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.
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.
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
I’m bouncing back again with edition two of my garden journal, one with serious woody notes to begin with, but looking up with joy and inspiration to the end.
Here I am back with a second garden journal entry, and I do hope to find you well. I’ll jump swiftly into my journal, but make no apologies for the heavy beginning, as I became increasingly bothered over the past week as you’ll see. I promise to try and end on a lighter note though, if I can.
Generally Speaking.
It’s been raining overnight in our neck of the woods and all around is once again squelchy and soft. The rain however, itself causing havoc and flood damage in many areas has been eclipsed yet again by the devastation caused by storm-force winds. (After that opener, you might see that it would feel a little shallow and ignorant if I were simply to write this week about how challenging it’s been to get out in my garden!)
Storm Éowyn last week, and back in December storm Darragh have each been responsible for widespread damage across the UK and beyond, including the shearing and felling of thousands upon thousands of mature trees across gardens, parks, estates and countryside. Whilst the impact across all areas was severe and challenging for people with actual loss of life, itself heart-wrenching, my professional focus at times like this soon turns to the people on the ground: those responsible for the enormous task of making areas safe and accessible.
Being centrally placed in England, and whilst not completely unscathed I feel fortunate to have escaped much of the storm driven destruction – more a case of luck over judgement, I think. Having worked with trees for so long though I’m naturally uncomfortable with it all, understanding as I do the hard physical effort and difficulties associated with clearing up after a storm, not to mention the emotional impact of losing special trees. Trees, being forceful structures that populate our day-to-day lives, can leave an awfully big hole when they’re taken by the will of a storm.
The loss of any tree can be hugely upsetting, especially if a particular tree holds significance: if it were planted by notable individual or to mark an historic occasion, for example. When the number of tree losses rise however, the impact and true cost can lift enormously, not just the cost of removal, repair and replacement, but the physical and emotional impact on our treasured spaces.
To conclude this section, and whilst trying hard here not to spiral into a detailed dialogue on the value of trees or shout into the void from my soap box, I do want to finish with some final words in support of those in far off places dealing with the impacts of said storms.
The physical, emotional and financial cost of the cleanup will be substantial, and in each shaken location folks will be coming to terms with the impacts of a changing climate; I do hope those caught up in this are getting the help and support they need.
As we move forward, I know that wise minds are learning from these extreme events, to help us better prepare for a future where we do stand a chance of weathering these storms more effectively: there will be a way and our beloved trees, with a little help, will win through.
In the Garden
Stepping into the shallows after all, I’m glad to say that I did manage to find time between the showers to flex my green fingers, with my first new year session in the home garden.
The session wasn’t much to write home about, which does present a challenge as that’s exactly what I’m here to do – write about gardens! I did though tackle one ornamental border, cutting back all useless dead growth from last season to expose areas of soil in between shrubs and perennials. Once my mind was made to get stuck in, I very quickly found my stride, trimming, picking up fallen debris and generally tidying.
Leaving a couple of deciduous grasses alone, which I shall trim back a little nearer to spring, (I hope they’re packed with ladybirds so I’ll stay well clear for now,) my goal was to clear away just enough debris so that I could mulch across the surface with a nice insulating layer of organic peat-free material. Whilst the mulch itself is primarily intended to benefit the soil, it will suppress weeds and its visual impact is a treat, leaving a nice dark even surface that sets off the planting beautifully. More borders lie in wait for attention.
As far as the allotment is concerned, last weekend I secured a batch of seed potatoes, and have set these out in a cardboard tray in the shed window to chit, or develop their shoots. This year I’ve gone again for first earlies and maincrop varieties, the former ‘Casablanca’, the latter ‘Elland’, my search continuing for a spud that tastes especially good. I’ll have some space for at least one other variety, so if you’ve a recommendation for a good allrounder, I’m certainly open to suggestions.
Seed potatoes chitting, new shoots for the new year.
Looking ahead.
