We often hear it said that rain is good for the garden, a typical response meant to lighten the mood of a rainy day. Where though, does a rainy day leave the gardener, is a rainy day good for them too? Well, after years of living and around gardens, here’s my naturally positive take on this situation.
After what seems like days and weeks of rain, autumn’s dampness has well and truly settled in, and it feels like I may not see dry soil in my own garden again for some time. I don’t state that as a complaint though I have to say, as I’m understanding that weather’s balance constantly moves back and forth, some days or weeks sitting wet, some dry, and in between, hopefully, there comes some useful middle ground.
When the weather turns – Sourlands Pool, nr Farnborough Hall, Warwickshire. Gary Webb.
Where gardening and garden visiting is concerned, striking that perfect balance between weather and conditions can be a fine thing indeed, and most of us do live in hope of this garden idyll. If, however, I’m to wait until the soil is dry, or postpone
There is a place, where one glorious garden space after another can be found hidden behind tall foliage covered walls. The garden is the sum of many parts, each one offering a picture-perfect scene: a sunken pool with a cherub here, an ancient cold bath over there, and across the way, beyond an old sundial, old orchard trees grow, and bees float poetically above rich meadow grass.
At its heart and wrapped all around an evocative Tudor house this garden’s presence is delivered, unconditionally, through first-rate cultivation. Traditional flower borders grow deep and delicious, terraces are packed with perennials and tender exotics, and golden grasses gently
I might have sunk into the depths for a while there, but I’m back now and getting into my old writing ways, on gardens and nature.
If you gave me the stage with an open mic, words would probably fade and I’d likely find myself with little to say of consequence. However, if you gave me a scribbling stick and asked me to write something down, I’d likely be back to you in no time at all asking for more paper, and a pencil sharpener. Writing does something for me, and over time it’s grown to the point where I couldn’t imagine living without it in some shape or form. Lately however I have needed to step back a little.
Recovering from illness, I’ve hardly found myself not able to write for a few weeks now, and I have genuinely missed it, indeed my last post back in April took quite a while to pull together. Feeling under parr has made it
A valuable first hour of the day watching the garden and day unfold.
Being the first to awake, I pull back the living room curtains to let in the light, and reveal the garden. Sitting with a mug of hot water and taking time to appreciate some waking time alone, I relish the fact that for a while at least, all is calm. All is calm, that is, but for the occasional airplane and birdsong, both effortlessly travelling through air, brick, and glass.
Outside, bright sunshine splits the early morning garden clear in two, two thirds to the left is bathed in warming light, the remaining third looking somewhat cooler in shade. It’s a superbly serene beginning to the day, and as I sit quietly observing, blocking out the day ahead and thinking over the work that’s gone into the garden thus far, I begin to write.
Cloud pruned box just outside my window. Gary Webb
The scene before the picture window presents a young, maturing garden, green mostly and bordered by a fence recently painted black. As a composition, the garden’s content has been laboured over for some time, ideas initially
Do you find that some gardens are so large and complicated that it’s hard to really connect with them? Occasionally I find this to be the case, and often it leaves me feeling a little cold towards them. That’s not to say I don’t always like what I see, it’s just that some places can be so extensive or so busy and involved, they’re a challenge to understand.
Now, this isn’t such a problem if I’m simply looking to enjoy a garden’s ambience and spirit, and if that is the case I just breeze around a garden and enjoy it for what it is. Indeed, some gardens which initially seem hard to read can become even more
A comfortable though long journey ended when I opened the car door into a sodden overhanging conifer; it wasn’t the only time I’d get wet that afternoon. Rain was set in for the day, and would only pause occasionally to catch its breath. For the first time in months I was back in my raincoat, with my faded gardening hat ready for action too.
The garden with its new gardener was the focus for the afternoon, and aside from a decorator darting swiftly in paint splashed dungarees from van to the house and back, all that could be heard was the rain. Water poured from the heavy sky glossing over the old flagstones paving the Manor House front, and streamed from the old lead downpipes into mossy drains. We decided to start the afternoon with some steaming black coffee in the gardener’s kitchen.
Chatting whilst watching the weather through an open door, all that we could see was an enclosed courtyard, but in no time at all the raising light level lifted our spirits. We moved out swiftly and through the arch into the damp grey garden, crunching across the gravelly drive towards an area in need of a plan.
