marks the journal’s first full year, so I’m giving myself an imaginary pat on the back as I write.

Mulling over how to celebrate my journalling accomplishment, I thought I’d remind myself of those traditional anniversary markers, and it appears that one year can be honoured with a paper gift. Paper of course plays to my writerly ideals, so now I have the perfect excuse to purchase yet another notebook. Like plants, there’s always room for another notebook!

Anyway, before I veer too far off the garden path….

On the work front…

Believe me, there’s a lot I could say on the work front, but whilst I’m in the midst of planning for the next leg of my horticultural journey, I will take this opportunity to pause just one last time to remember the most recent past. Last weekend, you see, saw the completion of four particularly valuable years working in my garden and parks consultancy role, so I could hardly sign off without a brief moment of reflection.

The G&PC role was always going to present a steep learning curve for yours truly, and though objectives were generally pretty clear, existing in the space was far from straight forward. Often it felt as if I was working in the shadows, but nonetheless it was a fascinating role and hugely rewarding, having influence of sorts over some very fine parks and gardens. Indeed, what might have begun as a simple attempt to broaden my horticultural experience, grew to be so much more.

Throughout the years, many audiobook listening miles were travelled, all balanced of course with some long hours living inside a laptop. Meetings were enjoyed and endured in some wonderfully historic attics, basements and ballrooms, although the best of them were always those hosted in gardens themselves, where lunches were often consumed amongst veteran trees, with tuneful birds and butterflies.

Sometimes the coffee hits the right spot… 100%

I’ve sipped from mugs of steaming black coffee in some of the most memorable and forgotten garden bothies ever there was, and stomped miles across parklands in cross-discipline teams discussing everything from ancient archaeology to arboriculture. There was even the odd time here or there working on the tools planting bulbs, or collecting debris after yet another flood, plus numerous round-table discussions with colleagues strategising over one garden initiative or another.

That last line brings me swiftly onto the folks I’ve worked with throughout, those who teased, tested and tried me, but equally brought out the best of me; ‘my’ gardeners, colleagues and friends. If reading this, you’ll know who you are, and should also know how much I’ve valued your counsel these last four years, I couldn’t have done it without you!

It’s been an absolute gift to have worked with some of the most resilient and talented gardeners going, who collectively turn out some of the most evocative garden spaces on the planet. Having witnessed their intellect and creativity, their tenacity and commitment, and for seeing what they’ve achieved in the tightest of situations; I have nothing but admiration for them all.

This section of my journal is therefore to record my thanks to you all, it’s been one heck of a ride. Next time the coffee is on me!

In the Garden

I’m devoting little time to my home garden and allotment section this time due to my own gardening activity being somewhat in short supply. That is not to say that I haven’t been interacting with gardens; I’ve needed plenty of garden face time in order to get me through some trying winter weeks.

Whilst reduced gardening activity is pretty standard at this time of year for non-professionals though, the turbulent weather certainly hasn’t helped in terms of motivation. Sunny days have been swiftly followed by rain, the local River Avon has gone up and down like a yoyo, and frost has touched down one day and vanished the next.

Close up image of a fern plant, the edges of its fronds touched by frost
I’ll just let you lose yourself in these leaves for a moment…

Frosty days, despite testing our metal, do however offer a visual treat only snow can improve upon. During winter’s lull when, let’s face it, many gardens are less than attractive, a dusting of frost can be magical. In my garden even commonplace fence and post tops can sparkle, which combined with a range of silvery leaves makes for a budget winter wonderland; it’s only my establishing ‘Spider’s Web’ Fatsia that complains by drooping sorrowfully – it’s always first to feel the chill.

Seeing frost up close often reminds me of my mom’s words way back in my primary school days. ‘Jack Frost’s been’ she would say, which I now realise was intended to build excitement and enthusiasm for yet another icy cold walk to school. (Luckily, I always had my Readybrek glow!)(Google it…)

Today, after many full snow moons have passed I still get a sense of excitement at the sight of a glistening garden, and Jack’s always quick to jump into my mind. I lose myself ever so easily at the sight of a crispy white lawn, some mondo grass blades or the lattice-like fronds of an evergreen fern. Thanks mom, I guess I’m saying; I do believe you’re the one who first opened my eyes to the infinite beauty of nature – your gift keeps on giving to this day.