As well as the spuds, last week I also acquired some more garlic bulbs and onion sets, which I’ve yet to deal with. I’ve some in the ground already that were planted last autumn, but many appear to have lost their shoots to birds, so growing these ones on in modular trays for a while is my plan. Mind you, if I wake up brave, I might plant them direct with some fleece over, we’ll see. (With no Monty right now to tell us what to do at the weekend, how are we to know?!)
Last time I mentioned the purchase of a new bird box for the garden, which is now all decorated and awaiting installation – another job for the weekend. I’ll share its grand opening on Insta when I do finally fix it in place, the bird box artwork is a bit different to the norm and something of a collaboration – I shall say no more for now!
Finally, now that a new moon has come to pass and waxes towards February’s Snow Moon, I shall be continuing to take as many evening walks as I can, not only to stretch my legs but also to make the very most of the starry skies. They’ve always been there I know, but as the days rapidly draw out, I’m increasingly pulled to make the most of the dark skies while they’re here (at a decent time), and each day find myself looking forward to seeing what the night’s sky will hold. There have been some exquisite opportunities recently.
If you’re local to me and see me leaning on a lamp-post on a street corner, I won’t be waiting for a little lady to walk by, but will certainly be looking up and besotted with the star speckled sky! (If you’re of a certain age you’ll know what I mean!)
For now, I’ll wish you all the best, and will sign off my garden journal. Regards, Gary Webb. Gardening ways.
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
Well, I’m back again with my re-shooting garden journal just as promised. Mind you, given that gardening for me is somewhat thin on the ground just now, I’ll concede that the ‘garden’ part as mentioned in the title could be considered somewhat misleading. I implore you to stick with it however, as gardening will feature if you can read on long enough!
Generally Speaking
It seems odd that already we’ve turned enough diary pages to see us comfortably beyond the second full working week of the year, and memories of that Christmas break along with January’s wolf moon itself are fading fast. Over the course of winter, like many others, I too hear that inner calling to hibernate, or in the very least a plea to slow right down and take things easier. Nevertheless, with a level head, I also hear the mightier cry to pay off those festive bills; so also like many others, my Christmas default position rests somewhere awkwardly between work, rest and play.
Yes that was my good self, captured out stretching my legs last weekend…
In all fairness though, whilst for many the Christmas period can be incredibly busy and stressful, I do count my blessings in being able to ease back on the throttle for a few precious days and take things easier. During the holidays then, whilst overall the usual lively family time was enjoyed, I was still able to carve out time for some much-needed reflection and contemplation. Through reading, some atmospheric local walks and meditation, which have become hugely important to my wellbeing over the last two years or so, I thankfully glided through the season unscathed and felt somewhat refreshed – if only it had lasted!
In the Garden
Thankfully, whilst in my home garden little is moving, I’m glad to say that we, as in Mrs. W. and myself have successfully achieved our first 2025 session at the allotment garden. To be fair the session could have waited, but with the weather, ground conditions and a time slot opening, it felt good to get the gloves on and to at least do a little towards the new growing season.
Before work started it all looked a little bit sad, but the weeds were having a ball for sure!
Understanding that some plants offer useful winter refuge for wildlife, we tentatively started by cutting hard to the ground last season’s ornamental woody herbaceous growth. Knowing that some dried stems can be useful as food or nesting material for birds in the coming weeks, the ones pruned were all the other random sticks, the ones useless to man nor beast. All the pruned material was removed away to the compost bin – everything being recycled.
Elsewhere on the plot I set about cleaning up the space where last year’s pumpkins were grown and an adjacent weedy bed with a few unproductive cabbage stems. In this space, previously mostly covered with matting, the task was to tease out the weed growth initially, and particularly through the middle and around the perimeter where weeds have been trying to get a foot hold; relatively straight forward all things considered.
