Michelle Hand, my fiancée.

          On a cold grey day several years ago, I was sat in a café with my vicar, the Reverend Graham Shaw. A relatively young man himself, Graham was a little further along the road and far wiser than me - in the perfect position to offer a little life advice over some tea and bacon. The topic of conversation had reached love, whether I was truly happy with what I had at the time, and where my aspirations for love lay. I wondered if perhaps I hadn't taken a serious view until then, for in my mind's eye I couldn't help but recall the scene introducing the Lady Arwen Undómiel into 'The Lord of the Rings'. In she came, on horseback through a woodland's misty light and a choir's voices rising, her hair flowing and her eyes shining. I'd seen it as a boy, and a decade later it was still all I could picture. Graham knew the scene too. I laughed at my immaturity, my foolishness, and expected him to do the same - an man so knowledgeable and capable, with his intelligent voice and intelligent glasses. He didn't laugh. He smiled, but he didn't laugh. "Actually, Josh - I don't think there's anything foolish about wanting something like that." I remember him saying that now as vividly as the scene itself.

          Last March, walking toward me in the very church of the same reverend came Michelle Hand. Over a year she has revealed herself to be the loveliest person I have ever met or ever shall meet, in beauty and in kindness. She endlessly listens and thinks, cares and prays. Whether it is this, or perhaps her long billowing hair and her soft Northern Irish voice, I have been completely enchanted. Tree or flower, I believe that were there a plant in my garden which had her virtues everyone would come from every corner of the world to admire it. Indeed it has been a pleasure to tell her about everything which I had learned in the last three years about gardening, and look forward to sharing all my future horticultural adventures with the finest companion. In return, perhaps this blog shall stray in future from flora into fauna as her passion lies in horses.

The proposal came on Friday the 17th June, the night before Michelle flew for an internship at Virginia Tech - a little of "now or never" about the occasion. Of course, plants were never far away from proceedings. The ring came from wonderful Scottish ringmaker Sarah Brown, unique with "seaforest" details of leaves and berries in the goldwork around the diamonds. As for the setting, it had to be the garden. Doing my best to distract Michelle whilst the evening set in and darkness fell, my mother and sisters silently ran out and lit a trail of lamps and lanterns through the garden leading down to my old pond at the bottom, which they filled with floating candles and surrounded with more lights. Once everything was alight, Mum gave the signal - calling to innocently ask whether Michelle would like me to show her a new iris in flower down by the pond. Michelle said yes, she would - and ten minutes later, she said yes again to a very different question indeed.

She truly is the loveliest blessing in my life, and I thank God that the adventure I initially started writing about shall now be a journey for two, and all the richer for it.

Spirit, Dan Pearson.

Merely two years ago, I had no idea who Dan Pearson was nor had I really heard his name. Of course my ignorance has now passed - one would have to try rather hard not to come upon the most respected of garden designers and indeed he reigned champion at the first RHS Chelsea Flower Show I'd visited, his Chatsworth design winning Best Show Garden.

The first book given to me once I had set my heart upon horticulture was his, Spirit. (Delightfully, I've been given many - Mum gave me this one.) It's a fabulous book, filled with memories and adventures and chance meetings. His photographs are so captivating, whether it is they which accompany the text or if it is the text which accompanies them is a distinction left blurred. Each source of interest and influence is touched upon, as boy, student, and man, and the reader is taken from the barge gardens of London to the palatial fountains of the Alhambra. The more one studies this scrapbook of inspiration (there has to be a better word than scrapbook but it escapes me), the deeper one can peek into Dan Pearson's soul. Perhaps because of this, the garden he created at Chelsea did feel familiar - as though seeing a final tapestry, having looked at the threads before it was made. No hierarchy of importance is suggested between the chapters, presumably all influences have touched him at different times or in different ways. However, not being Dan Pearson I definitely have preferred sections. I've read a couple of them to Michelle and thought I'd write down a few quotes here so that I don't forget them.

