As a working mother it can be immensely difficult to find the time to garden for myself. The pottering of pre-children life is a thing of memory. More likely you’ll see me bounding around my garden racing to get anything done, as the baby naps and my five year old bounces on the trampoline. These hastily stolen half hour slots are governed by (usually late) deadlines of seasonal jobs; autumn and spring bulb planting, seed sowing, re-potting and much neglected weeding are today’s reality. I am immensely lucky that Jules, my long suffering partner is a gardener too, and though I truly feel that I should better pull my weight outdoors at home, he will sneak in and do those jobs that I simply don’t have time (or energy) to accomplish.
Though the weeds are taking hold at home, the carcasses of snow crushed perennials are creeping across the deck, and one hundred Allium ‘Purple Sensation’ are now mouldy and withered, my family are worth this garden neglect and I know that my garden will have to wait.
Which is why I am lucky that at work, in the calm of my office, I can plan gardens for others. Here, I am industrious. Here a terrace can be laid in five different finishes through the course of an afternoon, ornament is changed with the turn of a page, maintenance free borders planted within the confines of my head can crash with infinite combinations of texture and flower, all almost satisfying my need for my own gardens change.
And though I’m not physically gardening; without the clock ticking, or guilt, I feel close to it; that the itch has been scratched. Then I’m off home again to cook the evenings supper and wallow in the chattering, giggly gorgeousness of my babes whilst my garden is tucked up patiently in its blanket of darkness. And in biding my time until my next half hour gardening slot, who knows what my garden will deliver.
Whatever it is, I bet its worth the wait.