Lucky not to have a gardener is about the joy of doing it all yourself.
For something different on gardening read Prue Leith’s take on an English garden in The Telegraph. She emigrated from SA some fifty years ago and is now eighty. Obviously well-heeled, and with rands that actually would have been worth some pounds, the Leiths bought a home in the Cotswolds. It’s an entertaining read on the unpredictability of it all, and how gardening can be all hard work and disappointment. (https://bit.ly/31mXfiT)
She took however her SA roots with her to their new home. Says she, “I’ve always been lucky enough to have a gardener.” That got me thinking. I’ve decided that I am lucky enough not to have a gardener. Well, that’s not entirely true. Unlike Prue whose husband, a writer, ‘seldom ever left the study,’ the good wife here is every bit as committed as I am; perhaps even more so.
Whilst it’s true that gardening does have an unpredictable side, I am glad to be able to boast that I am the only man in the whole world who gets fresh roses, and at the moment huge bunches of delightful poppies at the office, every working day of my life from she who must be obeyed. Her flowers are very predictable.
And I’m happy to say the mulberries have once again brought us delicious fresh fruit and the entertaining Louries and a host of other birds to party. Lemons and limes abound but I must admit though that I have been battling to pick the twenty avos a week that we are accustomed to. It will not be a nine month season this year; we think that tornado that brushed the village last year knocked a lot of the flowers off.
One crop that was completely unpredicted is the nectar flow this Spring; thanks perhaps to the astonishing hail storm in June, or was it July, this has been a truly amazing season. It’s such a shame there is no Witness flower show or open gardens this year. Having 170 bottles already safely harvested, and the promise of more to come, has been a total surprise, surpassing any previous crop that I remember in October.
On the subject of bees, this is a season to treat them with great respect. A ‘boiling hive’ means when you lift the lid, with alternative shopping in your heart, they come pouring out to defend the fruit of their labours. Twice I have literally been chased from the apiary so stroppy were they; that doesn’t happen very often. The hives are positively dangerous at the moment.
Back to not having a gardener. For us the sheer joy is not only freshly picked lettuces, young broad beans and a massive crop of potatoes when the price has risen 140% in the last four months; it’s all about the whole process from building compost heaps, witnessing the miracle of a seedling poking its head through the ground, to mulching, weeding and watering the young plants, and finally harvesting an astonishing amount of fresh, nutritious food. It means ‘forest bathing’ to restore the spirit, and wholesome exercise, and the joy of not requiring that mother of all torture, the indoor bicycle, or a gym contract.
Yesterday I, not the serf, I planted over a hundred peppadew seedlings that the good wife had reared. Unless there is a catastrophe, and it turns out to be all hard work and disappointment, we are in for a bumper crop this year.
And today was a record day; 12 eggs from 14 free-range laying hens, and three darling new chicks from one of three broody hens. That was a first for us.
Lucky not to have a gardener weighs up the sheer pleasure of having masses of fresh, unspoiled food with all the hard work.
Our newsletter is entitled "create a cyan zone" at your home, preserving both yourself, your family and friends, and Mother Earth for future generations. We promise not to spam you with daily emails promoting various products. You may get an occasional nudge to buy one of my books!
Here are the back issues.
Yes, it’s hard work; yes, it does take quite a lot of time, and no, we certainly wouldn’t welcome a request from Open Gardens. Our garden is an untidy mess. It does mean not spending hours stuck in front of the TV, or in the study at the computer writing books or playing games. It is probably the most rewarding and satisfying thing I do. When the world wearies, and society ceases to satisfy, there’s always the garden. I suspect Prue Leith’s serf did all the hard work and got all the pleasure, fed his family and was paid for his labours. She was probably left with some of the left overs and all the disappointment!
We are indeed lucky not to have a gardener.
Did you find this page interesting? How about forwarding it to a friend, or book and food junkie; or, better still, a Facebook or Twitter tick would help.
56 Groenekloof Rd,