Gardening at 3.59am?

About 18 months ago I had recently returned from a number of years abroad. This post was one of my weekly musings about life in general on my now defunct blog. I thought I'd reproduce it here as a reminder to myself, when I'm sitting at my computer working on concept designs and construction drawings, why I decided to change tack after 30 years of teaching.

Gardening in Pyjamas - posted September 4th, 2022

It’s 3.59 am and I’m eager to go outside and get digging. The hellebores and daylilies that my generous godmother has donated need to be in the ground before it’s too late and those dead flowers won’t behead themselves.

When I stopped teaching, I convinced myself that I would no longer wake at four in the morning worrying about pupils and planning. Instead, my nights would be fret free and I would sleep in bliss until at least nine, dreaming of woodland walks and ferny forests. So why is it that here I am again, at four in the morning, my mind racing at ten to the dozen, making lists and deciding whether I should move the acanthus to a sunnier spot?

Somewhere deep inside me, an inner Gertrude Jekyll is lurking and during the past year something that was merely an interest has become an obsession. Mind you, I’m not sure how much digging Gertrude actually did, she most certainly had ‘people.’ I, on the other hand, have my trusty spade and secateurs, so clad in nothing but my pyjamas and wellies and clutching a cup of tea, I head out into the almost-dawn to find them.

I knew that when we returned to our home in England after nine years living in India and Russia, I would be keen to remedy the unchecked growth in our garden. Our few weeks back home each year allowed only for a hurried tidy up, barely keeping the relentless onslaught of the undergrowth in check. Now I’d be able to start reigning in the voracious greenery and implement the ideas for the garden that had been forming in my head for so long.

Through the winter months of lockdown we crammed as much into the short hours of daylight as we could. We planted hedges and then watched them die after weeks of a flooded lawn. But when the flood froze, at least I was able to put on my skates and have a twirl around the lawn! We fought brambles and nettles till my arms and legs were shredded (don’t worry, we left plenty for the birds and the bees) and planted a myriad of bulbs and trees.

Our garden was designed to be maintained from a distance and contained vast expanses of lawn that could be easily mown at the touch of a phone call from three thousand miles away. There was barely a flower in sight. But then, all those flower catalogues that had been tossed unopened and unread into the recycling bin year after year became essential reading with annotations and post-it notes splashed over every page. Pictures were cut out of magazines and a file started (along with the inner Gertrude Jekyl there’s still a teacher buried inside me somewhere!). It didn’t take long to see that one small flower bed was not going to be enough and two more were magically created.

I’ve always believed that when overwhelmed by the massive scale of something, the best way to go about it is to start with what you want to do, what you’d most enjoy doing, not what is most logical or sensible. If I told myself to do the difficult things first, to get them out of the way, I’d probably never start anything.

This way at least you start, and I certainly do start, often many projects at once, flitting from one to another. It may result in undoing some things or redoing things (I’ve become an expert at moving plants at completely the wrong time of year) (and back again) but at least things get done. One day I might be waist deep in waders hauling the ever multiplying bullrushes out of the pond, a few hours later I’ll be trimming a hedge or knee deep in the compost pile. It really doesn’t matter what order things happen in as long as you are enjoying it and have plenty of cups of tea.

I sowed and divided and pinched and planted, a whole new lexicon entering my speech and as if by some incredible magic, flowers began to appear. I hoed and weeded and more flowers appeared out of nowhere.

Soon it will be nearly a year since I’ve been back. The mornings are already getting darker so who know’s how I’ll manage my early morning forays into the garden. Many layers of wool and fleece and a miner’s lamp, I suspect. What I do know, is that it will happen!

ps – The hellebores – so far so good. pps In January I start a year long Garden Design Diploma course. Terrifying! If you’d like to read more on how this goes, and more garden posts, then please let me know in the comments here on or on F/B.

ppps I have an instagram page charting the year in the garden. @the_truant_gardener

Update

It's now a year and a half later. Did I continue to write about my course? Absolutely not. For too busy. Have I lost that love of the garden? Absolutely not. I don't get to spend as much time there as I would like, but now, as a garden designer, I get to spend time in a slew of other gardens too. How lucky am I?