     Torrechia

"Trees have been kept multi-stemmed in the garden so that they feel wild, and minimising the use of colour has kept the garden feeling pure."
(Violante Visconte, the late owner: "Daniel! This is southern Italy, I want everything to be green. There will be no silver, no colour other than green and white. I want cool colours.")






"Inky bay is used to make the connection to the evergreen oaks beyond the walls and to create dark pools for the bright light to be absorbed into. Magnolias and handkerchief trees throw pools of light into the garden as contrast."

"The plants are massed so that the pacing revolves around a series of events. A ravine of scented crab apples, incandescent with blossom in April, the floor a carpet of violets and hung with fruit in autumn. The garden erupts and shape-shifts between seasons. Blues are allowed to hover in shade like anemone in the woods, flowers are kept simple and single and as close to type as possible. The purity is crucial as a counterpoint to the slightly melancholy mood. These interludes in the seasonality of the garden are intended to be sensual and all consuming and you are encouraged to be lost there for the time they hold your attention. The combination of light and flower or scent or moisture in the air are something that can never be repeated, for each is specific to the way that the components come together at that particular point. It is the garden that puts you in the moment and you savour the brevity in the knowledge that it will never be repeated in quite the same way again.

     Those gardens that use nature for their romantic gain, but strike that delicate balance between it being invited in and not quite having the upper hand are always in balance. It is in this balance that I find the most evocative moments, the points where the magic occurs. I suspect that the ephemeral nature of these interludes is the greater part of their appeal, and for me, trying to capture them is part of the art of garden making."


     Japanese Gardens

"I was taken behind the scenes and allowed to see the gardens at dawn and dusk, when they are at their most peaceful and the light is at its best."
"The introduction to the way of being in the garden was aided by a ritual that you have to go through before you are allowed to enter. We had to sit on the floor in the temple and those who could chanted with the monks, those who could not traced over a prayer with pen and ink. It was only after you have completed the task that you are allowed to enter the garden, and by this time you have been put into quite another frame of mind by being part of the ritual."

"Mr Kubo [designer of Kengo In] recognised the importance of informality, how nature rarely drew a straight line and how the eye preferred asymmetry."
"The approach to the temple is up a wide set of steps that were timeworn and imperfect, overhung with maples and encrusted with moss. Imperfection is important in its place, and age and patina are revered."
"You are invited to move around and through the garden on a series of tiny paths and stepping stones that are configured to slow your movement. By being forced to concentrate on footfall, you are encouraged to take in your surroundings with a new intensity... you might notice that a single camellia flower, crimson against the green of a fallen leaf is left there as contrast. With such evident attention to detail, I was not surprised to discover that it can take up to twenty-five years to qualify as a Japanese gardener."
"[Visiting the garden] You have been part of a journey and consumed in the moment and your senses have been teased very gently so that your antennae are newly receptive to the subtleties of the natural world."

A Garden for the Church.

          Hyde Hall is such a vibrant garden, with a real sense of momentum and expectation. The apprentices here and now are watching a garden evolve and expand. For me personally, this has been backlit beautifully with an introduction to the rolling hills and woods of Essex.

          For all this excitement, the moment at which I could truly say I felt at home in the curiously-named Essex town of South Woodham Ferrers was once I had stepped inside South Woodham Evangelical Church. (Presumably, South Woodham Ferrers Evangelical Church was just too long a title, and it is considerably easier to say "Swec" as most do, rather than "Swfec".) The welcome, kindness and friendship found there has changed things so much for me. It is as though at first I were a plant still potted, enjoying its surroundings but separate from them, and now I have been planted out into the soil here by the church and can now feel part of it all. The vicar, Lindsay, the home group which meets every Tuesday evening to talk and support each other, and my two favourites, my extremely special housemates Barbara & June - all are such genuine, lovely people. Furthermore, there are plenty of folk who love to garden and always say hello when they see me at Hyde Hall.

