Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made

By singing: – “Oh, how beautiful!” and sitting in the shade…

~ Rudyard Kipling “The Glory of the Garden”

Spring has arrived in our corner of Wiltshire. Days of warmth and sunshine alternating with mild mist and occasional thunder storms have come together to create perfect growing conditions. The fields where just a few weeks ago we walked across grass stubble are now a waist-high sea of lacy white cow parsley blossoms.  Stinging nettles have grown thick and lush, and already I’ve had to carefully thread my hand through a giant patch of them to retrieve the dog’s stick when I carelessly tossed it there. Bluebells are beginning to open and carpet patches of woodland with a delicate, soft blue haze.  The fields of yellow rapeseed glow like reflected sunlight, contrasting starkly to the dark brown of the freshly ploughed fields and the lush, green grass.

At the end of our road a farmer is grazing his flock of ewes and new-born lambs, so that all day we can hear the deep, throaty murmur of the mothers calling their young, and the high-pitched mewling cry of the lambs as they reply.

Everywhere we look we see the signs of new life. Bees are buzzing, birds are singing, flowers are blooming. Was there ever a more green and pleasant land?

Our tiny garden has come to life, as well, on the very smallest of small scales. There is nothing grand or impressive about it, and yet throughout the day I find my gaze drawn to look out the windows at the tidy patch of lawn edged by a narrow flower border. Occasionally I will wander out for a closer look at the few plants we have added. I will note with satisfaction that the buddleias are looking more healthy and established, and peer down at the tiny, pea-sized buds forming on the peony bush. These plants are very special to me, for with only a few exceptions each one represents a friend I have made since moving to this country.

Shortly after our marriage, when my husband had to return to the UK and I remained behind in the US waiting for my spouse visa to be approved, emails began to arrive from friends of my husband.

“Your husband tells us your new home has a small garden. Would you like some plants when I divide some of mine this autumn?”

Then came lists of plants to choose from: aquilegia (I had to look that one up since I only knew it by its common name of columbine), crocosmia, peony, muscari, snowdrops and iris. Some of my favourite flowers and plants were being offered to me for free by people I had never even met, but who were already willing to take me into their hearts and make me feel welcome. I would be leaving behind the home and garden I helped tend for over twenty years, but a new garden awaited me.

Gardeners tend to be very giving sort of people. Whether they start out that way and the sharing nature they already possess finds expression in the garden, or whether tending a garden cultivates a desire to share with others, I don’t know. I just know that I have never yet met a stingy gardener. They all seem to find great joy and satisfaction in sharing extra plants, and in passing along the knowledge they have gained after years of hard work and trial and error.

I can remember walking with my grandmother down the road from her farm to sit on the front porch at a neighbour’s house in the dusky twilight of late summer. Bats swooped in and out of the light, chasing moths; and the murmur of adult conversation wafted around my head as I sat on the step, dreamily planning to someday have a small farm where I would have a collie and keep chickens. The neighbour admired one of the flowers he had seen in my grandmother’s garden, and she promised to dig some up and bring it over the next day. He gave her a jar of honey from one of his beehives.

Perhaps it is plants themselves which by their very design inspire those who tend them to be generous. Iris beds have to be dug every few years, and after a while you only have so many places to spread out and plant more; and so you ask around, trying to find anyone who wants some. During blooming season if anyone admires one of your flowers you tie a little string around the stem and tell them that when you divide them you’ll give them some. This can sometimes pose a problem when the following spring you discover you gave away all of your favourite ‘Sweeter Than Wine’ iris, and you have to go to your friend and ask for some back the next time she divides her iris bed.

Lilac bushes send up suckers, which are easily dug out and re-potted to pass along to others. Geraniums gladly will root themselves and grow a new plant from just a small cutting. The seeds of many plants can be harvested and saved to be planted again in springtime, and gardeners love to share their favourite seeds with others. Seed exchanges even exist, with people who have never met each other sharing heirloom varieties back and forth across thousands of miles.

Anyone who has ever planted a row of beans or a few tomato or courgette plants (zucchini to my American friends) knows that they always seem to come on all at once. You can harvest and can and freeze all day long, but you still won’t be able to keep up with the sudden onslaught of ripe produce from even a small vegetable patch. And so you share, happily passing along the fruits of your hard work and taking joy in knowing that someone else will enjoy the abundance with you.

Last summer and autumn we were given courgettes, runner beans, and bag after bag of windfall apples – all generously shared by my new-found gardening friends. A visit to the home of some friends ended with us hauling a couple of shrubs back home to tuck into bare corners and lovingly tend.

This tiny backyard of ours is the first garden I have ever been in charge of, and I find myself wanting very much to make it a beautiful haven, a quiet refuge from the bustling and busy world outside. In addition to the plants our friends shared with us we planted almost 200 daffodil bulbs last autumn. I can’t even begin to describe the intense satisfaction it gave me to see them emerge this spring, grow tall and bloom.

