Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, The dog rests after his walk His paws washed Still smell earthy. He curls foetal Feet under his nose Smelling the earth he came from. It brings a kind of comfort A memory of the walk In the garden of a one-time Eden. Birches white barked and purple topped Bright sun between the clouds Which brought so much rain. He dreams of rabbits and squirrels and chasing sticks He drifts into deep sleep Limbs relax. He twitches and quietly barks As an orchestra plays mellow music Plucked mysteriously from the air. When I smell the earth It smells of God It is where I belong. I am the elements The rain The river The light made manifest. My flesh is a hindrance And all that men reach for To make themselves holy. Why do we forget where we came from? Why is humility so hard to grasp While in the land of the living ? I am alive when I smell the earth Out of death comes life Rich and full of potential. Na...

Dear Monty, As far as I can tell - there was no celebration of the birth of Christ (Messiah) by the early church. This celebration was created in order to coincide with pagan festivals and has now become a sanitised version of who this Christ was. He was born into dangerous times of occupation - of political unrest in the Middle East. A time of expectation, of acts of terror and of dumbing down God. There were factions that were trying to undermine the rule of Rome and there were the local Temple leaders who were actively suppressing revolt. This Christ didn't take sides in this man made struggle. Instead he said that we were all at fault, all corrupt, all in need of something new. There was no difference between the religious and the irreligious - all had missed the point and could not and indeed still cannot solve such issues by political or moral means. Here we are still trying to solve these issues - still applying the same formula - wielding the sword a...

Dear Monty, A long-winded title on a very windy day. I had an elemental walk above Talybont on Tuesday with my good friend, photographer and garden maker Charles Hawes, I have no photographs to show as I have blown up my laptop by plugging in a faulty usb cable! I do share the above sketch made from memory of the startling birches at Blaen y Glyn. I share the account of the walk as written in my journal - along with a walk done at the beginning of the month on the route of the old railway from Swansea to Brecon. I also try to describe the comfort of coming from wilderness into the garden. 10/11/15 Mist Tapestry of yellows, golds, browns and dark greens fading into light. Orange grasses Coal black tip Mist and engines Rivers burns streams Muddy cattle Welsh longhouse Three oaks Stalks of rosebay willowherb Houses and chapel of Caerbont fade into the curtain Abercraf Caehopkin Blond grasses mix with copper No more scent of sulphur in the air The bright...

Monty, I asked you if there was going to be any inspiring garden related programmes broadcast this winter - I was very impressed with the answer and the resulting programme. I have just read an article in the Telegraph written as a result of an interview with you before your promo on The One Show. What strikes me is that your personal views of gardens and garden history are almost at odds with what you present on GW. I picked this up some time ago when listening to you speak at the Hay Festival. I just feel that you have a lot to give in bucking the trend of gardening in a particular style or formulaic way. There are many influences on us as gardeners - and I agree that the more gardens we see, the better we are able to refine our ideas of what kind of garden we want. Making a garden is a glorious way of expressing the creative seed that is in us all. The trouble is when I listen to garden programmes I tend to relax so much I fall asleep. Sometimes I think we are all...

Dear Monty, A poem for Remembrance Sunday Under the cold moon's light The soil remains warm The worm turns and twists It casts off its scent Of damp earth I push tulip bulbs into the soil With bare fingers They will see a new spring While my eyes dim The moon once awesome and bright Weighs down like lead I plant a dumb idol My tongue lights too many fires and the Forests flame Anger eats up life It is a consumer It feeds on judgement And begets more Until it gets fat Ripe for death. Paul

Dear Monty, Today I was saved by the trees - colour, detail, sun and scent Heaven sent Yet in the midst of it - quiet burning How can a man rescue himself ? The gold, yellow, copper The oranges and the reds The crisp leaves underfoot The crystal cold water And yet even being rescued by these - anger still rises I am a profane man The drive home from the park Highlights this heart was formed in the dark Too slow for some too fast for others I cave in to the anger displayed through a car window From peace and joy to a furnace as red as the leaves Shamed, I sit in the garden A flock of crows like flying black rags blown by the wind Flap below the poplar I watch the light and find salvation in it Even for a man like me. Paul.

 Dear Monty, Holidays give time for reflection - here are three illustrated poems inspired by the town of Newport Pembrokeshire. 1. Begotten Today have I begotten you The child feeding the pony an apple over the stile The sun weakly shining over the sea The smile The food and wine shared in a stone cottage above that sea And below the hill of angels. He became a little lower than the angels Today have I begotten you The sun The earth The moon The tide When does it end - This ever learning and never understanding ? When do we rest from our labours or cease from our endless fight ? 2. Bright water Geese flocks noisily feeding Haunting the estuary with their sound Stones stand Norman walls Ancient church These walls have stood for longer than the flesh and blood that built them Perhaps this is why there is desperation and frustration for us mortals who rage To see the pace at which we age The power that once drove us to unite Now ...

Dear Monty, I am cold in throat and bones. Weak sun The garden Italianate in its appearance cheers me Then as if by some mystical communication A post-card from Siena Piazza del Campo From Charles Hawes In another strange parallel He has a cold And the weather breaks I'm looking at winter bones Through thinning leaves - Each season gives generously I'm not melancholy.         Paul

Dear Monty, I am re- reading 'What Are Gardens For ?' By Rory Stuart. I have searched the pages and the index but cannot find - for drying socks. This could be a grave omission on Rory's part or perhaps drying socks or pants or sundry items of clothing and bedding is not meant to be part of garden making and design. I am now having a crisis - what if having a washing line in your garden does not fulfil the ambition of having a garden of merit ? I may have to face up to the truth that the coal-tip cloister garden is just a semi- rural post industrial back yard. But maybe sock drying is an essential element of a living space in which humans, plants and socks co-exist in domestic harmony. I am reminded of the gallery at Hauser & Worth and photographs of the installation of pants on lines taken by Anne Wareham of   veddw.com . Whichever it may be : socks, underpants, knickers - they all have to be accommodated in our outdoor spaces unless we have drying ro...

Dear Montague, In pursuit of a new perspective of my coal-tip garden, I pruned the washing line in error. Nevertheless I have placed a chair in the gap and I think that this is the best Autumnal viewpoint for the garden. Sue took the news well. New perspectives are what keep me alive. Can you imagine how tedious and empty life would be without them. Verging on the sleep of the dead this morning I struggled with the idea of worship. Yesterday I felt the incredible vastness and awe of the pillar of truth. There was a pillar erected by Jacob after he had rested his head upon the stone and then saw a vision of a ladder reaching to heaven. This stone could have been worshipped but it was erected to mark heaven touching earth. In a garden or in the landscape I still feel this heaven - earth connection. Yesterday a dragonfly rested on my arm as I sat in the sun with a cup of tea. I was able to marvel at its intricacy and was humbled by being its perch. That was a connecting mo...

Dear Monty, I agree that many of our gardens are like woodland clearings, but perhaps a significant number are not, and garden makers with small urban plots would struggle to see the connection perhaps. But even in small urban gardens or even balconies - the principles of shade, and semi- shade and dry areas would apply. If the population of speckled wood butterflies is anything to go by, then the coal-tip cloister garden is definitely a woodland clearing. The speckled wood may not be the most colourful butterfly - but it is one of my favourites. It has a green iridescence on its thorax and abdomen and cream speckles on a nut brown background on the upper wing surface. I have sold my speckled wood paintings - so it is time for another. On Sunday we visited another 'woodland clearing' in the form of Montpelier Cottage - the home and garden of  noels-garden.blogspot.com  just within your beautiful county of Herefordshire. Noel and Jo Elliot open their garden with...