          Last autumn, I started to ponder whether there was anything I could do for the church, and make real use of all the things the RHS has taught me. I'd taken a peek into the back garden before - an open space with a well-kept lawn, but perhaps not an illustration of a biblical garden, lush and filled with birdsong, in which once could listen to God. Within a few weeks, a vision came together in my mind's eye, and a plan put on paper. A wildlife garden appears the perfect balance, peaceful but humming with life, attracting young and older visitors to walk down a meandering lawn. Recognisable and well-loved species, large and small, can be planted informally either side with a gentle colour scheme of calming blues & purples, whites and deep greens. The hope is for these plants to grow tall and form a meadow in the dappled shade of a few trees, low in maintenance and a joy to spend time in. Lawn space will be left for the events and celebrations which take place annually in the church, and I've sought to avoid toxic or thorned species so that children can really explore the garden.
          Phil and Rose, who care for the "fabric" of the church and have themselves a most charming garden, have been as much a part of the planning process as I have, and Lindsay has been so enthusiastic. A satisfying part of this plan is the funding of the garden. Living with Barbara & June - whom I actually met in church, my rent is low enough for me to fund it myself. I feel a circle has been completed somewhere. In February, after a little presentation the church members decided to give my proposed garden a yes vote... planting begins in April!

Anethum graveolens.

Rarely would I say this, but a sad day dawned on Hyde Hall last week. Sherrie, the youngest horticulturist of the team, set off with fledged apprentice Ed for the scenic lands and midgie clouds of Scotland. Very ridiculous, very chatty, and very blonde - all in a very good way - she will most certainly be missed as a friend and as a mess-room character. As a gardener, moreover, she leaves behind the well-tended and highly popular Cottage Garden and Modern Country Garden. I thought I'd choose a plant from there to look at, and at this time of year the dill provides an elegant form of height and structural body to the Cottage Garden.

Anethum graveolens, "Dill".
(Hardy Annual.)

Planting: Sow seed in succession (every 3-5 weeks), from April to midsummer.
Flowering: Summer.
Aspect: Non-north facing, sheltered.
Hardiness: Hardy.

Notes: Dill is so beloved in Eastern European cooking that their equivalent of the English proverb "to have a finger in every pie" is "biti mirodjija u svakoj corbi" - "to be a dill in every soup."

Tollymore Forest.

I love a good and proper forest. Tall, characterful old trees. Fragrant air and dappled light. Lush mosses and fern-fringed streams. It can be the most peaceful of places, offering the visitor a moment to hide away in the tranquillity of a leafy cathedral. At the same time, however, it bursts ceaselessly with life - hundreds of living things breathing, growing, moving, singing by day and by night. You can close their eyes and rest, or keep them open and every way you look there'll be something alive, beautiful and interesting to behold.

     Of all the different landscapes of God's creation, the forest is my personal favourite. Working with RHS gardeners, I've found that it isn't hard to perceive when someone is in their favourite part of Hyde Hall- whether it is in a vegetable garden, or in a glasshouse, their expression lifts and their voice strengthens with sincerity. For me, it's woodland - the deeper and greener, the better. As the years have passed, I've gazed into them looking for imaginary creatures, later for woodland fauna, and of course recently for the flora. Others certainly feel the same - from popular children's tales to twitter pages with thousands of followers, the beauty and mystery of silvan environments clearly excite many humans.

Fortunately, my beautiful girlfriend Michelle adores forests herself and has introduced me to a very special place in her native Northern Ireland. Tollymore Forest has the oldest forest park in the nation. Rich in huge beech trees (at least in the area we wandered - though further reading states plenty of other species stand alongside the beech), they shelter the Shimna River and the delightfully-named Spinkwee River beneath their canopy. It also has at least one red squirrel - Michelle's first sighting.
     Due to the nature of beech leaves (they take a long time to degrade, and thus the leaf litter of the forest floor allows only a few plants to break through) and the full canopy, little else grows but trees. Everything seems covered in a beautiful emerald moss, and there are drifts of ferns, but otherwise the forest floor has no obstacles bar the rivers. As a consequence, it feels as though you can stride off the path and, between the pillars of trunks, just
walk in any direction you wish. Which is what we did.