Just a light touch from Jack Frost today…

The influence of ice crystals in the garden can of course fill it with beauty, moving the most ordinary element to an art piece, yet for wildlife, it can be a different story. It’s important then, when delighting in a few frozen moments to give a thought or two to our feathered friends.

Already in my garden we have blue tits fighting over the nest box, making our efforts to keep fresh water and some seed available through winter worthwhile. If only for the tits, a blackbird, a couple of robins and pigeons, our small offering goes a long way to keeping our local birds alive and singing. (Note: Occasionally, between refreshing bird food it’s good to disinfect items, so as to reduce the risk of spreading disease).

Looking Ahead

In the days ahead I do have to acquire seeds for the season including potatoes for chitting, and there’s a pruning session to look forward to; an establishing Wisteria in one corner of the garden in particular. I’m quite looking forward to giving my pruners a run out to be honest, and might even roll onto the roses afterwards for good measure.

Aside from the pruning, for the foreseeable future in my home plots at least, I’m happy to continue edging quietly closer to spring. Imbolc arrived with the beginning of February, the Celtic festival which amongst other things signals the mid-point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. To that end, whether you follow the Celtic fire festivals or not, we can be reassured that brighter days are ahead.

My final words for this garden journal are therefore to recommend that we all find a few quiet moments to spend in our own garden spaces, so to think for a while on the type of year you’d like to experience. Might I also suggest some gardening intentions: A training course? A new container display? A new tree? A new garden?!

Whatever you decide upon, write it down on a post-it note and stick it somewhere prominent, as that way you’re more likely to make it happen.

On that note, I’ll sign out of my garden journal number twelve and wish you well for Imbolc and beyond. Spring is on the way!

All the best, Gary. Gardening Ways.

January Garden

| Gary Webb

Possibly the grimmest day of the year so far, but somehow my garden pulls me through, giving much food for thought in the process. Potpourri, anyone?

In my neck of the woods most gardens would be considered ‘damp under foot’ for the duration of January. Unless you’re a professional or serious amateur gardener though, there’s probably not a great deal you’d want to do in the garden just now anyway. After all, January soil can be wet soil, I don’t want to play soil, stay away soil. It’s probably better to let the January garden be, if I’m totally honest.

Birch and Viburnum leaves amongst others cloak much of my own garden soil today having layered themselves down like sodden potpourri. Initially having tumbled down, they’re now compressing after recurring rainfall, sealing the soil and locking out light, thus preventing growth of too many wild plants.

A mixture of brown leaves laying soaked on the ground, their ribbed and textured form still clearly visible in January.
All the leaves are brown…and the sky is… 

In the right quantity wild plants have always been dear to me, and decade upon decade my gardens have become more welcoming to their presence, softer around the edges you could say. Musing on wildflowers and gardens, I remember when wildflowers were once allotted a specific space in gardens, but now see further softening to their presence. Gardens now seem to be shape shifting, re-forming tradition through a shared desire to heal the world and help our pollinators; a kind of No Dig for Victory, I hear people say.

Where this will lead gardens I cannot say, as I’m unable to read a crystal ball, but a creative gardener’s desire to shape and improve will certainly see each place adapt and evolve. Not that a ‘traditional’ garden fixed in an old form is a bad thing, whatever a traditional garden is, that is. There’s certainly room for a heady mix of traditional and wild, old and new, as long as they’re nature rich gardens. As Alexander Pope once penned: “In all, let Nature never be forgot”.

Tripping over the labels we attach to gardens and gardening styles sometimes leads to words wasted, I feel, but questioning what a garden is can be fruitless too; a garden being something different to each and every person. USP’s aside, each garden is an intrinsically personal space to someone, even if it’s a shared space, so various opinions will exist as to how it should be formed or re-formed; and most will be just fine as long as nature’s requirements are considered.

