Rebuilding the fortified garden taught me about love

Garden updates

For the past year, I have been renovating a fortified garden in Suffolk. For a long time, he was a garden designer who worked as a series of artistic beech and yew fences in the 1960s. After his death, the garden was overgrown, Magnolia was shading the roses, and the cherries were falling one by one.

I saw him last January before the plague stopped and immediately fell in love. Ever since I was a child, reading, as I have always known, includes the much-loved Francis Hodgson Burnett gardens and Children of Green Nono. Over the next few confusing months, I tried the map with the help of photographs.

Dreams floated more than real. Once during the long, unchanging locking months, I went inside and made a list of the plants that had grown there. I knew there was Daphne and the tree peony, but why Caraperia California, The anon or chinosila of the tree, also known as the glory of the ice, or the fragrant pineapple broom?

We moved in August and this wonderful, shining and inverted place was interrupted by a real and much troubled garden. Of course, in March it appeared to be the sea of ​​blue stars, but it was also the honey fungus that half-killed the wreath and the beautiful hybrid cockpit thorns. The beds are covered with nettles and beans. As the months went by, I saw which thugs outnumbered and which were softer or softer.

Throughout the year, the garden was towed around the garden as needed, not to mention the perfect garden of the past. He lent me five photo albums since the 1970’s. They showed unimaginable grasses on the edge of so many and orderly beds, with excellent skill and fertilizer use.

The garden I dreamed of was full of anger, but just as luxurious. The problem was. I went out all day, often in pajamas, very impatient to get dressed. I thought of planting plans, turned the discussions back to fertilizer and seeds, and generally acted as if I was worried.

They were successful inventions. One winter afternoon I planted a small lawn near the greenhouse with freezer bulbs. Tulipa Klasina And he left a very blue camouflage, and tools for himself. In the spring, it was a narrow field of bright handwriting. There were fences in the back, and I planted sweet wooden planks and white foxes on their feet. I bought six goldfish for lightning, as was the case in Virginia Wolf’s last novel. In the midst of Acts, Most of it is planted in the garden.

Each new plant followed associations from my own life and reading, and each enriched the garden, strengthening its power. At the same time, problems arose. Myrlul burned with ice, Magnolia grandiflora Before you make a new collection, drop three-quarters of the leaves, followed by creamy lemon-scented flowers.

At the end of the garden was a three-sided, thick-walled fence. There was a wedding there and the center was still covered in damaged black plastic. Hemok’s stressful crop grew, but it was Helborborne, Violet, and Shotkok Fern. At night, a new garden was planted with wild roses – pale yellow cannabis and white dunwich rose. I used to make a pond, and there were quinoa and crab apples all around, and peonies with pure, pure colors, butter yellow and purple red flowers.

FT Weekend Festival

The festival is back in line with regular speakers and classes at Line 4 at Kenwood House (and online). Breathing all of this will be an opportunity to rejuvenate and revisit the world after the plague. To book tickets, visit here

Which is my favorite, the real garden or my dream? Sometimes the gap between them is unbearable, but I can’t do it without me. I know that I am expressing two kinds of love, the ideal and the real, and the work of love, the energy of knowing and caring for the real thing, always shines a longing for this perfect thing that worries me every day. Living without ever coming into existence.

While I was in the garden, working together and seeing at the same time, I think the greatest joy comes from the garden – now I think, it makes the garden very indistinguishable from love itself.

Olivia Lang’s latest book, “all of them”. She is currently working on a book about gardens and paradise

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