The house we live in now was my grandparents’ house. It’s where my father grew up and where I spent lots of the school holidays. The smell of wisteria always takes me back to being a little girl running around in the garden. The garden itself is split into zones: there are two lawned sections, one to the rear and one to the east side, both with borders, one with a raised section and a gravel garden. The driveway has a deep border on one side that runs almost the full length. Then there is a small walled part where two of the apple trees stand. The summer house, I have discovered, does not act like a greenhouse, and instead is very cool and encourages plants to retain water – almost to the point of rotting. There are some established plants and shrubs, some which are obvious all the year round – the three wiegela, for example – and others which only appear as the seasons change, or as the time-short gardener starts weeding. It is rewarding and probably one of the best experiences I can afford at the moment, as I’m learning all the time about the garden, about plants, and how to organise and structure it.
In other parts of the garden, I’ve discovered many things, including two varieties of digitalis, one pink and one cream, campanula in white and periwinkle blue popping up all over, and several hot pink fuchsias have made themselves known. My day lilies are starting to open up, in a gorgeous orange colour, and while the deep magenta peonies have finished, the white ones were just opening up, until the drought finished them off. My hollyhocks are just starting to flower. The raised part below the apple trees is full of them, and they are all pale pastel colours, however I caught sight of something big and red down the side of the summer house, beyond the brambles, overgrown weigela and buddleia – a great big red hollyhock!
At the beginning, I felt almost disrespectful to be too keen at digging up the borders. After all, this was my grandparents’ garden, and I didn’t want to disturb the things that I felt were a testimony to them. Yet as time goes by and the weeds set in, a hard streak came through, and I’ve become a lot stricter. This is our house now, and I want to make the garden somewhere for us to enjoy. Although we are at odds with what we like in gardens – I like my perennials and shrubs, and if he had his way the borders would be bare soil over winter and full of bedding plants in summer. Over the year I have been able to see what we have an overabundance of. Clearly Nana liked her muscari, and while I don’t mind it, it goes rather scruffy after it’s flowered. Buddleias as well are not really my thing – they definitely have a 90s feel about them. I’ve dug lots of bulbs up, and who knows what they might be, but I will probably pot a lot of them up for mobile colour next spring. There was an abundance of daffodils so a big chunk will be them.
Other welcome surprises I would like to keep. This hosta, for example, will be dug up, divided and moved when the time is right. And the lupin and delphiniums, of course, which are great triffids and give a lovely burst of colour. I am going to try to keep the seeds from them. The Harry Wheatcroft rose has survived through neglect and is throwing out some gorgeous blooms.
Digging up the borders is a big task, so I might not get it all done. Part of me wonders if I should just put black plastic down and let it kill everything off, but then I discover something else that makes me hesitate. And while I’m cutting down brambles and pulling up weeds, a bee will come buzzing along and alight on a flower, and that makes me stop dead in my tracks. I can’t get to my red hollyhock because of the brambles that the insects love. So maybe sometimes, stopping and delaying isn’t such a bad thing at all.