Just as it is possible to enjoy great literature without being able to write yourself, a grand, well-tended garden can be appreciated even by people who lack green fingers. And so, despite my best efforts every spring with our own garden, after I have ordered all the plants and dutifully weeded through the slightly warmer months, I find myself giving up on the whole affair. By summertime I’m usually heading off in search of gardens looked after by people who know what they are doing.
I’ve visited formal gardens in Italy.
Wild seaside gardens.
Piet Oudolf Gardens.
Grand parks in Paris.
Maybe one year I will get the hang of gardening. But until then I am happy just to appreciate the gardening skills of others, and be amazed.