Things I know about gardening
People have been suggesting to me recently that I must know more about gardening than I pretend.
I don’t think this is true, but I suppose it is not the kind of thing on which a judgement can sensibly be made. When the amount to be known is infinite, we are all ignorant no matter how much we have learned, if you see what I mean.
A wise friend of mine once said to me that the best thing about being over forty is that one has at least worked out what one is good at. Well, I’m over 40, and so I think I am qualified to say that I am not particularly good at gardening, but I am good at enjoying gardening, and that I begin to understand what gardening is about.
What do I know about it? I know that one should care for the soil, rather than for the plants. Good soil solves almost everything.
I know that bird netting is very expensive and very difficult to untangle from trees, and that currawongs are not scared of scarecrows or anything else much. I know it is best to be philosophical about sharing the fruit with the birds.
I know that snails fizz after they have eaten snail bate.
I know how to make a good compost heap.
I know that goats love eating blackberry thickets.
I know that parsnip seed must be very, very fresh, and that no seed manufacturer can cope with this requirement satisfactorily. I know that mushroom compost is very alkaline – good for onions and garlic and cabbage, very bad for tomatos and camellias. I know that inconsistent watering of tomatoes causes blossom end rot. I know that gladioli must be staked, and that Bordeaux mix is the thing for curly leaf in peaches.
I am realising that it is true to say I know quite a lot, really. And I know nothing at all.
Most of all, I know that I am at my best in the garden. That there are times when the gods speak through the muck and the seed and the reliable miracle of growth, decay and resurrection.
I know that most gardeners are humble.