Coton Manor.

I have mentioned my gardening grandparents before on the blog, and this post looks at one of the favourite gardens of my granny Lalage. Her days as a missionary nursing lepers in Thailand indisputably set granny and my late grandpa as the great adventurers of my family, but she would be the first to smile and admit that recently her travelling has lessened in distance. However, one place that she continues to visit and delight in is the garden of Coton Manor. For her birthday, blessed with sunshine, my family went with her. As she sat down on a bench for a moment or two, I nipped about and took a few photos.

          It can be difficult to evaluate something when it is already so familiar, but certain qualities and features of Coton Manor's garden were easy to see - and on such a bright day, the amount of "summer interest" it provided was fantastic. Its highly popular spring display of bluebells long passed, Coton Manor's loveliness appeared instead in its long midsummer border, its golden meadow, and its herb garden. The latter - pictured above - had plants of such vigorous growth, of such height and colour as well as scent, that even a visitor with no use for herbs would still want to take this enchanting little square back to their own home. The aforementioned border and meadow of the garden are framed by mature trees and little stepped waterways, and these shadier parts of the garden are appreciated all the more in the heat of summer.

      With plenty of beautiful ornamental horticulture down every path and around every corner of its ten acres, Coton Manor is a wonderful place to come for that reason alone. Having said that, a quick glance at any garden's visitor comments book soon reveals that the public's favour is often found or lost by surprisingly non-horticultural considerations - a good café or a dog-friendly stance, for example. However, Coton Manor has furthered its charm in a rather unusual way. It is home to several exotic guests, some of which were polite enough to let me take their picture. As the RHS celebrates the 150th anniversary of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Hyde Hall and the other three gardens have really had the gauntlet thrown at them by Coton Manor as it sports its own pat of flamingoes! Yet even these fabulous birds are upstaged by one other. Being of a similar age as me, Rodney the (extremely talkative) Macaw has lived there since I was born, and has been and always will be the first thing that my sisters and I look for when we arrive - gardening blog or no gardening blog!

Blackcurrant Sage and Grapefruit Mint.

          The single curse of becoming part of Hyde Hall is that a garden's magic can be lost with familiarity. One small and very special place in which this will never happen is the Herb Garden, due to its completely fantastical plants which appear to have wandered out of the pages of a Roald Dahl book and into reality.

These plants include:
-Strawberry Mint
-Grapefruit Mint
-Black Peppermint
-Basil Mint
-Blackcurrant Sage
-Orange-scented Thyme
-Lemon Variegated Thyme

...and yes, they really do smell like their names suggest! The Strawberry Mint is particularly eyebrow-raising.

International Garden Photographer of the Year.

       Mateusz Liberra, 'Evening Lupin Fields'.

Having hurried past the exhibition in Hyde Hall's little barn day after day, I am so pleased to have finally opened the door and taken a look at the fabulous images from the International Garden Photographer of the Year Competition.

It would rather be stating the obvious to say how good the pictures are, having already been judged as finalists or indeed winners, but I just had to share the one above. Photographed by Pole Mateusz Liberra, this mesmerising lupin meadow belongs to the landscape of Skaftafell National Park, in South-East Iceland.
I will not say much about it - such a view seems to compel silent admiration, rather than my usual long sentences! I had not the faintest notion that wild lupins grew in such a way. Were it not for the mountains in the background, it would be hard to suppose where the blue would cease.

(All credit to Mr Liberra and the International Garden Photographer of the Year Competition, which is well worth a look.)

RHS Chelsea Flower Show.

What a contrast from my previous post! Bucolic serenity now swept aside for the hustle and bustle, the "mind-the-gap" and "tickets-please" of London and its world-famous Chelsea Flower Show.

An artistic depiction of the Chelsea crowds.
 I'm third from the right, sixth row.

