The Barn
A year at the garden in a field
January
First signs of growth, slow grind into life. Mystery beneath frigid ice-strewn soil. Snowdrops, witch hazel, hellebores, dwarf irises. Opening scene is all in miniature. Thinning and careful dispersal of useful ‘weeds’ like Anthriscus and Myosotis. Squirrels, woodpeckers, a solitary robin. Hard work, at peace, alone. Mud everywhere. Giant compost heap. Contending with low, limited light. Much to imagine and envision. An appropriate time to give historical background of location, purchase, plans, motivations. Atmospheric beginning, heavy on inspiration; quotes from ‘Walden’, ‘Hōjōki’, ‘Poems to Eat’, Ryōkan, etc.
February
Repairs to barn, further explanations of building the (still waking) garden from nothing. Concluding springtime prep, adding tonnes of recycled waste, establishing 'empty canvas’ from which growth will erupt. The book should be instructive but not patronising or clichéd; atmosphere, even if dark and moody in winter, is key. Observational so, in part, rather spontaneous and difficult to quantify here. I want the reader to feel as though they are in the garden with me. Days tangibly beginning to lengthen. Still splitting, taking cuttings, stockpiling armaments for the year ahead. It is a battle, you know. Finish edit of garden, draw out and leave it to commence its glacial ambush.
April
A few days’ passing begins to approximate an epoch. Rapid transformation - daily ogling has now become quite captivating. Whole entire constellation of tulips, rich colour combinations, a sweet appetiser while muscle bulks up in the margins. Vigorous perennials developing tangibly, inches every day. Tulip close-ups resembling abstract art. Garden architecture altering utterly; some views removed, others beginning to form. The garden is the world’s slowest explosion; spatial geography moves around and alters as if a magic trick. Smyrnium perfoliatum, bridal wreath, camassia, willow and elder, angelica erecting its own formidable statue; plasma ball head, echoed by lenten moon. Wild swimming in pond. Some histories of plants.
May
Anthriscus sylvestris envelops and connects garden and meadow, a lacey carousal. The meadow becomes a veritable gala of blossom, tall hawthorns accenting the flowery abundance. The combination of decaying tulips, like sad, rakish handkerchiefs, and shooting, acquisitive perennials, is a source of great delight. Garden is taken in hand, shepherding first blast of blossom and protecting perennial ingredients, also using positions of precious, now-spent ‘weeds’ as natural guide for follow-up planting. Replacements are made with annuals and tender perennials in nature-led planting pockets. Ox-eye daisies, poppy seedlings growing and needing custodianship to thrive in densely competitive theatre. Perpetual cycle of protecting young growth and then, at its peak, scaling it back for successors to thrive. Lightest of touch, but crucial guiding hand. Weeding is necessary to reduce seed dispersal but, more excitingly, to introduce space for new seedlings, fresh compositions. The precise work required in making the garden feel effortless is immensely exciting. Not dissimilar to making special effects for TV (my day job), except that this concoction is alive, in three dimensions, and is conjured in direct communion with forces of nature. Lots of seed sowing, all for this space, all in the service of beauty
