On summer challenges

Reflections on the consequences of drought that go beyond plant growth

It’s been a cruel summer and now, after the rain, the gardens here are revived. Even perennials that looked like they’d give up in early August, have begun flowering again. No matter the years of experience, I found this summer season particularly hard. Here is Essex we have the lowest rainfall in the county and of course this year, I vowed to water as little as possible, if at all. To experiment and learn.

But this pushed my confidence and pride hard.

Having a garden that groups pay to visit or learn from confronts my own, and visitors expectations. I’ve noticed the conflict between my garden practises and ego.

The long border, never watered and perked up no end for some rainfall.

I want it to be perfect. There is so much of me tied up in this space. I want it to look really good. I want people to think that I am good gardener. But, I'm exploring and experimenting what it means to grow in a truly climate resilient, regenerative way which doesn't rely on inputs or resources (any labour, time, energy and money).

My ideas on beauty and what a garden is or can be are being challenged.

For years I’d almost burn myself out trying to make this space look as beautiful and successful as I could for the visitor all whilst growing, cutting and selling flowers. But who was that for? My ego? Their impression? What is a successful productive garden? What defines success to me?

In reality, a successful flower farm has no flowers, they are all cut and sold. A flower garden is full of perfect flowers but is this possible every month of the year, or even the growing season? Of course not. And how helpful would that be anyway?

More and more I see an ‘emperors new clothes’ view of perfect gardens, growing spaces and productivity as symbols of pride, vanity and excess.

In the end, I am running a business, not an expensive indulgent hobby.

Finally Dahlias!

Either way, why are we so tied up in a garden being perfect? Lush, abundant whatever the weather and without stowaway weeds? I reflect on my need to control and what I am prepared to do, to do so.

Of course, if I have enough money and time to make the garden perfect, then I can. But how is that serving me, or you? My reader, visitor or student? Are we honest in what it really takes to create that flawlessness.

I am reminded that perfection is deeply rooted in a need for control. It’s about perception, stemming from imperialist, colonial, patriarchal and capitalist structures and systems.

I don't wish to appear to be in control of this growing space. I want to work with, gently support plants, as opposed to willing them to be a certain way. It is easy to see the opportunity to encourage community within the garden, diversity in planting and soil biology, abundance in wildlife. Everything I want to embrace.

By experimenting with plant communities, soil and watering, to allow a period of adjustment and rearrangement brings up all sorts of very conflicting emotions, of assurance and connection but also, admittedly, embarrassment, exposure and vulnerability.

There were points in the summer, when the grass was golden brown dust, plants small, barely alive with singed leaves, I wanted to cancel group visits and courses, because, frankly, there were spaces in the garden which looked absolutely awful. I was mortified and tired of explaining my intention and the reality.

Short struggling echinacea with daisies gone over in the heat

There were many visitors who were disappointed at, oftentimes, the lack of floral perfection and abundance. They expected an oasis whereby I created a chelsea flower showesque eden. You just can’t please them all but that doesn’t change my desire to do so! But then I’d also have some of the most fruitful conversations and classes where this discussion could be had. I gave permission to visitors to view their own spaces differently. They told me how they went home and reconsidered how they viewed and embraced their gardens. It’s been a really hard position I've chosen to put myself in.

In the last few weeks, I have had few visitors here and I’ve taught a floriculture course at Capel College’s Forty Hall Farm. Where the summer’s struggle was actually beautiful and the nascent growth that was quietly developing for the next season. The joy of community, organic growing and a united endeavour. Gardening on my own has ostracised myself and made it harder than it need be.

In dahlias rows at Forty Hall Farm, Enfield, London.

We have a crisis of identity in the UK about what our landscapes and gardens should look like. There is little admission across farming and horticulture as to the resources our annual and livestock food systems require, what public spaces really need to be maintained. Few are talking about these themes - though I saw Flourish newsletters about their concerns for winter vegetables and how they might mitigate future issues with drought and / or flooding or Riverford founder Guy Singh Watson about the future of farming. Is it any wonder that we don’t really understand the struggles in face of climate change and the current food systems let alone our gardens. I’m sure I will return to this again.

As I am sowing seeds for next year, I am reflecting on what thrived this year compared to other cooler wetter summers. What plants enjoyed milder winters and which can come through -12 degrees.

I’m growing much more flowers and food, whilst gaining confidence in how I do that with little requirements from me, assisting and trusting the plants and soil themselves.

What about you? Did you have a good summer?

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All articles and notes are recorded in the Floral Index. From the politics of growing, resilient techniques, plant lists and recipes for growing combination to arrange in any given month. Find them all there.

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Have a wonderful weekend!

In the heat of August, a dried arrangement made from crispy stems in the gardens

Planting closely together, and trusting, these plants are thriving despite no attention since cutting everything back in late March.