Somehow along life’s way, I don’t know when, where or how, I unconsciously decided that to be a proper gardener with a proper garden you needed to be growing camellias. Maybe it was down to an early visit to the Christchurch Botanical Gardens or the plethora of Girl Guide service projects to flashy homes on the other side of town to pull weeds or ‘pass around trays’. Whatever, I first became aware of this core belief when, doing that all this is ours…oh, and the banks walk around our new home (Hamilton, 1995), those exact words fell out of mouth. Oh and I was so proud of those two camellias on the front lawn…right up until a visitor pointed out they were badly sited, incorrectly pruned and basically down-right lucky to be alive. From then on…well, they were source of embarrassment; a very loud and visual proof of my gardening shammery . Oh yes, I was a delicate flower *ahem*

Over the intervening years, I have worked hard on adopting the whole every day’s a school day approach to growing things; actually, to life in general. I read heaps, google, asked questions, secretly try, loudly experiment, dream and often dig over and try again. I’m still working on not being embarrassed when my lack of know-how becomes blindingly obvious but I like to think I’m getting there. I mean, I now know in my soul that camellias are really not the mark of a great gardener on account of having them put on their annual show of grandness in every one of our gardens since those two heady Hamilton days; all with very little effort from me.

It’s taken a long time for me to get that the earth actually wants to grow stuff. Of course, the more you know and implement the better your results, but generally if you take the time to pretty up a bit of ground, heave out the weeds, dig it over, maybe work in a bit of compost or the likes, be reasonable about what you plant, remember to water it semi-regularly…nine times out of ten, the thing will grow! It may not be the lushest, most perfect specimen but it’ll still grow. And if it’s broccoli or silverbeet or beans or the like you’ll probably get some meals out of it, or at the very least something to throw in a pasta sauce or add a bit of interest to the leftover’s fry up. It’s truly not rocket science.

As regular readers will remember, I’ve had a bit of a time lately with bits of me not wanting to work properly and, as a result, I ended up missing the whole autumnal garden clean up where I rip around hauling out the bigger weeds and chopping things back. In short, save the essential bits of the vegetable garden, the Homestead gardens were a mess. Now that I’m a bit more human – and able to stand – I’m trying to beat things back into some semblance of order. Far from being a sobfest of a job it’s been something of a wonder to see how, without any input from me at all, things have just rolled along.

Sure, there’s a fair bit of gunk on the lemon tree…but there’s also lemons and the baby bay tree I nurtured from a stolen twig is still a tad diminutive but, when I hauled out the twice-it’s-height weeds, it was still there. The plums are blossoming despite their lack of pruning, the daffodils are up, the camellias are flowering, buds are bursting, leaves unfurling and in the herb garden, the most neglected as it was the next up on the perpetual garden clock when it all came crashing down, everything is business as usual.

Something I did have time for though, as I waited for my body to fix itself, was the internet…and I started to get a bit angry. It seemed that everything I read about growing stuff started with the person shelling out large wads of cash on specialised gear, soil treatments, and fancy gadgets. I loath the act of withholding knowledge; you know, making stuff seem way more tricky-to-impossible for ordinary folk to do, and it seems gardening is ultra-prone to it. The whole “your time is worth more” deal annoys me, too; it takes as long as you can give it. I’m proof that anyone can do this gardening lark – and in this weird place the world is in at the moment, it pays to.

Sometimes other things, like getting the sheep shorn, is priority. Pah! The garden keeps growing

Now, there are folk whose gardens are works of art. Their plants stand tall and proud, bug free and groaning with bounty, be it flowers, fruit or vegetables. They know when to plant what next to what and they are a wonder to me. I will never be one of them, try as I might but it doesn’t matter. See, we’ve come to an understanding, my garden and I. It will always be a hotch potch of hit and miss, hidden pretty, foraging amongst the weeds, give the vegetables a thorough rinse and once-over before they become dinner type of deal, but there will always (with a creative eye on the menu) be enough to feed the Homestead.

It all comes down to expectation, remembering every day’s a school day and not listening to the knowledge hogs.