Before going on, as this is a personal blog I think I shall briefly mention my exasperation* regarding Chelsea.  There were three acres of space beneath the roof of the Great Pavilion, and yet the show attracted so many thousands of people that every inch was filled. To stop moving and look at an exhibit was to block the way for someone behind - images of sardines in a shoal or wildebeest in a stampede vividly came to mind! Claustrophobia was not the issue, but rather the frustrating irony in being unable to pause and think at a celebration of the garden, the place of pausing and thinking.

That said, I must now move on to the things I admired at Chelsea. There is - of course - a reason for the crowds. The show gardens of Chelsea's Main Avenue varied from the boldly spectacular to the invitingly naturalistic, but all proved fascinating. They have been displayed and analysed constantly on television this week, their famed designers and their medals the subject of intense discussion. Despite the coverage, I think two unofficial honours were left unnoticed. Charlie Albone's pond in his garden 'The Time In Between' was slow to fill and swift to empty, symbolising the life of his late father - and this moving touch beckoned more of Saturday's crowds than any other, including Dan Pearson's 'The Chatsworth Garden' which won Best In Show. Secondly, in the evening it was Jo Thompson's garden 'The Retreat' which the designers and their families chose to congregate at as they celebrated the show's end together. Both scenes I found very telling indeed.

And now for the photos!

Another feature of Charlie Albone's garden 'The Time In Between': a fire pit in pale stone with an encircling bench. Balancing beauty with functionality is easy when the function itself seems so charming - to sit around a fire with loved ones.

Kamelia Bin Zaal's garden 'The Beauty of Islam' has such a modest colour palette and simple planting scheme that it achieves loveliness without distracting from prayer. 

Time spent at rest in the garden is not a guilty pleasure but something healthy and wholesome, and in 'The Breast Cancer Haven Artisan Garden' this seems affirmed by the creation of this woven oak-leaf seat for this very purpose.

'The Sculptor's Picnic Garden' feels theatrical and fantastical without being intimidatingly so. Every one around me stood before it looked as though they were envisaging themselves sat upon one of the chairs.

The softness of the moss underplanting Marcus Barnett's trees in 'The Telegraph Garden' contrasted vibrantly with the adjacent concrete walls, and were thus impossible to overlook.

* I was fortunate to have my folks accompanying me, their enthusiasm a real tonic during my grumblier moments. The highlight was undoubtedly the sight of my father stoically carrying three flowering irises and a Lady Plymouth geranium on the Circle Line train, and my mother's consequential delight.

The Dawn Chorus.

I was stumbling about the garden at four o'clock in the morning today. Four o'clock in the morning? Four? I jest not. And on a Sunday, I might add further. This does seem to be the behaviour of a man strange or confused (a fair assertion against me usually), but on this occasion I had a reason.

With the warmth and light of May, spring has completed its beautiful envelopment of the garden. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the wilder areas of the Estate where it goes unchecked: the trees have burst with damp fresh leaves and in their dappled light the grasses are lush, flecked with the colours of wildflowers and butterflies. Birdsong rises as nests are made in the ever-deepening greenery - and during the dewy tranquillity of today's dawn I tramped in, to listen to its chorus.

I was not alone - indeed, this was an event specially organised by the RHS for those seeking to learn more of the calls and whistles drifting from tree canopies and hedgerows in spring, and the birds they belong to. Twenty arrived, patiently led by a sharp-eared and (perhaps more important for me at four in the morning) softly-spoken man by the name of Neil from the Essex Wildlife Trust. With his knowledge and direction, I could hear cuckoos, blackcaps, goldfinches, and even witnessed a whitethroat gathering twigs for a nest. I didn't know what a whitethroat was before this morning, but I do now. The charming thing about such a long morning was the chance to give each bird several minutes, until every person present was eventually smiling and nodding. Moreover, the more familiar fauna of Hyde Hall - the hares, pheasants and waterfowl - seemed to appreciate that at such a time of day we were far too sleepy to cause them any disturbance, meaning we could view them closer than usual before they slipped away. A wholly enchanting experience that I shall remember and repeat. I might bring a flask next time though!