Essays

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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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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A Gardening Connection, at BBC Gardeners’ World Live.

| Gary Webb

You presently find me fully inspired after a visit to BBC Gardeners’ World Live at the N.E.C. in Birmingham. If you know me personally, the mention of attending a garden show might take you aback, as my preferred place of comfort would by choice be somewhere much calmer: a quiet corner of a wildflower filled garden, maybe a woodland trail, the allotment or seated on a bench in my garden. After a successful show visit therefore, to now sitting back reflecting with wholly positive thoughts, feels pretty good indeed.

Generally speaking, thinking of how we’ve moved from the local village garden show to the likes of BBC GW Live is hard to fathom. Dozens of trade stands, bottle-necked thoroughfares and variegated willows whipping you in the face when least expected. Weary stall holders wilting under the heat of a marquee alongside their perfectly grown plants, and bite-your-lip moments due to those infuriating push-me pull-me show trollies; possibly the very best and worst garden show product that ever there was!

The Plant Based Garden, by Nick Bailey

It might all sound a bit much, and in some ways it is, but there is a reverse side to the coin: a glorious and gigantic garden show in the blazing June sunshine that features the very best early summer flowers. Garden shows of this size, therefore, are meant to be exciting and busy places, and can assault your senses; but there is balance and payback if you seek it. I like to think of large garden shows as magnets, working as super central places where all and sundry converge on one location which is, let’s face it, as convenient as it gets.

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Tortured Tree – Planted but not forgotten

| Gary Webb

My discovery of an ill-fated tree on a wooded hillside, a tree striving to survive and play its part for our world – a reworked essay from Gardening Ways 2017.

Time travelling back to a tree planting day on a gentle hillside a century or so ago, I picture a fresh-faced country character with their sleeves rolled back and a bead of sweat beneath their flat cap, standing back to admire their work. They, like us now would have wanted only the best for this tree that I now stand before, especially after digging into this heavy ground that I know to be stone filled and stubborn.

As for any tree planter today, our character would have wished for this tree to establish well and prosper, feeling equally sorrowful and comforted knowing it would hopefully remain long after they themselves had breathed their last. Nodding to the future then, they’d have prayed for a mild season or two to ensure that its shoots would get away and its roots would establish well, binding the tree to that spot for generations to come.

A beech tree encapsulated in a rusting tree guard that should have been removed long ago, set in a thin woodland.
Until you see it, I mean really see it, it’s just another tree in the woods. G.Webb.

After firming down clods of earth with the heel of a hobnail boot, the planter would likely have scooped water from the nearby lakeside to settle its roots, then fixed in place a strong protective frame to guard it against attack; a metal cage likely to have dwarfed the infant tree but certain to keep it from harm. Little did they know that despite the most caring of intentions, their actions condemned the tree to a torturous future.

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Fresh Air and Fruit Trees

| Gary Webb

Getting closer to a pruning day between the branches.

Gary Webb

With heavy curtains drawn tightly together, it may have been hard to notice that day was breaking outside and the sun was readying itself for an appearance. As our gardener raised their head from a warm pillow though, even with half opened eyes, they knew exactly when and where the sun would appear and importantly, when it was due to retire.

Preparing for a cool winter’s day outdoors, our weathered tested gardener dressed themselves, adding quilted layer upon layer in the hope of finding that magical working balance between not too warm, not too cold, and actually remaining mobile. As if on auto pilot, they shovelled down breakfast, prepared and packed a hearty lunch and allowing for a moment of pause, moved on to lacing up some well-worn but ever-so comfortable boots. Finishing with a woolly hat pulled down over their ears, they headed out to the car for a familiar journey to work, their breath chuffing into the cool morning air.

Journeying to their work’s garden, rays from the blindingly low sun glimmered through the driver’s door window, flashing repeatedly through the ancient hedgerow trees as the car whooshed along the lane. The cloud-free sky was becoming brighter by the second and promised a dry, if cool working day. Today, they thought, might be the day to finish the orchard pruning, a task they were keen to complete, for spring was in the air and the sap was beginning to rise.

The day started with picking up debris from the previous day which was in itself unusual, for they usually preferred to clean up as they worked. Yesterday though they had pushed on pruning until night fell, being keen to complete an especially large tree. With light falling

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Earthen Foothills

| Gary Webb

I don’t speak mole, but I feel the need to try…

Digging, I push through dark earth, busily clawing my way forwards, behind me pushing scoops of loosened grub-free soil. If I could, I’d leave no sign of my existence at all, preferring by far to live below ground out of sight, quietly tunnelling and forming my subterranean world, only surfacing to taste fresh air from the midst of my mountainous mole hills.

Existing in your world and mine too, I take no solace or consolation from the sun or stars above as you might, or the clouds or trees for that matter. I live in and for the soil. My focus is close, my ambitions are kerbed, and my territory is limited by nature; I know exactly where I’m at.

You will know where I’ve been though, for whilst I can be inconspicuous, my industrial spoils are heaped in plain sight. My earthen foothills

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Pressing Pause in the Garden

| Gary Webb

During these midwinter weeks here in the UK, the accepted norm is not to head out mowing the lawn each week; indeed trimming, weeding or feeding the garden generally takes a backseat. Contrary to popular belief though, during these colder months gardeners don’t stash away their tools, kick back in the shed whilst drinking hot chocolate and peruse seed catalogues. In fact, for many skilled and professional horticulturalists, easing back isn’t even up for discussion.

Tending larger or public gardens and green spaces does call for year-round activity, and thousands of trained ‘horts’ are directly employed in positions across the country, not to mention thousands more who work in supporting trades feeding into a vibrant plant-based industry. On the ground though,

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A Mist Laden Landscape

| Gary Webb

By late afternoon on Boxing Day and with natural daylight already on the slide, I knew that if I was going to find any time for a fresh air walk, I’d have to lace my boots sharpish and get out there. Once the decision was made then, it took but a few swift minutes to don my boots, zip on a fleece and winter jacket, close the wreath-dressed door behind me and head out in search of refreshment and rejuvenation.

Clean air was needed to clear away the yearly feeling of laziness and over-indulgence, during this self-imposed Christmas lockdown, even if I had tried to steer well clear of excess this year. Just yards from the front door my dreamy festive walk met with reality though, as a freshness nipped at my cheeks and cold air tingled my nostrils. Still, as the first

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The Moon in My Eyes

| Gary Webb

Do you look forward with anticipation as each full moon comes around, is your sleep interrupted or does your mood change? Or are you more casually drawn to the moon’s presence each month, simply catching a glimpse here or there if opportunity presents? I ask all this of course, knowing that here in the UK, the moon is often hidden away due to an almost never-ending blanket of cloud!

If you do find fascination in the moon though you’re certainly not alone, and may charismatically class yourself a selenophile, a name based on a Greek word for moon – Selene. If a selenophile is therefore a person who looks aghast when our nighttime gardens are illuminated by that big old moon, or takes solace from the regularity of its presence, that is me, and it might be you too. Indeed, over the last few nights

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