On the way we perused empty borders, and some packed full of wet perennials just going over, then made footprints through sodden grass as we moved towards the once glorious garden. Pausing before shallow steps up
As if by magic we find ourselves in autumn again and preparing for the inevitable changes that come to challenge our seasonal preferences. Some feel the loss of a memory-filled summer deeply, disliking the inevitable tumble towards chilly days and long dark nights, whilst some, me included, don’t begrudge the tumbledown season at all, in fact quite the opposite.
I feel the natural landscape craves the autumnal change like dry oars need water, or thirsty bees need nectar. Indeed if plants could talk, I’d imagine them right now whispering wearily of how they’re needing this slower more restful time, after their long and somewhat arduous season of growth. This year alone they’ll invariably have seen off extreme temperatures, drought, flooding and attacks from predators, so surely they’re due for some rest and recuperation. In many ways I’m attuned to their situation, feeling mindfully at one with gardens and the great outdoors, although despite ambition, I doubt if paid ‘hibernation leave’ will ever come to be.
Spring and summer seasons for me, as for many folk in the horticultural world will often have been long and challenging after negotiating the fastest growth periods, new season or ongoing projects, and numerous progress checking delays – holidays included. Last year for example in 2022, drought impacted so many places and
Recently on a cool, rain threatened autumnal day, I met with some colleagues at a local arboretum; a venue chosen specially for being away from our own regular haunts and much trodden garden workplaces. The group was essentially made up of gardens, parks and tree managers, who all held the simple aim of meeting, reconnecting and talking.
There’s nothing quite like a trip out to compare and contrast, and so for this gathering, there were plenty of visual treats to prompt discussion. Incredible foliage colours, new tree varieties to discover, unusual growth forms and fungi to puzzle over. We also made time, naturally, to test the recently refurbished café – why ever would we not?!
Placed in the fading days of autumn, the subdued light on that particularly overcast day set a calm, mellow tone that seemed perfect for an end-of-a-very-long-year stroll. Furthermore, being the last productive day of the week, there was an additional need for the day to be topped and tailed with emails and business as usual. Some were noticeably responding to issues back at base throughout the day.
The pointiest oak we ever did see….
At the foot of the day though, any melancholic moods were quickly swept away. Firstly as my lift arrived and we jumped straight into a much needed business catchup. Secondly, as we bumped into another colleague on arriving in the car park; the giggles started in earnest at that point. Then lastly, as the three of us were warmly greeted by the others already gathered around two tables in the cosy café.
Now, as casual as these gatherings might appear, something that always grips me is the blend and makeup of the individual folks within the group. All present had pretty much devoted their working lives to the horticultural world, as have I, but all are so completely different, working as they do in unique situations. There are some traits though that common to all, if existing in varying degrees: a love for plants; conservation minded; creative thinkers; entrepreneurial, heritage focused, nature protective and so on. They’re also, I must add: leaders of people, motivators, critical thinkers, strategists and much more.
I could easily expand those lists, but if further recognition is needed I can also confirm that between them, they hold some of the most prestigious horticultural positions in public heritage gardens, across three south midlands counties. Indeed, should we have to pay for the combined gardens management experience around that table, we wouldn’t get much change out of 250 years for the several who were present.
Needless to say, there was plenty to talk about. Nevertheless, whilst the conversation flowed across and around the table, I couldn’t help but picture each of their garden plots; knowing them very well having visited privately and professionally for more years than I dare remember. To that end, being conscious of not wanting to merely write this as minutes from an informal meeting, I thought it might be interesting to verbally paint their gardens for you; so do brace yourself for a swift garden time travelling experience!
Amongst the venues then, are those where their original development spanned the entire eighteenth century, with one particularly fine example fixed, as it were, in the formal early years of the period where refined formality and rigid geometry won the day. The tightest of tending and most careful preening greets me when I visit there but set amongst bee-pitted clay walls, smooth bowling lawns and flowery wilderness walks, it feels entirely appropriate and correct. We can stroll along gravelled walkways, touch real citrus fruits grown in a real orangery, focus on individual flowers in their rich glory, and even bowl on a green just like the historical sketches – tricorns optional of course.
Other plots from that same pivotal gardening century and represented in our gathering offer, both historically and now, a beautiful contradiction to that early century playground. These feature large serpentine lakes, wilderness walks for strolling amongst berries and shrubberies overhung with exotic trees. These garden plots, with at least two classic venues represented at our gathering, are altogether more discreet in their make up, and vast too, with blurred boundaries that leave people debating where the garden ends and its park begins; God bless the ha-ha.
