On Wednesday night we planted a little herb garden. We planted mint, thyme, parsley and chives. I’ll admit, I maybe didn’t take the task particularly seriously; standing in the garden in my silky PJ’s and a pair of untied trainers at 8.50pm, watering can in hand. I really want to enjoy planting and growing vegetables/flowers/trees in the garden, though I’m just not yet convinced that gardening is the hobby for me.
Gardening conjures up images in my mind of elderly ladies with lilac gardening gloves, foam kneeling pads and ankle high wellington boots. Or a braless Charlie Dimmock from the late 90s. It’s tit or tat really. Gardening needs a re-vamp.
Maybe it’s down to the fact that most people in their 20s and 30s are living in rented flats in city centres. Or perhaps it’s due to busy lifestyles and easily accessible supermarkets. Either way, there’s not a broad range of younger, more relatable gardeners in the media and/or the public eye. There are echoes of the longstanding phrase ‘you can only be what you can see’ about it. And as a result, it’s still not cool to be into gardening.
Putting the cool-factor aside, I’ve starting my attempt at embracing gardening with a pinch of The Good Life. Growing edible produce seems like a workable place to start. I like eating and baking, and therefore I should hopefully take pride in adding home grown ingredients from the garden into my recipes. Planting and harvesting seem manageable, I just need to work on that bit in the middle where I remember to water the plants…
And this here is my downfall. I confess, I am a notorious plant killer. I don’t do it intentionally – I just really struggle to remember to care for something that doesn’t pursue me daily, asking to be fed. To be honest, it’s a good thing that the dog isn’t the shy and retiring type or we’d have serious issues on our hands! A couple of months back we planted strawberries and potatoes in a section of land up behind the house. I dutifully assisted the day they were planted, casually forgot the plants existed for the next 3 weeks, avoided watering them for the subsequent 3 weeks, and then gleefully remembered they existed just in time for there to be actual strawberries to pick. On the upside semi-wilful neglect seems to have worked wonders for our strawberries – yielding well over 20 berries so far from the 9 little cuttings we planted. Most significantly they did bring me a touch of joy when I added them with pride to a lovely big jug of Pimms I was mixing up, so there might be hope for my gardening enthusiasm yet… everyone does love a good edible garnish, don’t they?!
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