It's been a sad week and a half. A boy, my son's age, who we knew, died suddenly, unexpectedly. It's easy to forget about mortality when life is going on all around you. The sun always comes up in the morning and the earth keeps on spinning. But then it doesn't.
I'm reading a book that Derek Jarman wrote, about his garden in Dungeness, Kent. He started the garden in 1986. Derek wrote the book, I believe, when he was sick and knew he wouldn't recover. It's a book that celebrates life and growing and creativity.
The book came at just the right time. I needed a tonic, something real and heartfelt and simple, that'd banish all the froufrou photos of tulips on Instagram and the smug designer gardens in the magazines and people who think that everything must match and be neat. I needed something that wasn't someone skiting or selling something or some cheesy life hack. 'Derek Jarman's Garden' is an antidote to all of that. I urge you to read it if you haven't.
Many gardeners are familiar with Derek Jarman's house and garden: his black cottage with its marigold coloured windows standing in a dead-flat shingled landscape, populated with carefully arranged plants and sculptures. The garden is fenceless and seamlessly joins the stark landscape that goes on and on for miles. The nuclear power station is on the horizon. It looks like an ocean liner that's run aground. I've never been to that part of Kent. My husband has, his parents had a cottage, not far from Dungeness, which they'd visit on weekends, driving down from London. That was back in the 80s. Maybe they were there, windsurfing and swimming and riding the miniature railway while Derek was collecting flint and making gorse circles.
My brother-in-law loved that part of Kent. He talked about the shingle and how bright the pebbles were: orange and white and light grey. He remembered all the pinkish-red flowers that grew wild, which he googled and found they were called valerian. Valerian grows wild on the hillsides of Wellington - no doubt considered a pest. I don't care, it's beautiful.
Derek Jarman was an artist in may different mediums. He was a filmmaker, a painter and theatre designer. He approached the creation of his garden at 'Ness', as he called it, with the same discerning eye, the same creative spirit, that he used when he made movies or painted pictures.
Derek Jarman wrote fondly about the wild plants at Dungeness: sea kale Crambe maritima, gorse, valerian, perennial pea, broom,elder, fennel, vipers bugloss and dog roses. These plants weren't valued by others, either because they were weeds or they grew like weeds. Derek appreciated them for their beauty and ability to grow in a difficult environment. He says, 'The easterlies are the worst; they bring salt spray which burns everything. The westerlies only give a battering. We have the strongest sunlight, the lowest rainfall, and two less weeks of frost than the rest of the U.K. Dungeness...is the largest shingle formation, with Cape Canaveral, in the world.'
You might not have noticed, but the title of Derek Jarman's book is written in lower case...I like that. The book like the title is informal, unpretentious, honest, from-the-heart and unsentimental. It's a-gardeners-book. There is much to inspire even the most timid of gardeners. He worked with what he had and what he found. The photographs, taken by his friend Howard Sooley, are wonderful. They span the years 1991 to 1994, when Derek Jarman died at the age of 52.
Derek loved gardens that were wild. 'If a garden isn't shaggy, forget it,' he says. He introduced many plants to his garden: santolina, California poppies, opium poppies, snow drops, allium, hyacinths, cornflowers, wallflowers, pinks, scabious, artichoke, cardoon, lavatera, foxglove, geranium, marigold, sweet pea, cistus, iris, artemisia, sedum, borage, rosemary, verbena, rue, evening primrose, sage and parsley. He chose plants that survived and looked 'right' in the landscape. He tried daffodils and declared, 'certain plants do not fit in...King Alfreds look like mutton dressed as lamb - I have a clump that I'm going to pull up any day.'
Colour was important too, he writes, 'Gertrude Jekyll's observations about the use of colour in gardens are nowhere more apposite than here.'
On Sunday I visited Makara Beach with my family. It's a fifteen minute drive from home. I was thinking about Derek Jarman's garden while I walked along the beach, looking at the driftwood and seaweed that had washed up. Admiring all the plants that manage to grow in such a sun-bleached windswept place. The beach is steep and stony. The smooth rocks tumble and clatter with each retreating wave. The hills drop straight down onto the beach and are so steep they give me vertigo looking up at them. The wild goats, which were absent, have no trouble clambering up the rocks and near-vertical grassy slopes.
I have a courtyard at home that I'm turning into my beach garden. It's made in memory of my grandmother and Waihi beach where she lived. Like all gardens it's a work in progress - so much more needs to be done. The courtyard garden is one and a half years old. Some parts of it get only a few hours of sun while other parts get a good five hours.
I bought two Luculia tsetensis plants last year and planted both in the courtyard (one in a pot and the other in a small garden). They've produced lovely big leaves but no flowers over summer. This plant is supposed to able to be grown in a pot, maybe they're in the wrong spot. I might transplant one of these bushes into my front garden, where it's roots won't be constrained, and see what happens.
I have to put broken pots and sticks in this garden to stop my dog from lying on it and squashing it. The birds do a good job of digging up most of the mulch and spreading it over the pavers.
The pink pineapple lily was disappointing. I bought my first plant two year ago. It produced a washed-out looking flower this year. Then I bought three more pink pineapple lilies last year and they didn't flower at all. I don't know what I'm going to do...move them?