Ticket for one

Be bold when you make your mark in the garden, but be prepared to be alone in admiring your creativity, writes MICHAEL McCOY

Iwonder if Picasso’s family secretly thought he’d lost the plot when he started mucking around with cubism, or as he waded his way through his blue period? And if so, I wonder if that worried him? Or even if he wondered himself whether he’d gone off the artistic rails?

These questions linger for me, as there have been times recently when I’ve stood before some bits of planting in my garden (planned and planted several years ago, and now reaching maturity and balance), and have been dumbstruck by the beauty of them. I’ve held my breath, transfixed by the sumptuous subtlety of textures and colours. But none of my family, nor virtually any of my friends, has been faintly moved by them. All I can squeeze from anyone is a slightly patronising ‘well done’ that is nothing but a merciful and reluctantly provided response to my obvious need for reassurance.

The pleasure I feel isn’t just pride, smugness or self-congratulation, for these plantings haven’t turned out quite how I planned. Very few gardening ideas ever do. Treasured plants have died of drought or flood (both in the same part of the garden), or have been eaten back to stumps by rabbits or hares. Others have quickly proven too short, too tall, too enthusiastic or too pathetic for their pre-ordained role, and have been ‘edited’ out.

But what’s left has been breathtakingly good, and enjoyed (by me alone) all the more for being not quite as planned. In much the same way as our kids surprise and delight us by being more than the sum of our plans for them, I’m never happier than when my garden goes ‘off script’, and comes up