Well, it’s a one for the money, two for the show, three to get planting and go-go-go. When your gardener is named after the King, there’s no way your garden can’t be a showbiz spectacular. By Sarah Rice
I know that most of you think gardening is about growing plants, stressing about aphids and figuring out what the instructions mean when they say “shade and sun loving”. What is that exactly? Dappled shade? Under a shade cloth? Morning sun? Just a picky plant that doesn’t really know what it wants?
Plants that announce themselves as “shade and sun loving” are the herbaceous equivalent of people who like “the vibe of the city and the calm of the country”. Make a choice! You can’t have both.
Unfortunately, not one plant in my garden has declared itself a lover of the strong, gusty wind that travels, dervish-like, down the side of houses under Devil’s Peak. But plants not communicating well aside, no-one ever mentioned how closely gardening resembles a theatre production, especially in my house.
For instance. costumes play a critical role. As I walked into the nursery with my two kids, an important question sprang to mind: What does a gardener wear? What did we need to feel like we were truly stepping into the role of “people who are one with the earth?”
Gardening gloves! After 20 minutes of discussion (ie. Me saying NO a lot) we settled on matching gloves in green, blue and pink. The galoshes tempted us, especially as I have always felt the difference between a proper gardener and someone who waters their lawn is set of designer gumboots.
I have promised myself a pair if 50% of the things that I – okay, okay, Elvis -planted are still alive by the end of March.
On arriving home, the theatre really started. My son and I put on our gloves and got to work. My daughter put on her gloves.
And…that was it.
She stood there…
In her gloves…and stared as the rest of us, including Elvis-the-actual-gardener, did the work.
After about 15 minutes she declared herself exhausted by the activity and went to make a snack. Elvis, my son and I were the stage hands, preparing for space. The girl child had fallen easily into her role as diva.
After her snack, she spent the next hour walking around with Sebastian Happy, our gnome. The name, as you probably already suspect, is a compromise between Sebastian, my son’s choice, and Mr Happy, my daughter’s.
Anyway, she then proceeded to walk around the garden and put Sebastian Happy in a number of spots, until 45 minutes later she declared that she had found the perfect one.
Then, exhausted by the creative process, she went to recoup with a game of Candy Crush.
The stage hands continued to plant, compost, dig and water until late into the afternoon.
She has since agreed that the garden is an improvement, but that there aren’t really ENOUGH plants.
I used the word “budget”, but the diva, not wanting to be trifled by material realities, had already turned away and was deciding where the fairy garden should be.
Leave a Reply