But then, with those Georgian masterpieces often taking top billing, I bring balance, with two gardens represented whose glow from either side of the glorious eighteenth century try valiantly to steal the limelight. Between them, medieval stew ponds, time served topiary and extravagant terraces are juxtaposed with flowing flower borders, hidden corners and woodland walks. Rockeries, kitchen gardens, evocative sculptures, bog gardens and mirror pools are also perfectly posed between lime mortared walls speckled with time served vine eyes.
A mighty beech, but did it get a hug…?
These gardens, even with their vast parklands and countryside views where an imagination can wander, are intimate, protective, and atmospheric. Whilst their houses generally hold a moment in time, their gardens are positively alive and kicking, their borders continue growing, and their nature broadens. They offer countless places to pause, be it to sit in peace and let worries float away, to lean on a wall and breathe fresh air, or to simply stick your nose amongst the flowers. These gardens are much loved too.
Another garden, I have to say, challenges the very idea of a garden. That place offers long walks, and then some. There are vast lakes with islands, grottoes, ever-growing shrubberies and carefully composed vistas. Temples placed here and there, almost everywhere, hold hidden meanings. Many structures are still in active use, giving purpose and a destination to each garden spaces, whilst some are merely shells, each with a hauntingly beautiful character.
That place I have to say is vast, immense and hard to comprehend. It does though, despite its grandeur and obvious place in another time, hold something for the now. Like the others, it can transport you to a specific date in the past or the set of a period drama, but it’s also perfectly ready for the now. Whether for exercise or inspiration, for room to spread your wings, or to find one of countless spaces for reflection, this venue holds these in horse-drawn cart loads.
But there’s one more garden, the last I’ll mention for now, which holds all of those gardening periods in its grasp. If you were to peer through a time focussed virtual reality headset, if it were to exist, you would see Edwardian, Victorian, Georgian and Elizabethan layers woven tightly together. But importantly you would see striking interventions, modern designs if you will, that confidently land this garden in the twenty first century too.
This last garden has seen some hard times, I think it’s fair to say, but has been held together by care, devotion and continued focus. Some of its trees and land forms stretch back over four hundred years to a time when the river-side plot would hardly be considered a garden at all. Formality arrived in a huge way at one stage with raised walkways, fish ponds and pavilions which vied for space with farmed animals and flower pots. This of course, was largely swept away though and fashionably tamed for a while, in an attempt to restore a more natural setting. But, as is the way, that garden endured much change again when the flower favouring gardeners arrived and swished their brushes.
To think all of the gardens mentioned above represent but a small slice of the larger gardens cake available, and regardless of what triggers every visit, what is not lost to everyone involved in our gathering, is that all these places offer somewhere safe to connect, to engage, to be nurtured. What is not lost to me also, is that for each garden mentioned above there’s an incredible person who as well as being an expert in their field, is connected, engaged, and nurturing too.
I have and will always have a huge respect for the knowledge and experience that people like this hold. They’re managers and leaders, yes, but they are care-takers too, of places, heritage, the environment and of people. To them, every fingerprinted brick, carved walling stone, and every verdigris garden door hinge matters. Every garden apprentice who offers new hope and a safer future, matters. Every trained gardener interested to learn more, matters, and every volunteer and visitor, matters.
Walking and talking…
For me then, that day when we walked and talked amongst the trees, laughed and learnt amongst the yellowing leaves, was a delight. To be with these influential people and listen as they put an incredibly challenging year into perspective, was an education.
Whatever each of those folks took away from the gathering I dare not assume, but connecting, throwing ideas around, sharing experiences, was for me worth every minute – even the machinery chat! So whilst the rain threatened, it never actually fell, and whilst the year slowly rolls to a close, these gardening types are busy planning; not just for next year, but genuinely planning for the future generations who will visit and work in the places they hold so close.
To summarise our autumnal gathering, I’ll close by saying that whether it was over coffee, whilst strolling around the arboretum and especially during lunch, we talked. We chewed the fat, put it out there and aired some linen as we walked. Then, when all was said and done, we took away some seasonal nuggets of wisdom, and a renewed sense of belonging; or maybe that was just me…
Gardening Ways 