Finding Solace in a “Mad Gathering” of a New Garden
This is a strange time to be making a garden. Creating a new garden is always an act of determined optimism, driven by the belief in the beauty and joy it will bring in the future. But this is truer than ever in the present circumstances, where optimism and positivity about all our futures, is everything, whether you are a gardener or not.
Our isolation was planned as we moved a few months ago to a small farm in the countryside. The garden was due to start this spring as the builders finally left. Plants were ordered last year to arrive in April, timed between my work trips. There are no trips away now, with just myself, my family, and a socially-distanced, heroic digger driver to do the work.
Plants are still being delivered, but I now have a desperate desire to grow food and anything instant - annuals; sweet peas, mignonette, cosmos. I am craving flowers that will bring color and scent this summer, rather than stick to my long-term, carefully phased plan. Established gardens and gardeners will have ordered their seeds in the winter and be potting up seedlings by now. For the new gardener, or anyone with an inch of soil to spare and a sudden fear of going hungry, the pickings are slim. Seed companies are sold out, or have nothing they can ship until June. My hardly naturally sustaining arugula seed came from Germany.
As the day businesses were asked to close, I made a desperate dash to my nearest small nursery. Looking like a modern day Highwayman in my bandana face mask, dark glasses and gauntlets, I half-terrified the nursery woman, quietly watering her garden. I was assured the nursery would now attempt to go online and deliver, and I left making a quick mental note of currants and herbs. These seem like small country problems compared to life in any city right now. But, since we can’t get food delivered, and we are trying to stay at home, the self-sufficiency that my parents achieved during my childhood has never looked so desirable.
The treasure hunt for chickens has taken an equally circuitous route. The surprising end came with the appearance of a friend and fellow Vogue contributor, with a car full of bantams. Having seen no one for three weeks we all stood and gaped at the glamour of her arrival in a sheepskin, black boots and dark glasses - a very convincing outfit for her role as a farmer, should she be stopped. For the record she does farm.
So down with the pen and up with the spade. The march of nettles, thistles and a thousand other weeds has to be stopped, and replaced with plants. At this point I want my garden to be filled with a mad gathering of whatever I can actually get.
Originally Appeared on Vogue