And yet an evil lurks in the undergrowth, munching its way down every path and every country lane. It seems that the long, wet winter we just experienced provided perfect conditions for all the gastropods. I see them out in force each morning when I walk the dog down the trail through the field behind our house, and it would seem that they are all bent on beating a slimy path straight for my garden. They hide beneath the leaves of the aquilegia, and climb up into my pot plants on the back deck. They have even hitched rides into the house when I bring the more tender plants indoors on a cold night. I’ve found slugs waltzing across my kitchen and conservatory floors and helped all of them to a swift and timely end. For this is war and I take no prisoners.

I never saw such cauliflower carnage! Worse than the Great Slug Blight of ’32. When there were slugs the size of pigs. – Wallace & Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit

My husband has suggested we put a line of Vaseline around the bases of the pots so the slugs can’t climb up the sides, so now Vaseline is at the top of my shopping list. I have little hope that it will do more than deter the weak ones. I still think that even with the line of Vaseline the clever ones will find a way, somehow, to make it to my precious plants and munch away on all the new leaves. For such a slow-moving creature they seem to have amazing acrobatic abilities. One of the daffodils in a pot on my back deck was chewed unmercifully the other day, and all I can think is that a slug managed to grab onto the flower when the rain had bent it over, albeit briefly, so that the petals just barely touched the deck. The slug obviously used that as a catapult to spring up into my pot and make himself cosy in what must have appeared to be a lovingly prepared salad buffet.

Recently one of the morning news shows did a segment on the subject of slug-slinging and whether or not this is an acceptable form of slug eradication. For those not in the know, this is the practice of picking up a slug or a snail in your garden, looking around to make sure no one is watching, and then slinging it over the fence or wall into your neighbour’s garden. The verdict from the Royal Horticultural Society was that this is not the proper way to free your garden of these slimy pests. It shouldn’t take a Royal Society decree to make it obvious that slinging a slug into your next door neighbour’s flower border is not going to foster good relations. I know that if I were ever out peacefully enjoying a cup of tea on my deck and a slug came flying over the back fence and landed in my lap, things would probably be said which I would later regret.

The BBC reported that new research shows that caffeine is a good slug deterrent. I was quite amused by some of the emails they received afterward, such as:

“I have just given a slug some coffee as suggested. It advanced, had a sip, and then asked for some orange juice and a bit of croissant. The slugs clearly do not read the right research or listen to Today.” Malcolm Ridout.

In Eastern Washington, where I lived before moving to Wiltshire, we had very small slugs. A saucer full of beer usually did the trick, luring the slugs away from the new lettuce sprouting in the garden beds to die a happy death, singing whatever slug drinking songs slugs sing. The slugs were never as big of a problem as the earwigs were, and didn’t require too much attention – certainly no night time manoeuvres as suggested by one person:

“Forget the pellets and poison and strong coffee (what a waste!) For ten days I went out in the garden after dark, armed with Wellington boots, rubber gloves and a torch and picked the pesky creatures off the plants and killed them. Now I only go out about once a week to keep them under control…” Liz Preece

I can just hear what my husband would say if I were to try that.

Two mornings ago we were sitting at breakfast when I noticed a slight movement on the back deck. “Is that a slug?” I asked my husband.

I’m convinced it heard me because at that moment it raised its head, swiveled its two eye tentacles and looked directly at me. Tossing my napkin onto the table I strode purposefully out the back door. The slug was valiantly racing for cover as I stepped over him and marched into the garage for my trowel. Thus armed, I advanced and made quick work of the nasty creature. I then calmly returned to the breakfast table and peacefully resumed eating my yogurt and banana while my husband gazed at me in wonder.

He cleared his throat and said, “I never knew you could be so blood-thirsty.” He then amused himself by calling me the slug slayer until he left for work.

He can joke all he wants, but I have a zero tolerance policy where slugs in my garden are concerned. Outside these fences they can go in peace, but all of these precious plants, these gifts of friendship, must be protected. I can’t tell Carolyn the slugs ate her aquilegia! And what would Colin say if that pretty shrubbymathingey  he gave us was reduced to nothing but a pile of sticks?

My grandfather used to sprinkle salt on the giant banana slugs that would invade his garden on the Oregon coast, but that is a method I shall forego. It isn’t good for the grass. Snail and slug pellets work, but they are dangerous if you have pets. Beer and cornmeal traps also pose the problem that the dog will likely devour the trap bait before the slugs have a chance. For now I deal with them on a case by case basis, one slug at a time.

My friendship garden will no doubt survive the onslaught of hungry slugs, and hopefully it will flourish with time. My own roots are growing deeper in this land where I have been transplanted, and I will be forever grateful to those people who made me feel welcome before I even arrived, planting the seeds of friendships that will continue to grow and develop in the years to come.

There is joy in a garden. It is the result of hard work, careful nurturing, generosity and love. There is joy in friendships both old and new. They are the result of hard work, careful nurturing, generosity and love.

Lizzie, Lizzie, always busy

How does your garden grow?

With gifts from friends of odds and ends

And pretty plants all in a row.