The Great Garden Throwback

I spent much of my childhood viewing gardens upside down. If I wasn't careering around the lawn perfecting cartwheels, I might be socialising over a weather-related handstands game which was snappily named Snow, Rain, Thunder, Lightning. The rules elude me, but I do remember that a handstand with one leg at a jaunty angle signified a lightning fork.

When my best friend and I were feeling lazy, we would dangle upside down from the frame of the garden swing; she on one side, I on the other, putting the world to rights for hours on end and wondering where Speedy my tortoise had scurried off to while we were chatting (he wasn’t called Speedy for nothing). On the rare occasions when we weren’t upside down, we would not have our feet on the ground. Why would we when we could be rockery hopping? This involved skipping from one stone to the next in the rockery, while honing our multitasking skills by having a conversation about something deep and meaningful like Abba, all while avoiding the toad which sheltered in a crevice hidden by Aubretia.

Aubretia was arguably the most ubiquitous plant of my childhood. In springtime it would be romping over rockeries and clambering over walls in the suburb I called home. Then rockeries fell out of fashion and Aubretia became the subject of mockery; the butt of jokes from plant snobs. It is highly likely that the demise of Aubretia coincided with the point at which I found my feet, gave up tumbling across lawns and became an upright citizen. Last spring, as an act of rebellion against plant snobs and the all-too-persistent passing of time, I decided to relive those glorious days of yore by growing Aubretia and attempting a handstand. Needless to say, one was more successful than the other. 

Aubretia is a top bee plant. I had toyed with the idea of growing it for a while, but because my garden is set in a flat landscape, with no rocks or walls over which Aubretia might scramble, I was concerned about where I might place it. I could have popped it in a pot and left it to escape over the side, but I keep very few plants in containers as I find them too time-consuming. I have no memory of seeing Aubretia growing anywhere other than over and down the side of things, so it was with more than a little hesitation that I placed it in a border. What on earth was I thinking? Aubretia is fabulous in a border! Instead of long (and quite frankly lanky) curtains, it forms a neat cushion. When it comes to garden soft furnishings - and if you want matching curtains and cushions - this plant is a winner! 

I grow it in an area which was once a gravel drive. The soil is thin, impoverished and alkaline. The site is the most inhospitable part of the garden. It might face south, but it is also a frost pocket which can be exceptionally windy. Despite this, Aubretia flowers shrug off the frost and the plant holds itself together, blooms for weeks on end, and is a hub of bee action on a sunny day. Clipping it after flowering keeps it neat and tidy. It really is a valuable addition to my borders and leaves me wondering why on earth a plant of this calibre was so badly maligned? 

I would love to tell you with confidence that I purchased plants from the Cascade Series, but since I am relying on my memory and the plants are cascading nowhere, I am happy to be corrected. It is unsurprising that I mislaid the plant labels given the second part of reliving my childhood. I am no Beth Tweddle, but I gave it my best shot and my children were in awe of my handstand abilities. Of course, those might have been looks of horror on their faces, but for reasons of self-esteem, I will stick with awe. Despite reaching the dizzying heights of an almost perfect handstand (dizzying being the operative word - it took quite some recovering from), I shall not be attempting another handstand in the near future, not least because I swear it took a full week for all my internal organs to work their way back to where they started. 

Clearly I made a slight error of judgement in believing that I could still achieve a handstand with any level of dignity; the garden fashionistas on the other hand made a massive mistake when they were so downright dismissive of an excellent garden plant. I am delighted to welcome Aubretia into my garden; it certainly gets the bee seal of approval. Garden fashions have a lot to answer for.

Gardening Sins and Penitent Pigeons

When I was five years old, I entered a name the doll competition at my school summer fair. I studied the list of potential names and rejected any I recognised in favour of one which my emerging reading skills were unable to decipher. It might not be the most scientific approach to competition winning (in my defence, the field of dolls' names guessing is notoriously under-researched), but it worked; and as I scrambled onstage to collect the doll with the name I couldn't read, I felt like the luckiest child alive.

Chaenomeles speciosa 'Nivalis' in the Barn Garden

Maureen the doll travelled with me through childhood; a daily reminder that I had once been lucky. I haven’t won many prizes since then, but I do count myself as lucky, particularly when it comes to gardening. Garden luck comes in many guises; be it the weather, a happy chance seedling, or getting away with gardening misdemeanours. My gardening life has to fit around whatever else is going on at home and at work. Gardening calendars and years of horticultural training count for very little if the diary is filled with appointments with humans rather than plants. Worrying about a recurring failure to garden in a timely fashion is not going to help. Gardening should be fun and relaxing, not stressful. So I eat crops when they ripen and I try not to worry about tasks which will wait until tomorrow (or a week on Wednesday).

Aubretia living up to its reputation as a bee magnet

Sometimes the delay can seem endless. Instead of being planted when the bulbs arrived in autumn, beautiful Iris reticulata 'Blue Note' endured a twelve week sojourn on my office floor before I finally found the time to pop the emaciated bulbs into the soil on January 17th. At the time I was uncertain whether this was a planting or a burial, but guess what? The lovely Iris forgave my gardening sin. From planting to flowering in nine weeks. How lucky is that? 

Iris reticulata 'Blue Note'

I often meet new gardeners who are frightened of putting a foot wrong with their plants. Fear seems to hold back their gardening potential and reduces their enjoyment of their plots. I have always believed that plants will survive if it is at all possible, irrespective of the level of care they receive from me. Of course they need to be planted correctly in a suitable soil and location, and their dietary needs should be met, but they can be remarkably forgiving when we garden a little less than perfectly.

Crocus tommasinianus forgave a very late planting

Had there been an award for the most neglected fruit in England last year, my strawberries would surely have won first prize. Mulch was a distant memory, as were food and water. I didn't have high hopes of a single berry, but they proved me wrong. With luck like this, the pigeons will be sauntering past my cabbages, cooing, "We're sorry we ate your crops last year. Please don't hoe and net on our account, we've discovered the No Cabbage Diet and we only eat weeds. Oh yum... delicious dandelions.” 

Actually, my good fortune in the strawberry patch left me feeling deflated. Had I tended those strawberries, I would have been delighted that the care I had lavished on them had resulted in a bountiful harvest. Since they cropped well irrespective of any effort on my part, the question of why we bother to garden raised its ugly head. I garden because I love gardening. I may rely too heavily on luck and I might not garden according to the timeframe I learnt in order to pass my exams, but I remain optimistic that the plants will forgive me and that one day I might achieve perfect timing with all my gardening tasks. As for the strawberries, even if they don't need it, they will be receiving abundant care this year. After all, my garden might manage perfectly well without me for a while, but I don’t believe in pushing my luck.