The People Shall Garden

A friend who works at a gardening magazine and I were talking the other day about the culture around South African gardening, and why, at times, it makes us want to tear our hair out. It all came home to me today when I went to the local nursery to pick up some potting soil and seedlings. I must have been the youngest person there by about 20 years. And, as my friend says “You should see the blue-rinses at the national rose conventions.” This is something she and I have both experienced again and again.

So where are all the young South African gardeners? Where are the people my age who like to get outside, and get dirt under their nails and just experience the magic of making things grow? We’re blessed to live in a country with exquisite weather and plenty of space, where people can have gardens. Why aren’t young people making them? There must be people who spend their weekends grubbing in the garden and going clubbing. Gardening isn’t a fusty past-time for geriatrics in comfy shoes and cardigans. It’s something intensely rewarding, not just for the person doing the work, but for anyone who sees it too. It’s also great exercise and, most importantly, it matters. It matters because it’s a way for a single person to fight back against the concrete and tarmac, and the big walls and electric fences. It matters because it’s a way for a single person to add something to the space around them, something that changes with the seasons and the sunlight, and reminds us that we actually live in a climate. It matters because it’s a way for a single person to actually have an impact on the earth that, for once, isn’t negative – gardens are good for the planet – hell, we should all be growing something, even if it’s in a pot. And it matters because there is no joy quite like going outside, looking at something you’ve planted, and seeing it grow. It’s the simplest pleasure in the world.

I’m not sure if it’s because, in this country, we still have a very traditional view of what makes a garden (lawn + strict beds of white roses = garden). Maybe it’s because the sad and complicated history of our society means that gardening often consisted of white employers telling black labourers what to do, so gardening wasn’t something that kids did with their parents and learnt to love. Maybe it’s because, in most of our gardening magazines, the writing is boring, technical and prescriptive, and just alienates people, and we have yet to build a vibrant community of bloggers and writers who say what they think. Whatever the reasons, I think it’s time for a change.

So this is my plan: This year, I’m going to talk about gardening whenever I can. At parties, at work, on this blog, to my friends and family. I’m going to ask questions, get things wrong, try to get things right, share seeds and ideas and plans with whoever might be interested. I can’t promise that I’ll cause a revolution, but hopefully, I can get some people excited…