Real gardener
Leaving a much-cherished garden to start again in a completely different climate has been an adventure for writer, Janice Marriott.
Janice Marriott
In her new book with friend Virginia Pawsey, Janice writes about the emotional turbulence, tribulation and the excitement that comes with starting out somewhere new.
Describing herself as someone who doesn’t like change, Janice says she never imagined she’d leave Wellington, the city she loved, nor the flower filled sanctuary she spent 15 years creating around her inner city cottage. But when she became a grandmother she made the bold decision to move to Auckland.
Janice was quick to realise that apartment living was not for her and longed for a garden. She describes finally finding her Mt Eden haven; “I saw the breeze-block steps up a boulder retaining wall. I went up. And there it was – a quite large lawn with trees, north facing, looking, in fact, at the Sky Tower. The garden was high, wild and could be handsome. This was a garden I could hide in. So I bought it.”
Like the one she left behind, her new garden is filled with fruit, veges and old fashioned flowers. There are mementos from her Wellington garden, including a small gingko tree, which she writes about in this extract from ‘Changing Lives’.
Dear Virginia
My last night in the Thorndon cottage. Inside it is just bare wood. It now looks and feels like a shearer’s hut.
Jane came round for the last of our Sunday afternoon walks. We took a last look at the garden, and she said, ‘What’s that?’ We looked at a nearly-dead little shrub in the newly exposed soil, leaning over, desperate to get away from a frothing wave of flowers. ‘I can’t remember,’ I said. Jane crouched and read the label. It was the ginkgo tree we’d planted a while ago and it must have got covered with the high tide of sweet peas. I’d forgotten it was there. ‘Why did you buy it?’ asked Jane ‘Seasonal colour, and it’s meant to be good for the memory. Ginkgo leaf tea stops you forgetting things.’ ‘Hmm,’ said Jane. ‘Shame it doesn’t have any leaves on it.’ We laughed, a lot, and when I wiped my eyes I could see little buds on the stems.
‘I’ll take it with me,’ I said. ‘It’s a battler, and it will stop me forgetting Wellington.’
We dug it up and discovered I’d planted it without removing the little pot it had been in at the garden centre. How had I done that? I never do that! But there it was. That’s why it had been more like a statue than a thriving tree for the two years I’d mistreated it. So, in my new life, I will give a ginkgo the opportunity to spread its roots in rich volcanic soil, and grow to produce many leaves for ginkgo tea, and I will never forget anything ever again. Janice