Member-only story
Gardener’s Pledge: Forest Garden
719.
Recently I invited somebody I admire to come and look at the scene of devastation that is my garden — though bluebells are starting to come through. His name is Simon Miles and he owns the Forest Garden Falmouth — 3.28 wild and untidy acres up a dark and mysterious lane. He sells plants, does tours of the Forest Garden and also designs and consults for other people.
In fact the Forest Garden is only wild and untidy to ignorant eyes like mine. It’s full of carefully arranged bushes and trees and vines all of which provide tasty food (though I didn’t like the Szichuan pink peppers).
Really I should know better. My father, who was a judge, had a wildflower garden. Not for him tulips dressed by the right. He loved wildflowers and fifty years before it was fashionable, he let them grow, even dandelions, while toiling gardeners all around snorted at him and complained about his weeds.
He mowed the lawn (or had it mowed) but that was about all. I think my mother pruned the roses. He got very angry when a gardener hired by my mother snipped off some lovely yellow roses that were growing defiantly through a yew tree.
Simon came to look at my garden which had been cleared of brambles and bindweed and madly looping roses by two hardy women.
