Alice Stolz: The power and hope of the backyard garden

It’s finally happened. I feel like I am in the throes of becoming a proper grown up; I am just about to be the proud owner of a real garden.

This is something I have longed for for an inordinate amount of time. We had plans done years ago, but after we did our small-ish renovation, we had to draw breath and pull in the purse strings before we could tackle the outside of the house.

These plans pulled me through six lockdowns, they provided a distraction through many days and nights sitting outside in what was ostensibly a dry and barren patch of clay – a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel at what might one day be.

Readers who know me are aware I love nothing more than having trades onsite. My husband, one of the most lovely men in the world, is not a handyman, nor a landscaper.

So the joy of having capable, qualified and dependable trades around is worth the effort of making multiple cups of tea along with doling out all the apple and walnut scrolls they can eat. Bless these men.

And without sounding like I want to hug every tree I now see, I’ve realised though that what I’m looking forward to most is the notion of hope that I think this garden will bring.

I’m looking forward to getting to know this new space in my home. To start the day or come home from work and water the plants and see what’s been happening in my own literal backyard.

I’m also hoping it might bring a gentleness to the lives of my children. A cocooning space for them to unwind in and to enjoy. Maybe they’ll even tend to it with me… a stretch too far? We’ll see.

And I know there will be frustration and inevitable melancholy with plants that ‘fail to thrive’. I know there will be endless blisters and probably a sore back, but I’m determined to give this my best efforts.

If you want me, you’ll know where I’ll be.