Whooz a gardner, then?

Gardening isn't as boring as everyone might think it is. It isn't just the preserve of old farts who can't (or won't) play PC games or for people who have aversions to the human race. They're all in there with a fighting chance, of course, but gardening is also for the bravehearted, the stoic, the gallant, the religious, the proud, obstinate, addicted, determined and the strong.

You don't get a garden going unless you can push a wheelbarrow full of stuff that weighs more than the average pillar at Stonehenge (or know someone who can do this for you) and you don't get a garden under control without being able to excavate large holes, mix concrete, lay paving, design features and have the patience of Job, the wisdom of Solomon and the belief of a child.

The average gardener will in his or her lifetime "out there" get stung by a variety of nasty inhospitable insects, slip at least once and put some important bone out of alignment, be disappointed constantly (in everything from the caprice of nature to the conundrum of God), be stabbed by thorns and thistles, cut by vindictive leaf blades, burned by the sun, and forced to engage in murder, theft, skulduggery, blind prejudice and pathetic optimism, which will result in anger, joy, relief, convalescence and a greater determination to conquer the unconquerable and create something out of something else with the intention of personal reward. In short, gardeners would make excellent spies and are ideally suited to undercover operations.

Yet still, despite the injuries and the antagonism from nature's finest opponents, there is nothing on earth, save earth herself, as wonderful as a garden. And to make one's garden like a piece of earth and to be rewarded by that celestial hand opening from time to time and dropping the gem of a lily or the stained glass brilliance of an autumn leaf into soil you dug and harvested and seeded, weeded and watered, is like being admitted to abide in the haven of the gods - with the privileges of angels and the peace and inspiration of poets.

Most worthwhile occupations require initiation and hard work. Most gardening graduates feel for the rest of their lives like a combination of eternal student, wise counsellor and wonder-struck child.

If you have a garden, or even just a little tray of potted plants on your window sill, please leave your gardening sagas here.

Last time I cut the grass I blew up the lawn mower, I now have a pair of garden sheers so got down on my hands and knees and did it by hand. Cut back the overgrowing Ivy and pulled up the weeds filling three black bags with waste. Swept and scrubbed patio area and sat back with some iced water and a bad back admiring my hard work.

Spent the next three days hobbling around like an invalid with every muscle in my body screaming, "You cow, you've overworked me again!" Gardening I once thought was for wimps, I take that back.

I did, as always take care of Gods creatures, the snails, by carefully picking them up and putting them under the Ivy in the far corner of the garden. Unfortunately, I accidentally trod on one and killed it, felt bad for a few minutes and considered a burial but as most of it was already crushed into the earth didn't bother. I'd like to say I took as much care of the ants but I didn't, the ants and I have had a somewhat volatile relationship of late and it was payback time.

Well I wouldn't exactly call myself a gardener but I've just set up my new garden furnitue which looks lovely so have to do the garden now. Today I will be weeding, chucking a load of lawn seed down, chopping trees (alright not trees, but bloody thick plants), chucking shingle where shingle is needed. Tomorrow I will be buying a load of new plants to pretty up the garden.

I bought a saw and ladies garden gloves, so I am on a mission.

Welcome back Cleo

And welcome to the realm of the green fingered, big hatted, curse-proof, gloved ones of the ferny alcove and the grove.

I look forward to your adventures and hope you will become addicted.

To keep you all in good spirits I'll let you know that I have just stepped in a large load of dog poop as I was raking up heaps and HEAPS of fallen leaves ('tis Autmn where I am). My father would have told me ancient folklore claimed this to be extremely lucky. I almost vanished once aged six at school when a passing heron pooped on me as it flew over the playground. Truly, I looked like a small gingerbread cake covered in icing. "You're going to be rich some day!" said Dad. Still waiting ...

Warning from the Garden Brownie : Never garden barefoot. Was I barefoot? No, I learned my lesson long ago and was initiated into thorns, concealed poop, vicious thistles and things I just now refer to as the "bristly people in the grass". I think of them as angry garden fairies armed with javelins made out of bouganvillea spikes.

On a good note, our delicious monster plant is blooming. Will post a pic later.

Our apple tree is finally losing its leaves. I planted it from a seed about three years ago and it has grown into an artistic twisted form, as though two trees were twined round each other from the base up and have grown into a cup-shaped crown. There have been apples, but the birds have knocked them off while they were still green. We have "mousebirds" here that are fruit pests and will eat stuff when its still green. They used to raid our green tomatoes in our previous house.

Our aloes are blooming and are filling up with bees and sunbird visitors. Grown so tall now they are reaching up beyond roof level.

My father was the gardener in our family. He would do the odd flower border but vegetables were his forte. He paid particular attention to the condition of the soil and he could get pretty much anything to grow.
When he planted seeds in a row, he used string fixed taut between a stick at each end to make sure it was all straight. The sticks were left in to act as a marker until the seeds sprouted. As often as not, the sticks themselves put out new leaves.

He had a magical touch.

What a lovely story! The gardner whose marker sticks sprouted. Yes, definitely a green man.

You have to plant 'em, and water 'em and pick bugs off of 'em and weed between 'em too.

con$ervative yank wrote:

Frith wrote: You have to plant 'em, [yep] and water 'em [yep] and pick bugs off of 'em and weed between 'em too. [that's three out of three] I pass!

Bless you, my son, said the garden fairy, for you are one of the "goodfolk." Who are the "goodfolk"? Aha. Not many people know of these, but they are an ancient human species and recognisable to those who can speak the language of the birds.

Our jasmine is blooming!

The clivias are doing their raving nana. These are my engineer's pride and joy. For a week or so every spring he gets to have people stop their cars outside and say "Going to make a good show this year." Floats his boat. I snapped them yesterday as they will soon be going away and the sun is getting very hot and singes them round the edges. They are indigenous, but not to my area. They are under an evergreen Australian acacia so get protection from both the frost and the sun when they bloom. Their only other enemy is the Clivia caterpillar, a striped job that burrows under the skin of the leaf and bores down to the bulb bit where the new flowers form. Eats them out completely. You have to catch this before it goes too far or all your plants will die.