Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, The truth is we are all losing, perhaps that is why we get so angry with the world ? Loss is a painful thing. We lose time - we cannot slow it or stop it. We grow older day by day second by second. We lose vitality and function, We lose lovers, friends, parents, siblings. We cannot hold on to any material thing. The garden is lost once the hands that created it become infirm I lose plants to viruses, And the view is lost to trees. So how should I cope with the knowledge of loss ? Live as much as is possible, appreciate that what we have is passing through our fingers. Appreciate relationships, friendships, souls. I have to let go - even of all the things and people I love I let go of hills, butterflies, blue sky, flag irises, trees Heron Bees The sun And stars. Your thoughts are higher than mine The hills will burst forth in song I lose myself in peace. Paul

Dear Monty, As you know I opened the garden under the National Gardens Scheme   www.ngs.org.uk  last weekend. It was a positive experience on the whole, apart from one visitor who suggested that if I was to open next year I should do some weeding. Perfection is not resident here in this house, garden or soul. Weeds are now a part of my vision of the imperfect perfection. I do not strive. The light made me change direction - sudden light which lit up blues and greens, yellows and purples. There were bees and birds - a chorus of approval. What was before me in this garden was imperfect beauty. 'Weeds' made up the tapestry of colour and fed the bees with nectar. The thing is, all types of garden can be perfection in our own minds eye, but the bee is less discriminating and the butterfly needs its weeds. I love gardens of all kinds. Paul

Dear Monty, June has been a frenetic month both in the garden in terms of growth and in my life. Rosamund Davies visited the garden on the last day of May - perhaps it was the anticipation of the visit and the gnawing doubt about its ability to speak the message that I have been trying to carve out in it - that made my dreams the night before so vivid. Dreams are another landscape - another life not of the material. A strange level of existence outside of all things tangible. We dominate this earth - we have grand visions and great ideas all of which begin within our soft encased brain - all electricity, fluid and synapse. Our lives are miraculous, strange and awesome. God be in them even if we are unaware of such an existence - or whether we know the name or where the presence dwells. Perhaps the name should not even be uttered. Back in the land of the living - this tortuous land where we hear of such violence - perpetrated on behalf of one name over and above anothe...

Dear Monty, Yes gardens can be whatever your idea of a garden is. I see them as an opportunity for creativity. I have been looking more closely at the natural 'gardens' of the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path and the lush hedgerows. They are truly inspiring. In some places peoples gardens spill over into the hedgerows with a natural blending of natives and introduced plants. Nature does a good job of gardening. What is noticeable though are the areas where farmland grasses border with the paths - and there is much less diversity here. The grasses are green and lush with few native plants. Perhaps this is due to nitrogen ? There is an example of hedgerow and garden blending on the front wall of the cottage we stay at called : 'Nantyblodaubach '- yes John Kingdon that is how it is written ! I did a poor sketch of it - but it is enough info to inform a new fresco. The cottage sits on a quiet lane leading up to Carn Ingli. Moving cattle on Carn Ingl...

Dear Monty, Today I would have been meeting Rosamund in my garden. The Clematis is flowering for her along with the Rhododendron complementing Montana's palest pink - white blooms. Alas Rosamund is not coming and so the wait continues - but will the garden bloom for her ? Her seat in the cloister awaits. Rosamund is from the National Gardens Scheme - I await her visit anxiously - rescheduled for the end of May. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sitting in warm sun - sudden heat, New leaves Birdsong mixes with children's voices - echoing afternoon playtime from the village school on the hill. Crow, hover fly, bumble bees, thrush thrum. The wind not carrying the sound of cars today A gentle day One which could pass for peace. Buds break on the Norwegian maple from what seemed dead branches The miracle of the green fuse. -----------------------------------...

Dear Monty, I am no poet But blood and bones Bag and rattle I sometimes slosh this body over hills And the crow in my carapace picks at its own failings sharp beaked Hills disappear The leaden mist drops heavy in my head Dull day Disasters loom I am a Saul Doomed to failure I see it like a prophecy But then the light bursts through the dread dark and soilish damp Bursting with bud and fruity potential.

Dear Monty, This Spring weekend was not what was forecast. Instead of cold wind and rain - warm sunshine and hope in the veins - enough hope for this day - as this day counts as do all days. We walked a part of the hills that we have not walked in our 20 years here, with the staff and friends of our local GP surgery and their dogs. A walk for health organised by Gail Edwards. The familiar valley and surrounding hills were seen from a different perspective. Walking is good not just for the body but for the soul, walking with other fellow humans also strenghens what it is to be human and the need for companionship. Dogs also need walking ! This morning I felt more alive after yesterdays walk. I danced and sung with the chickens - like the fool I am - I feel sorry for my neighbours. Spring has started late here in the Upper Tawe Valley, but it is such a welcome sight again. Every year when the plants wake up - it is as though I have never seen them b...