The year of the garden

Last September, when Scientist No 1's BFF asked us to host her (December) kitchen tea I smiled airily, said "what a lovely idea" and promptly went into a cold sweat. Misty visions of behatted maiden aunts sipping lapsang souchong from delicate bone china were brought crashing to (the very dry) earth when I looked outside.
Gardens are not for the faint-hearted. Or those paying private school fees.Perfectly manicured lawns, herbaceous borders and picture-perfect flowerbeds are the result of years of investment in both time and money.
Our garden consisted of patchy lawn, a few trees and the odd rose bush. Great for garden cricket, but clearly it wouldn't do for a maiden-auntish kitchen tea.

Before. Walter practicing his putting (or tapping, as I call it) near the water hazard.
This would need an expert. I called my grandmother.

My grandmother has The Best Garden in the World. None of your tweezer-lipped borders for her, it's a riotous assembly of thriving plants, secret benches and shy wild flowers. It is proof positive that you don't have to be a vegan to cultivate an indigenous garden.

'We'll under-plant the Celtis.' Yes, she speaks plant-Latin. 'Dig this whole area over with compost, fetch me at 9 on Saturday and we'll go and buy plants. You'll need stepping stones. Oh and maybe a bench under the tree. Bring your credit card.'

Not to mention the pebbles. For the area between the bed and the paving.

The pebbles confused the dogs.
Walter contrived to be in Khartoum for the pebble-carrying expedition, which I thought was a little dramatic. Until I had to actually carry the bags.

And the stepping stones (donated by a very kind friend who was re-doing her garden, thus saving me the GDP of a small third world country) which sorely tested the TeenyTiny4x4's suspension

Don't put them in a straight line said my grandmother, they should gently meander through the bed

And the bench

We decided on concrete since it's low maintenance. It also weighs at least a ton and therefore can't be stolen.


The Placing of The Bench involved infinite positioning refinements until Child No 2 (aka Spade when on garden duty) threw down his namesake and threatened to leave home. It took a whole Sunday, a spirit level, some levelling spirits and multiple excavations. I'm still not convinced it's entirely right but at least you don't look straight into the neighbour's garden when you sit on it and I became weary of divorce proceeding threats.

Perhaps we should have started with the bench. Then the stepping stones. Then the plants.


And the water feature (an afterthought)
The water feature came later, Walter and I almost so bold as to place it ourselves. At the last minute I came to my senses and called in my grandmother for a consultation. This was a big decision and she brought her engineer husband with her to advise Walter on the use of Ladies' Stockings in Water Feature Filter Maintenance. And to ensure we would have no run-off problems with the final placement.

Putting in the water feature

Working (courtesy of the electrician), but looking decidedly bare.

Sell jewels, add plants and water.


And so we find ourselves, 14 years after moving in to our 'temporary home' finally starting a garden.

1 January 2012, just 12 weeks after starting

The birds guard the water feature, while the bench hides behind a plant whose name escapes me. Yes, it's a Latin plant.


And somewhere between the bench and the water feature Scientist No 1 and I decided that her BFF's kitchen tea would work much better at her soon-to-be-in-laws' new restaurant. And it did.
And I'm planning a forest for the bottom of the garden, so I have declared 2012 The Year of The Garden.