In my own January garden, a diverse range of carefully chosen ornamental plants hold their stations, each either having gone to ground or is presently delighting me with some winter form and colour. Again though, labelling plants themselves as ‘ornamentals’ undervalues their role in the place that is my garden, a space where all the plants are fulfilling an important role in the local eco system. Yes, they’re aesthetically pleasing, but they’re useful in other ways too, be it for food or refuge.

Not especially useful to some people, as gardens go, my garden is completely useful to me, and to local wildlife. In the drier, warmer months my garden gives space to breathe and retire from the world, offering various niches where to relax and unwind. Right now, even though I fear to tread into it on the dullest of winter days, my garden entertains. Perimeter planting waves in the wind, cloud pruned box reminds me where I’ve been, and raindrops animate a mirror pool. Yet it is the plants, regardless of their origin, that stand up to the grey day, offering life and foraging places for wildlife.

Whilst I ponder January and observe the seasonal wheel as it turns, rain continues to fall across my garden. It may not be an easy time for all natural things, or for gardeners come to that, but for this gardener on the grimmest of days, my garden’s seeing me right. I believe it’s time for a winter brew.

Gary Webb.

Garden Journal (No.11) – New Gardening Ways

| Gary Webb

With ten garden journal posts now published this year, I hereby give notice, that just for this entry I’m having a little shake up – think of it as a snow globe edition if you will. In here my usual journal sections have temporarily disappeared in a miniature blizzard and are lost amidst swirling bright white flakes.

Instead, what comes into focus as the fake snow slows is an update on my gardening reality; a wintry tale of working that is not weathering well just now. For this post only, I’m aiming to summarise this year’s lengthy journey, one I can no longer process properly with pursed lips. These words are not angry words however, they’re therapeutic ones, chosen to help me both process what is done, and move forward with calmness and clarity.

Note: The text below radiates from my present core role in the charity sector as a gardens and parks consultant, which follows decades working in landscape and garden management. I also wish to confirm that I write here in a personal capacity: these words do not represent the views of any other individual or organisation.

On the work front…

I’ve previously alluded to a work issue that’s been ongoing since early July. The situation has been frustrating and trying to say the least and believe me those are two of the kindest words I could use. Essentially, as for many organisations and businesses just now, the cloud of redundancy came over, putting many hard-working folks under a great deal of stress.

Now that winter’s under way, I’m in a position to look back and process the journey so far, and it helps me to think of it as thus: for a while there, we were effectively walking the narrowest of cliffside walks. For sure, appeals could be submitted to the powers that be, which at least gave hope that valuable people might somehow be saved from slipping into the foggy void below, but the way ahead for all was not clear cut.

For a lucky few of us, an added hint of optimism occurred when brand-new roles came into sight. Yes, new spaces were actually made on a sustainably sourced bench up on a higher ledge. That path to the plateau though was steep and twisted, and the risk of falling ever present, but once up there, if the weather cleared, that view would surely be magnificent.

Individually we dared to climb, and a couple of worthy adventurers even made it up onto that grassy ledge, and internally I rejoiced that two of my kind, at least, had reached safety. For the rest of us though, ill equipped it seemed for the challenge, one by one we were forced to turn about and shuffle back down the path; whilst contemplating still empty spaces up there on the bench. Some things are just not meant to be.

After our trial, that narrow path crumbled and fell away behind us, almost as if it was never there at all. With wide open eyes though, I could at least take solace in finally having received a date for the whole sorry affair to conclude – February 2026. Mind you, whilst a few of us had given it a shot, there were a few others who, ahead of time, had chosen to float into the voluntary redundancy mist. After so many previous meetings and garden tours, not to hug being able to properly wish them farewell was a wrench indeed.

A black and white image of a Webb mower in a garden setting
Fossil fuel free mowers with no charging or battery concerns…

Thankfully, I’m now back on firmer ground and a normal (ish) service has resumed, albeit with one eye on a distant horizon. Without digging into the whys and wherefores a moment longer however, and a few sleepless nights aside, I can say that I am genuinely at peace with it all. For sure, having one’s career train suddenly derailed at my time of life does leave one in quite a hole, but I’m adept with a sharp-edged spade and a PC, so I think I’ll be okay.

