When I put the offer in on what is now my house, I was beyond excited. I mean, I was getting a two-bedroom house with a front garden, a back garden and parking for less than the one bed flat I’d just pulled out of buying in London. It felt like I’d somehow beaten the system.
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my house and where I live. But if I’m being honest, perhaps I should have paid a little more attention to the gardens before signing on the dotted line.
I’d never have described myself as a gardener. In fact, I was firmly in the camp of people who admired other people’s gardens while contributing absolutely nothing to the hobby themselves. Then I inherited a back garden that’s roughly 60 feet by 15 feet, complete with two enormous flower beds measuring 21 feet by 9 feet each.
Yes, really. Twenty-one feet by nine feet.
Who exactly needs flower beds that size? More importantly, who thought it was a good idea to leave them in the care of someone whose previous gardening experience consisted mainly of buying the occasional supermarket basil plant and hoping for the best?
Fast forward to June and, seven months after moving in, I have finally managed to clear the majority of the weed-filled jungle that was masquerading as my back garden.
What I’ve learned during this process is that gym memberships are entirely unnecessary. Gardening will find muscles you didn’t even know existed and make them ache in ways that should probably be illegal. There have also been several occasions where I’ve come dangerously close to launching myself into next door’s garden after enthusiastically jumping on a spade, only to discover a hidden brick, paving slab, or particularly stubborn tree root lurking beneath the surface.
Now that the flower beds are (mostly) under control, the next challenge is deciding what to do with them.
One thing I know for certain is that I’m not a lawn person. I’ve never been a fan of mowing grass and, at 33, I don’t see myself suddenly developing a passion for it. Instead, I’ve set aside a small three-foot section for a herb garden—because while gardening isn’t really my thing, cooking definitely is.
As for the rest, I’ve come up with a plan. The vision involves slate chippings, red-pink hebes, blue-green ornamental grasses, and a few red cordylines for good measure. Yes, I have done my research. Yes, I have spent an alarming amount of time wandering around garden centres. And yes, I’ve discovered that while I may not love gardening itself, I absolutely love a garden centre. There’s just something about them.
The only slight issue with my grand plan is that, according to my calculations, I need around three tonnes of 40mm slate chippings to cover the beds.
Three tonnes.
Not three bags. Not three hundred kilos.
Three. Entire. Tonnes.
At this point, I’m fairly certain I’m less a homeowner and more the project manager of a small-scale landscaping operation.
So here’s to three tonnes of slate chippings, an alarming amount of wheelbarrowing, and the hope that one day this garden will look as good as it does in my imagination.
Until next time!
notesfromthenewforest 
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