At least I know where I’ve been…to be continued…
Going forward, my plan is to sub-divide this large bed into four strip beds, each four feet across with narrow paths in between. As tested elsewhere on the plot, the strip system makes it easier to work the soil from each side without stepping on the growing ground at all: a long-established method of growing that preserves the soil, one that will better contribute to my goal of no-to-minimal dig growing. Once the last of the weeding is complete in this space then, I shall look to carve out and establish the paths and bed areas, which worked really well elsewhere on the allotment last year. Finally I shall cap over the beds with compost to enrich the soil.
Looking Ahead
Without wanting to overshoot my garden journal stay which is intended to be short and sweet, I will roundup by swiftly looking ahead to my gardening activity in the next week or so. Hopefully, time may present itself to return to the plot, but of prime importance is the need to secure some seed potatoes that will need chitting in the coming weeks; more on that in due course. Otherwise, I shall be looking to acquire some onion sets and seeds, so some retail therapy is definitely in my stars.
Finally, as bird nesting season approaches along with some more challenging weather no doubt, I shall be continuing to provide clean water and fresh seed in the garden. Oh yes, and I’ve also a new bird box to install, but not before some small-scale decorating to make the birds feel welcome – all TBC!
For now, I’ll wish you all the best, and will sign off from my first garden journal edition.
Regards, Gary Webb. Gardening ways.
Sunset over Charlecote way, captured on a late afternoon head clearing stroll…
Remember my garden journal posts from yesteryear? Well, if you do or are intrigued to know more, I’m glad to say they’re set to rise from the ashes for 2025. Let me pave the way…
Welcome to something a little different from me for this frosty fresh brand-new year. This post is an introductory edition for what will become a regular Gardening Ways Garden Journal throughout 2025. In forthcoming entries I will dive straight into a new journal format, writing in the moment diary style articles based on my garden, green space and nature related experiences that week
Frost coating my whole garden in crispiness today – infinitely exquisite. Image: Gary Webb 2025
Whilst I’m keen and eager to get to work on my first Garden Journal, in this initial post I’m intending to simply pave the way and describe how this garden journal has come about. Building on a previous journal style of posting, something I stopped compiling nearly five years ago, I feel it’s important for you to understand its origins, how it will sit within my Gardening Ways Substack pages overall, and what it can offer you.
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,
I find myself sat under a large triangular shelter, built snugly into the southern corner of a three-sided walled garden open to visitors, known as Baddesley Clinton. In their down-season dress, ornamental flower borders line three of the garden’s walls, sprinkled here and there with red bows bringing a little Christmas cheer. The sky is fixed grey and moody, and after warming myself with lunch in the bright bustling café, this spot seemed as good a place as any other to sit awhile and write.
A little Christmas cheer, at Baddesley Clinton. Image: Gary Webb.
Built primarily as a shady summer retreat, I’m certain that in the heat of summer, this shelter offers cool respite for visiting guests, and for working gardeners too. In this shade, time served timbers and darkened joists support a thatched mossy roof, under which a tangled bird’s nest rests in the shadows; just like me. Red bricks line the floor,
The presence of trees in our world should never cease to astound. Take a look at this Ginkgo, for example, living its moments peacefully in a Herefordshire garden. Note: This article, previously posted autumn 2023 has been reworked for this autumn, renewed after meeting the tree again recently. I hope it triggers some tree-like exploration…
Standing beneath its mature crown looking up, it was hard not to be impressed by the tree’s volume and its many stems shooting out in different directions. Dare I say, the tree may not have been an artistically formed treasure like the trained fruit in the walled garden nearby, but it did hold a rugged charm. If however the tree lacked any refinement in its structural form, it more than made up for this in style, its many clustered leaves shining en masse with a fiery yellow intensity.
With confidence the tree spoke too, proving it wasn’t all about the frilly foliage display. A soft purposeful sound emanated from its crown, a tune that hushed with each southerly breath of wind. As this cool November breeze blew in from the park, I moved in closer,
Gardening Ways 