The Gift of the Garden: Learning to Love the Land as it Loves You

I’ve recently been reading ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’ by Robin Wall Kimmerer. It’s a book that I’d recommend for a variety of reasons. The book is a series of essays that advocate for a more reciprocal relationship between humans and nature. Robin Wall Kimmerer is a botanist, and member of the indigenous North American tribe, the Potawatomi. The book is based on a metaphor of ‘braiding’ three distinct strands of knowledge: indigenous wisdom, scientific objectivity and personal stories.

It’s a refreshing read as is moves away from the sense of guilt that might often be associated with conservation and environmentalism, towards a message of gratitude and ‘joyful work’.

“Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift.”

In the chapter ‘The Epiphany of Beans’ Kimmerer talks of a realisation that she has whilst hoeing between rows of beans. As a gardener, and allotmenteer, this is a scene I know well. Keeping a veg patch free of weeds can be a menial task, but it can also be a mindful one. The realisation that Kimmerer arrives at is that the love of a garden, and all of nature, is not a one way street. Just as the gardener loves the garden, the garden offers love back. The gardener tends the land, removes weed, adds compost, waters etc, and the garden returns fruit, veg and beauty.

My own love of gardening was inherited from my parents. We were lucky enough to have a large garden at the back of our family home. A long and narrow plot on a deceiving gradient that was, and is, divided into several vaguely themed zones.

The pond that used to be directly outside the back of the house, next to which I would spend hours pondering the tadpoles, water boatmen and dragonflies,  went a few years ago in favour of an extension. After the pond, an ornamental area (which now holds another pond) has always contained an abundance of trees, shrubs and perennials. The greenhouses are next. Then the wildlife area, including another, more natural pond and a small meadowlike area where native wildflower seeds have been scattered, purposefully and naturally. Beyond this is the workshop. And at the very top an area with an array of sheds, in various states of dereliction. Within this area chickens have been kept for many years, and, in the past, ducks, quails and pheasants, too. It’s a garden that does not seek perfection but it has always been a labour of love for my parents.

As a teenager I would be requested to help out in the garden, sometimes willingly, sometime reluctantly. Whether it was digging holes for new trees, removing the roots of old trees, helping out with the watering, tending to seedlings or any of the other copious jobs a garden of this nature creates.

I realise now, on reflection, that this was an education. Not just an education in growing food and maintaining a garden; my parents were teaching me how to be connected with this patch of earth, and consequently, connected with the whole earth. The education was a mixture of practical skills, inherited knowledge, an unspoken respect for the cycles of life and decay and an appreciation of what the garden offered us in return - it’s love.

A part of my story exists within that garden, and the story continues now that I have my own. I have inherited my parent’s preference for an informal garden that serves both practical and aesthetic purposes, but also creates habitat for our wild neighbours. There’s a pond (no tadpoles yet), there’s a small meadow-like area, there are trees (native, ornamental and fruit) and there’s a greenhouse. I don’t have chickens, as yet, there is still more convincing to be done on that. I have a rule that no pesticides or herbicides are used. This means more work, but I try to subscribe to the ‘joyful work’ philosophy as I do it.

I’m aware that I can always do better at looking after the world we live in, we all can, but I’m trying not to feel guilty. Small gestures add up, and I hope that, in looking after this small patch of land, I am giving returning a gift to nature and reciprocating it’s love.

Nature therapy often begins with a change in perspective. If you’re feeling overwhelmed and disconnected from the world, I invite you to ask these two questions:

·        What is one small thing the earth has given you today? (a moment of birdsong, the smell of a flower, the veg on your plate)

·        How might you return the gift? (it doesn’t have to be a grand gesture – a quiet “thank you”, feeding the birds, watering the garden)

Get in touch if you’d like to explore how nature-based therapy can support you mental health and wellbeing, or if you’re in need of restoring your connection with the land, and with yourself.