I am sure that I am not the only one who is currently feeling a sort of grief every time they look out at their garden. I have felt immeasurably lucky over the last few years to be blessed with a large garden. It has been my sanctuary, my nemesis, my workout, my joy and my healing, many times over. But at this time of heat and drought, I feel the pain of sap drying in stems, petals curling and falling before full colour has blushed, and the tightening and constricting of green just as assuredly as I feel the sharp prick and spike of dead grass under my bare feet.
Things I have planted, pruned, tamed and nurtured, I now mutter apologies to as I pass them: “I just can’t water you all,” I say. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
We prioritise the food; peas, courgettes, onions, potatoes – anything we are going to eat gets watered – but still, it is not enough. Beans that normally flourish all through August stopped producing before the month began. The flower borders near the house and the pots on the patio get an irregular dousing from grey water we collect from the sink. Again, it is just not enough.
It is not about aesthetics. Of course, it is far more pleasant to look out on colour and vibrancy, but it is as ever, the breaking of the chain. No plants producing pollen and nectar – no insects. No insects – less food for birds. Fruit dropping off early and unripe – again leading to famine for wildlife. We move up the chain; no insects – no pollination – no food – for us.
I feel that since an early age I have been scared and worried for the world. At the age of about nine and without fully understanding what it was all about really, but with a sense that it was important, I did a sponsored walk for wildlife. I bought ‘save the whales’ notepads and when peers were wearing band t-shirts, I had ones about global warming. But this is the first time I have ever felt that perhaps we have gone too far to turn back. I always had a slight militant feeling that the world could be saved; but now I’m not so sure and my heart breaks for my niece and nephews because I don’t know what world they will have to grow into.
But, it is a funny thing that despite this fear and grief I find myself collecting seeds. To collect seeds is still to hold hope. It is a way to try and preserve what can be saved from this year to try again. It may be that we have irrevocably lost some of our plants and that we might have to rethink what is going to be possible to grow in the years to come. For now, I can do nothing about that. But I can hope and so I will keep collecting seeds and as an invocation to carry on and to encourage you to do so too; I will leave you with the beautiful spell of their names:
Clary, aquilegia, salvia, snapdragon, nigella, sweet peas, silver moon
