A gardener’s garden

Is there anything quite like inviting people into your garden for the first time? As a gardener, I mean. As a non gardener, I imagine it’s rather like inviting someone into the rest of your house except that, while you might possibly feel a little embarrassed about the state of the place, you can at least blame half of what goes on outside on Mother Nature. Unless something’s gone very wrong with the structure of your property, Mother Nature shouldn’t really have much of a say about the interior decor.

And in spite all of our house-proud inclinations, and the hours we might spend obsessing over paint swatches or fabric samples, kitchen fittings or the perfect find on Facebook Marketplace, somehow, it’s not the same with the house as it is with the garden. It’s not so much that the stakes are higher outside than they are in – both are home, both a reflection upon how we live, what we choose to surround ourselves with, what we believe to be beautiful. It’s more that we do stuff to the insides of our house, and the house itself is, on the whole, pretty passive about the whole experience (with the possible exception of renovating a characterful old property that likes to surprise us with its hidden, layered stories and complications). A garden, on the other hand, is the outworking of a relationship with a living, breathing force of, quite literally, nature. It’s like asking someone to take a look at one of your closest friendships, or your marriage, and hoping it all results in them making small sotto voce noises during the introduction indicative of pleasant surprise and gratification, with possibly a smattering of admiration and just a hint of envy thrown in for good measure. What you don’t want to hear is nothing. Revulsion would be better than silent disappointment.

It’s high stakes stuff.

Invariably, though, it’s a delight. Seeing the garden I’ve been making through the eyes of a friend – watching them react to each new plant, combination, aspect, or feature as they meet it for the first time – it’s almost priceless. All the more so since, for all my deep acquaintance with every aspect of the space – because of just that – I’m never myself able again to respond to it for the first time. And whether there’s a deep, empathic bond between me and my friend stretching back years, or if they’re newly arrived into my life but looking like promising friend material, there’s almost always a validation, however they respond.