I am surrounded by stories, by memories and future possibilities, by scars and decoration, elation and despair, by heat and cold, light and dark, and above all, by a sense of connectedness and contentment … I am in the garden. More specifically, it is spring and I am sitting at the bottom of the garden. It is early morning, the sun has risen, breathing life into a series of solar powered fountains on the small pond. The patter of water mingles with the chatter of early morning birds, and this natural chorus sits over the comforting hum of distant traffic. There are those who crave silence, who aspire to inhabit anywhere that provides an opportunity to experience an aural nothingness …. I am not one of them. The muffled thrum of car and lorry and the ebb and flow of rush hour activity is a gentle reminder that I am retired, removed from the oppression of externally imposed deadlines, and am free (free at last!), to enjoy the garden.
It was in this garden that I first started to make the connections that have come to play a significant part in my life. Over months and years I gradually became aware of a relationship between my experiences in the garden and how those experiences impacted on, and continue to impact on, my life both in, and away from the garden.
As my seasons in the garden slowly waxed, and then waned, a multitude of possibilities and questions emerged …Is it possible that my garden, to a greater or lesser degree, represents a reflection of who I am? If so, what is it telling me? What is it saying? Is it possible that gardens allow us to experience life in a way that no other experience can? Is it possible that, at some level, there is a dialogue between myself and the garden?
In short, is it possible that my garden talks to me?
Alfred Austin (poet laureate & journalist) 1835-1913 wrote “show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.” My reflections and explorations, in some way, reflect more than a passing nod to the Austin’s quote. But I am attempting (in a hopefully entertaining and informative way) to go a little deeper. Rebecca Solnit, in her excellent book “Orwell’s Roses” (see Review) states that “a garden is what you want (and can manage and afford), and what you want is who you are, and who you are is always a political and cultural question.” P149 … certainly a little more depth here.
I think it’s fair to say that the canvas of the garden has enabled me to paint a more richly coloured version of myself (not always in a favourable light I might add), and it will come as no surprise that I am firmly of the belief that every garden, however big or small, represents a dialogue between garden and gardener.
Who knows, after reading some of the pieces on this site, you might also make some interesting connections?
Please enjoy.