Letters to garden makers

Falling down mountains Dear Montagu Don, 'The bows of the warriors are broken but those who stumbled are armed with strength ' Stumbling along from day to day. I tripped up again today - all concentration and one momentary lapse and a mistake is made. Sacrifice - the prophet talked of sacrifice - I have to accept my stumbling and the stumbling of others. I have just watched the incredible journey of those with dementia from lucidity to a closed down fragmentary world. The beauty was in the simple lucid moments - more intense for their rarity. That is love - that is being armed with strength. 27/4/12 I saw you wading in the pond on GW. I may not make the Hay Festival this year - but if I do I have a question. You mentioned in a recent article promoting your new book Gardening at Longmeadow - that your garden has now become like 'work' for you, so to escape you go to your hill farm. That must be difficult - because gardens are a place of refuge - does this

Monty, In response to reading your article in 'Country Living' May 2012 They say that life is a journey, I do not know where I am going. Am I looking for a city with foundations? Abraham went even though he did not know where he was going. 'Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.' Something ancient - this journey is something ancient. It is linked to things we cannot even remember, there is all but a faint trace of it in our genes - a genetic memory if you like, which links us to the earth, sea and sky even to beyond the molecular. This is why perhaps we experience the rush of endorphins when we see with our fleshly eyes the beauty of a Spring morning - new leaves the new green of Spring, the scents of fresh growth after the rain, and the sight of traces of snow on the hill tops. Clouds racing, purple, grey and then sudden bright blue sky. Yesterday we looked over your beloved c

Monty, I am looking at a postcard of Woldgate Tree May 2006 by David Hockney, it is reminiscent of Van Gogh and early Mondrian. Trees are such amazing life forms. People have used trees as centres for worship and have been as much a landmark and symbol of power as have standing stones. Cedars of Lebanon , Oaks of Sechem, Deborahs Palm and the trees at Mamre. Mysterious wisdom. There is no room for mystery or fable now. I admit I have rambled too much about our increasing leaning to science as the only truth, and I would be a fool to suggest that science hasn't improved living standards beyond the dreams of many of our ancestors. Am I a fool ? (ok don't answer that ! ) but a life without faith and mystery means that the only truth is what is before our eyes. Trees, yes trees speak to me of something mysterious...I have discovered that thinking like this means I have a medieval mind. I see nature as a reflection of the spiritual. My garden even on 'National Garden

Dear Monty, Damien Hirst, my sin and the garden. Damien Hirst : clever really this play on our mortality - life death life death - inescapable cycle. The green neon pharmacy cross - symbol of the salvation of our bodies, the preservation of function through the use of drugs. Brightly coloured pills brightly coloured dots - eye candy to brighten the souls journey. There is a kind of vacuum. We cannot grasp life or death, it just happens. Friends who we haven't seen for 10 years, artist friends, visited us last weekend. Ruth said that their lives had not turned out the way they thought they would, and this is the way life is, a struggle sometimes. Even when life is not a struggle in physical or financial terms - there is still a question mark. Damien with his great wealth (which is used not just for himself) cannot secure anything - he cannot guarantee life or escape death - and so wealth is in that sense meaningless. Meaningless meaningless everything is meaningless said the

Dear Monty, Please forgive my ignorant misspelling of your name in previous blog posts.(I still actually believe you read this stuff...sad really) There is always something to do in a garden, this afternoon (an April shower afternoon with warmish sunny spells) - it is planting out hardened off seedlings. Gardening gives me a sense of purpose to life that is in itself life-enhancing. Big or small, amateur or professional, gardens have the ability to make us feel more alive. Yes some will be more to our taste than others, but our gardens are just that, our own intimate private space. I think people who open their gardens to public scrutiny are very brave. It must be like opening up your self to scrutiny much like when an artist presents her/his work in a gallery. I would be terrified for you to see my garden Monty, but you are welcome to come and have a cup of tea anytime. PS if anyone would like to have a cup of tea in my garden, let me know and I'll put the kettle on, bu

Dear Montagu Don, This is my 26th letter to you, this one is about Easter. Easter : Chocolate rabbits, fluffy chicks and Easter eggs, maybe some new clothes, a 'run' in the car and some gardening. Oh and telly of course. Easter used to mean something a bit more offensive, it was about the celebration of a death and resurrection. The festival is no longer celebrated by the majority of people in this country, but it is celebrated sometimes in gruesome ways in other parts of Europe and the Latin world. Are we missing something? In the aforementioned places the celebration is of Christ. We have forgotten Christ Jesus, or he has become an embarrassment to our politically correct society which believes everything and nothing. Having said that, science is the new god, and 'evidence' is its new mantra. So why do I bother at all with this Christ? What does this man's death, burial and ressurrection mean now in this evidence obsessed society, where is truth? Pilat