The New World Gardener


If I don't own an aged tree, I am given a list of nurseries that create "pre-aged" trees and I am assured that I will not miss the silverware that I will have to sell to pay for it. Think of the time I will save not having to clean the knives and forks. I will be able to spend hours sitting on the concrete armchair, in the patio, and contemplate my Queendom. All those young trees I have planted, so lovingly over the past fourteen years, will make wonderful mulch, chopped up by the electric muncher [There goes the genuine four poster bed] and, I am ordered, those dead shrubs must stay, they will look wonderful spray painted bright blue.



I scanned this photo from the cover of the journal of the "Royal Horticulture Society" - "The Garden"

I am reprimanded, most severely, for falling in love with so many living plants with wonderful, scented blooms. I am told to choose five species or less and plant these and only these in my "new" garden.

I replace the books on my coffee table and sit, worried and perplexed. Rebellion is in my heart. I look over to the hastily gathered lilies that are perfuming the room. I glance out the window and note that the roses are excelling themselves this Autumn. I can already feel that Summer is over. A subtle change of mood is creeping into the garden. Will I note the seasonal changes in my modern garden? Will I hear the birds telling each other that Winter is not too far away? Will I welcome the Autumn rains after the exceptionally dry Summer? What will I do with my time? No more deadheading, no more weeding, no more secret visits to my favourite Nursery friends, which means no more chats on the seeds collected on the South African trip. No more backaches and will my arthritis vanish with my plants? I will be able to grow my finger nails again and paint them blue, to go with my lurid dead branch sculptures.

And what may I call myself? Horticulturist is out, too many water loving plants. I am certainly not a landscaper, someone else created "my" garden. I will be unable to call myself a gardener, I will no longer be able to garden. I know, I shall call myself a "new naturalist" and tell

The copyright of the article The New World Gardener in Tasmanian Gardening is owned by Gay Klok. Permission to republish The New World Gardener in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.

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