If there’s one thing that puzzles me, it is how I’ve managed to remain so composed throughout it all, but then, with a family to support, maybe the brave face I’m sporting for my kids has somehow stuck. Whatever it is, now is the time to draw a line in the sand, and this journal entry most definitely marks that line. I now need to be looking ahead, exploring new paths and stepping through new doorways. Your destiny awaits; is a line that keeps running through my mind.

Being practical, for the next couple of months I am very much committed to my present role, but beyond that, well, I shall be up for grabs. In this moment therefore, I guess I need to advertise my wares, to put myself out there as it were.

I’m quite a versatile and practical person, but as you’ll by now realise, I’m also something of a reflector, a character trait not given the time of day in most meetings, discussions, or even interviews come to that. Nevertheless, whilst I can tend to dwell sometimes, it does lead to considered decisions with positive outcomes.

It’s taken me far too many years to work it out, but I’m very much a creative, one that dares to dream. My qualities may not be unique and as an individual I might be hard to figure out, but my ability to dream and aspirational approach to life has served me well in horticulture across the years. After all, no one can manifest a finely considered paradise garden if they can’t dream it from within, surely?

The bottom line though, is that whilst it’s fine to be something of a niche horticulturalist with a book dream, I do have bills to pay. In my mind’s eye, an opportunity like redundancy is a chance to step back, to reconsider and possibly to retrain. On the shelf, however, is a little Christmas elf who annoyingly prods and pokes at me daily, his speech bubbles saying, “just get another job, and quickly!”

To these ends, I’m a creative horticulturalist, or gardener if that’s easier to grasp; a hardworking, loyal, nature focussed family guy, deeply rooted in south Warwickshire. I have all the usual tickets, sharp pruners, and have improved and made more than a few gardens over the years. Oh, and whilst I’m particularly fond of heritage gardens, I do have a very broad field of vision.

At this point I’m at risk of falling into C.V. territory, so I shall check myself and call time on this somewhat unconventional garden journal entry now. I gave this post much thought I can tell you, and apologies if it’s a shock to the system, but the best way for me to navigate this process is by writing my way through it.

There are many more challenging things in life to deal with, I realise, and my intention was never to harp on, or cause upset. My horticultural journey has been forty years in the growing though, so you’ll have to excuse me if this comes across a little snappy; this is challenging stuff, whether people depend on you or you depend on yourself.

To conclude therefore, whilst my diary is full for the foreseeable, in the near future I shall myself be released into that foggy void, and I’m very much open to all avenues. My pruners, as ever, are as sharp as my pencils, and my topiary trimming is just as tuneful as my keyboard tapping. I’ve managed teams here and there, for sure, but I’m also completely at peace in splendid isolation; and many would be surprised by my garden design skills – old school but effective!

Thanks for reading to the end, should you hear of anything within range of south Warks, I’d be very much obliged if you would tip me the wink.

Until next time then, when my garden journal will return to its usual format, I bid you good day.

Kind regards, Gary Webb, Gardening Ways.

Old Spades, New Gardening Ways

| Gary Webb

This article is a reflection on the shifting nature of gardening and considers how old methods like double digging fit into modern, sustainable practice.

I’m sure this could be applied to many activities, but if there’s one thing I’ve come to understand about gardening, it is that nothing stays the same for long: places, processes, people and of course plants themselves continue to change. There are many examples of how change plays out in life of course, but the one I pull from my gardening hat today concerns an old gardening task known as double digging.

Whilst in practice double digging wasn’t expected or carried out nearly as often as one might think, by the time I encountered the technique it was long established; a trusted method for preparing compacted or depleted ground. Whether working an allotment or old kitchen garden therefore, digging down two spits deep, incorporating organic matter and inverting the soil was considered a route to success.

Possibly due to my working situations, I didn’t often get to put my double digging skills to use, but I certainly held faith in the procedure. After all, like it or loathe it, the DD process adds nutrients and humus, opens and aerates compacted soil, and helps towards that happy place somewhere between not too wet or dry – what more could anyone possibly do to help plants grow?

A black and white image of Gary Webb weeding a patch of soil beside a compost bin.
My good self, not in the act of double digging! (Not there anyway 😉)

The idea behind this text however, is not to deliberate on whether double digging or no dig is best, or if any gardening method is superior to another. My reflections here are wholly centred around the evolution of horticultural practice, of collective and individual learning, and of thoughtfully managing change.

