If you look up Anna Dennis, you’ll find she’s described as a “delectable soprano”. I’d like to add that she is also rather good at making compost. She made the best compost I’ve seen all year, albeit unwittingly.
Being a delectable soprano (she’s one of my oldest friends and I’m not going to let delectable go lightly), she spends a lot of time wandering the globe singing delectably (OK, I’ve finished now). Her garden has to be able to look after itself, and it was doing a fine job when I went to visit. Perhaps too good a job: the jasmine was taking over one half while the ivy was enjoying the other. A fuchsia was trying hard to nestle between them for a little light, and the decking? Well, it was there somewhere. It felt a little overwhelming, not somewhere she visited often despite the sun.
After a little chop to the rambunctious vines, it was time to find the decking. There it was, under the old leaves – perfect compost. Well, leaf mould, to be precise: the jasmine and tough old ivy leaves had rotted down to something so soft and lovely, it felt like butter. With no tools to scoop it up, I gathered it between my fingers. I’m not ashamed to say I find the act of plunging my hands into good earth as sensuous as any other pleasure I know. Whether it’s unearthing some well-made compost or sinking my hands into that decking cover, I feel the same tingling euphoria.
Gary Snyder, the American poet and environmentalist, wrote, “Find your place on the planet. Dig in, and take responsibility from there.” Benign neglect produces perfect leaf mould; let that be the lesson. Even when the garden looks unkempt and uncared for, below the surface magic is happening.
I scooped up all the lovely dark leaf mould and top-dressed the odd assortment of pots. Then I took all our prunings and said thank you to plants by stuffing them around their feet to rot down. If you don’t own a compost bin, there is always somewhere you can hide garden prunings – at the base of an overgrown shrub or in a dark corner where no one will ever sit. Chop them up as small as you can, and they will become fresh mulch, quickly utilised by the worms and buried below.
After we’d swept the decks clean and admired our pruning skills, we wandered off around the town to find something to put in the pots. They needed to be tough subjects, and with no garden centre to visit our pickings were slim. We found a creeping rosemary, a sedum and lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis), all drought-tolerant and capable of coping in thin soils. The additional leaf mould will help lock moisture into the soil and keep them happy. The trick with pots that won’t be watered often is to go as big as you can; tiny pots dry out. The following morning, Anna admitted she couldn’t wait to go out and see her garden – and that is all you can ask for, right?
