I love gardening. Yes, another thing I love besides cooking, genealogy, photography and writing. And like some of those, gardening is also something I picked up at my mother’s knee. I can’t remember a time when she hasn’t had a garden. Growing up, we had fresh fruit and veg to eat and the luscious borders became jungle backdrops to boisterous games played with my brothers or small secret areas became plains populated by wild creatures. Space. Creativity. Patience. Respect. All these things and more were fostered in me through merely being surrounded by, and later actively taking part in, horticulture.
For me, I think the thing I love most is that gardening isn’t instant. Well, it can be, but then I think you’re missing half the fun. Watching as plants intermingle and grow – yes, and die – and how a garden matures into an expression of who you are as much as where you’re doing it is so much part and parcel of the joy of gardening. I suppose, to speak in clichés, its the ultimate expression of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s sentiment:
“Life is a journey, not a destination”
Note: For gardening posts from Easter 2014 onwards, please visit A Wiltshire Garden!
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