Well Tempered Gardening, avoiding the C word

CARRY HOPE like a pet in your pocket, an addiction to charity shops, PLUS Lazy weeding, bramble acceptance, apples with every meal...

Great Dixter submerged by Cosmos.

I am NOT thinking about December. I AM NOT DISCUSSING C*******S. I am filling myself up with the JOY of AUTUMN, the warmth of rusted yellows, the burnt heart-felt reds, the apples in abundance - stewing and juicing, looking out from the kitchen, the cherry leaves, glowing. I’m staying here with the trees, the trees, the newness of the early dark. By day I am putting gardens to bed under blankets of mulch, by night I am closing in with a fire and flickering flames of candles, hot dinners. After a day outside, head to toe in waterproofs, I come home to be nourished, soften my body, soak in the bath. I am safe here. I don’t need to know what I am doing one day in late December.

The air is mild, the rain won’t stop. Cornwall is I fear showing signs of blurred lines between seasons. Warm and wet. Wet and warm. Too warm. We are in the first week of November and I see bees feeding on confused flowers. I refuse to race around like the lost bees. That’s what summer is for. I will make stock for soup and hibernate. I’ll hunker down and embrace the glowing lights in the dark.

My old Malus domestica is a gnarly ancient thing. I’ve been watching it glow with laden branches. I’ve been dashing out after a windy night, returning with armfuls. I can’t move for stored apples. I eat them on my dog walk. I’ve made beetroot, fennel and apple soup with pinch of cayenne and sumac. I’ve sliced them into cous cous with feta and herbs, stewed them and topped my porridge. Not forgetting roast pork and apple sauce. My freezer is full. GLORIOUS AUTUMN. Why talk about bloody December? Avoiding the C-word I am looking back at late summer, my trip to Great Dixter Garden in Sussex, South East England. I am also studying sowing times, writing lists of seeds. First on my list for next year is Orlaya grandiflora, see below, a beautiful annual known as white lace-flower, with fern-like leaves, delicate lacy flowers, excellent for attracting insects. I plant to dot them in the borders so they look like they put themselves there.

The sky that day was magical. A feeling of the spirit of my son - always with me.

These last few weeks I’ve been putting a lot of cardboard down in my gardens, and laying wood-chip on top. It might seem a lazy way of weeding but it works. If you have large problem areas where something like the creeping buttercup is taking over, you can suppress weeds and feed the soil while recycling cardboard. We’ve also put it under hedges where bindweed is rife. We use it on grass where people want new borders in their lawns. Why get splinters taking off turf? The cardboard will kill it; the dead grass will feed your soil with nitrogen. Leave for as long as you can, couple of months is good - when you plant the soil underneath is healthy and happy. You can push mulch to one side and cut out the card and grass if you need to plant sooner.

This pic shows topsoil added between card and woodchip but not necessary if soil is good under grass.

Cosmos Apricotta - not colours that I would have put together, but why not!

Whilst controlling weeds we must also embrace them. Brambles are ugly— until an abundance of shining blackberries arrive on arching stems. We don’t like prickly stems crawling across our borders. But if you can leave one scruffy corner, what does it matter? Let go of that need to control, let things be, watch the birds come. Be wild. We’ve been conditioned to find things ugly. Our mind feeds on beauty. It’s natural. But take time to respect the intelligence of plants, notice how they have adapted - the ugly bramble has learned to survive. It developed prickles to deter herbivores, keeping its fruit safe. The plant adaptations module in my diploma was fascinating. I passed my exams but only just. Shocking memory. I could not have put it better than AI: ‘the density and distribution of prickles correspond with browsing intensity; plants exposed to higher herbivory tend to maintain more prickles.’ Damn AI for being so bloody clever. I’d never have put it like that. Browsing intensity! Love that. More exposed = more prickles. I think I’ve got more prickly as a result of life throwing fear and threat my way. I feel better when I relate to plants; I am not lost; I belong to Mother Nature. I need to set boundaries, protect my fruits. (Can’t decide whether easy access to this unfathomable source of knowledge is making me lazy or inspiring me to ‘dig deeper into AI.’ I’m on overdrive, sucked in, asking, asking... How can we switch off with all the answers at our finger tips? Best to ask AI that one!)

To be honest topiary doesn’t do much for me, but the SKY!

Every year the perennials here are taken up and replaced with tulips. I’ve got to go back in Spring one day.

My desire to see this garden started with reading a few chapters of The Well-Tempered Garden by Christopher Lloyd | Great Dixter Charitable Trust. Lloyd was born here in 1921, lived here and curated the garden for five decades until his death in 2006. His words are full of character, wit and passion for sustainable gardening. Dixter has been Peat Free since 2007. Caring for nature is at the center of their work. I’ve been trying to get there for five years. I’ve blamed lack of money and time. But the way to get something done: book a ticket. Early summer, a deep breath - paid £70 for a tour on the 8th Sept. Now I had to get there. (I’ve been waiting for life to make decisions for me. See how things go… Positive mantras are changing things: take action, stop dithering, just do it. I am grateful for everyday I am given - everyday that my son did not get to live.)

September came around. I was filling up with trepidation. Travel plans were costly. Over £200.00 just in train fares. Dixter is 290 miles away. I’m laughing at myself. I know it sounds ridiculous, especially to my readers in the US! But I am out of the habit of travel. I’m like a cat away from her territory.