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Garden Journal (No.10) – In the Midst of Autumn

| Gary Webb

Hello and welcome to the tenth edition of my new garden journal, a place where I pause time and take note of where my gardening world sits right now.

Firstly

Looking out from where I’m writing just now, except for a Dahlia burst of white and Japanese anemone flowers, my garden is full and alive with vibrant foliage. Despite cloudy skies this morning, light is captured by thousands of leaves all around, each colour intensified instantly by the merest hint of additional sun. Autumn is such a special time of year, and I’m repeatedly struck by its beauty.

Zooming-in to my home plot, I can usually take the yellow leaves of dogwood either way, but right now they do contrast pleasantly with the rich green lawn; and I’m beginning to see the fiery stems revealed once again too. Whilst I grin knowingly at the birch whose leaves are again late to turn, nearby a hornbeam Niwaki is busy transforming itself into a striking gold and copper sculpture. If it were a competition though, the blonde Calamagrostis seed heads would certainly take first prize, being the showiest of all, bursting brightly upwards before the blackened fence; it’s all keeping me in absolute captivation.

Bright blonde seed heads of Calamagrostis x acutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’ backlit by sunshine
Calamagrostis x acutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’

Despite the grand display though, I know that all the plants are doing is preparing for winter, their last throws of visible life colouring my days ahead of hibernation. It’s a little way off as yet, but tough winter days are ahead, maybe even frosts by the end of the month, so like us, these plants are simply pulling back their reserves; surely, we should be taking a leaf out of their book and applying it to ours?!

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Garden Journal (No.9) – Heritage and Horticultural Matters

| Gary Webb

Hello and welcome to my garden journal, a pausing point and record of my garden focussed world right now.

Autumn begins… I began writing this journal on Friday last, holed up in the garden hut due to persistent rain which had teemed down for hours. Being on the coat tails of storm Amy and forecast for the weekend, I was thankful that all I had to endure was the regular tapping of rain on the roof.

Now though a full week has flown by, calmer weather has returned and another Harvest Moon wanes. Thankfully I can report that storm Amy treated us kindly, all told, and certainly better than up north where much damage was reported. Locally, paths and roadsides were peppered with twigs and fallen leaves, many still in the green, whilst acorns layered the ground beneath most every oak. Autumn, it appears, has introduced its turbulent self…

Pink Nerine flowers outside an orangery building at Calke Abbey
Perfect Partners: Nerines and Erigeron at Calke Abbey

Despite the hint of destruction mentioned above, it is important to remember that autumn brings positive vibes too. For many, autumn is a time where getting out and about takes precedence, even just to kick through some leaves, or warm souls with a hot chocolate or two. Others embrace the shoulder season by slinking into some kind of pre-hibernation state, where focus shifts towards hunkering down for winter, which surely means stacking up on books and sweet treats for those long dark nights, right?

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Walks and Wild Words

| Gary Webb

Won’t you come and crunch some acorns with me? Fact, fiction and times past, all woven crudely together and unravelled here, in this short story search for purpose.

Early one autumn morn during a country walk, I happened across an impressive holly oak tree, where I chose to sit for a while. There, I was to discover not just a handsome tree but a potent place, one that offered a lens through which landscape and life could be viewed.

Prior to that deep-seated moment, I’d been drifting in and out of thought whilst stomping up a hill, upon which oaks and yews had lived for a century or more. Boughs from path side trees formed an impressive tunnel overhead, but my eyes were mostly flitting from fronds beside the path one moment, to fungi living on fallen wood the next: all the while crunching over acorns strewn all about, it being a mast year.

After a few minutes of continual climb, I was drawn by some light glowing from the side of the track, although given the seemingly never-ending weather pattern, it wasn’t so much a burst of sun, but a brief patch of brightness. Nevertheless, whilst standing there appreciating that burly oak’s silhouette, a narrow track appeared before me, so through the ferny foliage I duly stepped, unsure if I was simply exploring the place, or had been summoned to it.

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