Chaos and Creation in the Backyard

I have ceded control of the lawn. Less than 18 months ago, it was a blank, green space. Today, it is a riot of hard baked bare patches, ankle turning clumps and dayglo children’s play equipment including, but not limited to, a set of pop up goal posts, two slides and a fitness trampoline.

There is no point in attempting anything here, although I have at least made a small effort on the peripheries. The pond sits in a now deliberately overgrown corner. A row of dahlias are showing their heads beneath a trained clematis. Otherwise, this ground has been surrendered to the whims of a nine year old and six year old who would happily stay out here past 10pm if we didn’t desperately corral them to bed.

I’ve written much about my south facing front garden. Suffice to say the heat has made it hard work, although retaining some pebbles and utilising hardy wildflowers has at least meant it’s maintained some colour over this punishing summer.

Please buy me a coffee

The back, though, has been somewhat unloved. Last year it was my pride and joy. This year, my dodgy leg and an increasing workload have meant that any meaningful time out here has felt akin to hobbling around on a busman’s holiday. Still, work has been done. A new bed dug into the tired patio at the back is now home to tomatoes nursed to life by my greenfingered nextdoor neighbour. The raised bed is home to more tomatoes, some cucumber and courgette. The radishes have bolted. The beetroot and carrots have failed. I left the purple sprouting flower and watched as peacocks and red admirals joined red tailed bumblebees enjoying their fill.

In many ways, this less hands on approach has been more enjoyable. The penstemon is flowering. The akebia has gone crazy and will require a watchful eye. The freestanding bathtub turned planter was filled with cheap fuschia and lobelia. There is no colour scheme here. Just madness. Pansies flower in random pots. Chilli plants thrive. And window boxes of mint and chives do their thing.

As a kid, my parents’ garden was much the same, albeit bigger than mine. Vegetable patches and carefully planted beds coexisted with balls, a badminton net and cricket stumps shoved into the freshly mown lawn.

For me, it cuts to what this garden is for. Would I love to create a climate forward garden with a Mediterranean planting scheme, no grass and a bigger pond? Of course. But the garden isn’t just mine. It’s all of ours. And so I happily kick balls with my eldest, attempt to go down a slide designed for toddlers and nod tersely when asked if water from the butt can be used to create mud baths.

Sure, it’s unsightly. But ‘Rachel Peacock’ the pigeon (my daughter’s choice of name) still shits from the ash tree. The local tawny owls call as the sun slips. Buzzards circle on the thermals. Blue tits have fledged from the nest box. And our resident magpies have taken huge delight in eating clean the paving slabs I lifted last month. Wood lice, worms and beetles were shown no mercy.

The kids know what’s what too. When the peas are coming. How long we’ll need to wait for the ripening of the thornless bramble. What basil and rosemary look and taste like. I like to think of it as my version of rewilding. To quote Paul McCartney, it’s Chaos and Creation in the Backyard.