My husband drove me the 25 minutes to the station. Almost 5 hours later I arrived at London Paddington. I long for these adventures out in the world. When it comes I am gripped by an awful nervousness in my chest. Everything feels a bit shaky and I have to practice a lot of deep breathing to tackle it. (We must cry, even on holiday.) My body does not like being out of routine. Battling anxiety uses a lot of energy. I imagined myself enjoying packed days and nights, museums, exhibitions, live music… but I’m instantly overwhelmed by the city. I want the nearest quiet pub, half a Guinness and my notebook, an afternoon nap! London and all its culture messes with my head yet I crave it. I had to go back to the Royal Academy of Art, to remember what it felt like to have my son’s art on those walls. (See archive for this story: Young Artist.) Once inside the space, amongst the peace of pictures, I could breathe easily. Losing James has left me fearless and yet fearful, both of these things at exactly the same time.

After a night with a friend I got the tube to Victoria and then a train to Brighton to stay with two mums I met on my first grief retreat 4 years ago. (It was a retreat for people who’d lost their only child. Roughly 30 of us sat in a circle holding pictures of our children, lighting candles and sharing boxes of tissues.) After two glorious days of sunshine in this crazy city by the sea, on I went again, back to the station and boarded a train for Bex-hill-on Sea where I stayed with my aunt for two more nights. What’s wonderful about visiting relatives is the feeling - Aren’t we similar! Good to relate; a sense of belonging. Without using the boring ‘untidy’ word which lacks imagination, all I’ll say is we both have a slight addiction to charity shops and our homes are bursting with passion and perhaps unrealistic ambitions. We love the stuff of life. In stuff there is hope. We have A LOT of hope. She is an artist. I cried when I saw her studio, a joyous ramshackle of squeezed tubes of paint, canvases every which way, lying, standing, hanging, leaning, an abundance of colour, a cacophony of dreams. James would have had an art studio like that. I trust he has one somewhere, painting rainbows. Next, a night in Rye in a hotel on my own. An exquisite little town that doesn’t feel real. An early night. Next morning, a bus to Northiam, 20 mins, then a mile walk from the bus stop— and I got there: The sky was vast and the sun was bursting out from the deep blue. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Sheer abundance. A wish complete.

The first pic I took on arrival.

I have just had to cut a 1000 words from this. I went down a rabbit hole to 8 years ago - living in charity accommodation, sharing a kitchen with five families. This is supposed to be about my adventure to Sussex. Trauma is past. Horticulture is my future. I digress when avoiding my intentions. This happens often. There are two reasons. Firstly, I set a goal— my mischievous mind goes out of its way to do anything but reach it. Self-belief issues come in various guises. The ego is intent on protecting us from failure. So instead of making the leap, intentions are left whispering from the margins. The ego, desperate for ease, says, You be careful, look the other way, stay here in the familiar, writing on and on about what you know - grief, trauma, go back not forward, forward is scary… (Therapy advises us to say thank you to your mind for trying to protect you, but this is not helpful right now.) The second reason: I’m ashamed to say I can’t actually remember much of the tour. FFS! I blame my phone camera. During the 3 hour tour of Dixter I did not make notes. IDIOT! It was two months ago now. On the bus from Rye I’d filled the last pages of my notebook so couldn’t write. Fellow visitors were fiercely scribbling. Why don’t they just immerse themselves in the moment, I thought, taking photographs. Now all I remember are these pictures. I was intent on being present, listening to every word- convinced I’d remember it all. Not a word of what the assistant head gardener said has stayed with me. There is a delay. It will come back to me in six months time when I want to put it into practice. My brain doesn’t work well without the practical. Knowledge goes in and takes time to settle. But on the whole my takeaway from it is, I can do this, just be wild, be free, love loose styles, collect seeds, make compost, love organic matter.

I don’t think we need complicated designs. If you get the right plants for the environment they will most certainly be natural companions. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Learning is what makes it fun. Don’t go for A LOOK. Let your garden reflect your passion. My chaos garden is a reflection of my mind and that’s what makes it therapeutic. I can see where I am going wrong. After a decade of wanting to grow EVERYTHING I now need to notice what is thriving, what’s working, what is not. Moving plants about is fun and while it’s mild they don’t mind.

It was September when I arrived at Dixter. You might think a lot would’ve perished with the summer we’ve had. The grass had faded but the sheer volume of plants makes a community. Together they look after each other and their environment, creating humidity, protecting the soil. I did not see an inch of bare soil - as it should be. Soil should not be empty. If yours is, plant ground cover or use well-rotted woodchip. There is a plant for every empty scruffy unloved corner. The most important lesson in gardening in RIGHT PLANT RIGHT PLACE. Sometimes clients are reluctant to spend money on plants. But when I suggest that if they don’t they are going to spend money on paying me to weed. Ah, yes they say, lets get plants.

Too many gardens are simplified and lacking in vitality because people are worried about not being in control; fearful of nature doing it’s thing. So many bargains and a good time to plant before it gets colder. (Although I live in a mild climate so this may not be true for you. If it’s too cold where you are the plant will sit in a cold static slump. So make a plan for February/March and buy cheap plants now and pot them on.) Seek the Clearance Sale section - many tired, sad looking specimens. They just need a little love. Buy a half-dead pot-bound thing. Give it some space, nutrients - see the change! You can also divide some plants like ornamental grasses and get three plants from the price of one.

Finally, must share - I am sleeping better, simply by saying to myself over and over again, I can sleep, I sleep well. I’d created so much negativity in my head around bedtime. I am also using the Insight Timer app to quieten my mind. 25 minutes of Yoga Nidra is blissful. Yesterday’s guided meditation started with the instruction to ‘Bring all your energy back into your self, come home to yourself, to your body. Feel your body breathing you…’ Like in yoga’s corpse pose, there is weightlessness. I’m sharing too much energy, putting it out there, separate from me, as though everyday I am giving myself away. I think that comes partly from trying to live the day in five minutes, wanting the whole neat narrative sown up. But life is not a story. Not a movie. We invent the stories to make sense of it all. Maybe when you lose a child you lose faith in the story. Nothing makes sense. I have wonderful moments when I stop trying so hard.