Live On
We started preparing this week’s blog on Wednesday of last week, with the words: ‘We hadn’t planned on posting another blog on Kyrgyzstan quite so soon, but life is unpredictable and ‘stuff happens’. Our ‘stuff’ turned out to be very small fry compared with the events of the following Thursday afternoon. Whatever you think of living in a constitutional monarchy, the death of a highly respected, empathetic and influential women, who is also one of the world’s longest standing monarchs, must take priority. It’s a cliché but it is the end of an era.
Society and its landscape have changed markedly through the seventy years of the Queen’s reign. During the latter part, climate change was – finally – recognised as significant. Charles III, in the guise of the Prince of Wales, recognised this significance much earlier than many and was vocal in his responses and calls for action. Slowly his reputation and approach has been rehabilitated from say, eccentric, to unnerving realist.
Who would have thought, at the end of the 20th century, that the Tower of London, that massive and assertive symbol of English history and power, would have turned its moat over to ceramic poppies in 2014, in an act of remembrance, before progressing to real flowers in 2022, with the spectacular London ‘Superbloom’, in an act of hope and to signal the way forward. Thank goodness that Queen Elizabeth II lived long enough to see them both.
Sadly, as King Charles III, the former Prince of Wales can no longer pursue his campaigning lifestyle. This he confirmed in his address to the nation last Friday evening. In this carefully crafted speech, one phrase struck Terroir: ‘we must retain our values’. I think we all know what he meant – values relating to service, steadfastness, honesty – but we suspect that many of us define ‘values’ as being able to continue to live our lives as we have always done. These values have to change. Whether it be by not mowing our lawn so often, not eating meat, eschewing non-recyclable plastic wrapping, giving up the car, or supporting the erection of more windfarms and solar panels, we absolutely must change our values, and our way of life, if we are to have any life worth valuing.
The Queen is dead, but the Monarchy is not. Long live the King. The future of our planet, however, is not so well assured.
An Autumnal Jumble
Two days ago, I received this photograph from the North Wales section of Team Terroir. The accompanying message read “Very late foxglove … maybe another blog on late flowering plants?”
Three journeys were precipitated by this idea. The first was a visit to The Moors (English Team Terroir’s local green-escape, and frequently featured in this blog). The second and third journeys circumnavigated Terroir’s gardens (one in north Wales and one in southern England). Like our modern climate, the results were confusing.
Let’s start with the gardens. Both had been frost free until the start of November. Both are fairly sheltered. Both have fairly similar elevations (the Welsh garden at 80 m and the English at 100m). Of course the Welsh garden is further north than the English garden, but also considerably further west, and only 20 miles from the sea. You also need to know that the Welsh team are the better gardeners!
Here is a sample of the late flowers in the Gardd Gymreig.
You may say that it is hardly surprising to have nerines or fuchsias flowering in the autumn, but in this garden, all the above have been an unexpected, if welcome addition, to the November display.
The English garden is less floriferous but the message is the same: we are surprised to see you.
The hydrangea heads are normally well coloured until after Christmas, but it is unusual to get a fresh bloom in November. The Salvia Hot Lips is technically a cheat, as it is cheering up the front garden of a neighbour, but the element of surprise is the same, although the profusion of flowers has probably been helped by the prodigious quantities of rain which have fallen recently.
Assuming that there would be an equally surprising range of flowers in bloom along the path through The Moors, Terroir set off in anticipation of a stimulating stroll. Unfortunately this assumption was utterly erroneous, and the herbaceous colour palette was based almost entirely on an array of green/brown leaves and seed heads. After some searching, a few late flowers were spotted lurking in the undergrowth (see below), and there may have been others even better hidden. Indeed, on turning back to take a better photograph of the single red campion flower, I was totally unable to find it again. Why this contrast with the exotics of the garden? We would appreciate comments and suggestions in the box at the end of this blog. If you can’t find it, click on ‘read more’ and scroll back down to fill in your thoughts.
The walk was not without interest, however. The variety of seed heads and berries provided a varied and sculptural and/or colourful display.
But it was the trees which were most varied and unpredictable. Considering that it is already early November, many seem slow to lose their leaves.
The English oaks were still in full leaf with plenty of late summer greens and only a few turning to autumnal yellow.
The American oaks which someone has planted here (probably Red oaks, see below left), were anything but red, having already lost many leaves whilst of a pleasant but unspectacular yellow/brown colour. The equally non-native Norway maple (second from right), which usually puts on a spectacular show of brilliant yellow at a bend in the path, is still green; the native field maple (below right) has gone totally autumnal.
The willows and poplars are a mixed bunch. The poplars (see below, upper row, left and centre) are either bare or have retained their upper most leaves. The sallows (upper row right) are still late summer green but their long leaved, weeping, cousins (lower row and immortalised in William Morris’ willow bough design) seem to have lost the plot completely .
The self-seeded forest of alders is largely denuded of leaves, but those with space to expand (below left) still retain their summer leafy glory. The dogwoods just seem to be confused.
Down by the laid hedge, the hazel has regrown vigorously and retained the enormous leaves which the wet weather seems to have encouraged. A neighbouring blackthorn , also in full leaf (below right), is clinging to a last remaining sloe. As with the holly, this year’s cornucopia of fruit has already been eaten.
Sadly, the chaos which is autumn 2021 feels like a metaphor for COP 26 in Glasgow. Already we have lost our ash trees (below left and centre: a dying ash and the lesion caused by ash die back disease). Is it too late to retain the stately beech (below right)?
Would the Tudors have switched off the lights?
How do we keep the lights on?
What did the Tudors ever do for us? I’m being England-centric of course, but I think most of us would suggest that they came up with a lot of important stuff. Apart from sectarianism, greed, identity politics, slaves, wars and so on, they also contributed literature, poetry, drama (albeit the bane of most modern school children’s lives), a debate on how to pronounce ‘renaissance’ and a whole clutch of modern historic novels.
A collection of 16th century talent. From left to right - Sirs Walter Raleigh, Philip Sidney, Edmund Spenser and Thomas Wyatt. Only Sir Thomas appears not to be a fashion victim.
As far as I can see, they also sustained a degree of complexity, intrigue, misinformation and complications which we would readily recognise today. I’m sure they would have handled the global nuances of climate change no better or no worse than we will attempt to do, this coming weekend.
But what started this train of thought? It all commenced with a day out in London and a visit to the British Library to view its ‘Elizabeth and Mary’ exhibition: ‘Royal Cousins, Rival Queens’ (https://www.bl.uk/events/elizabeth-and-mary).
Those Tudor complexities impacted on the day immediately. There are three Queen Marys in this exhibition - the eponymous Mary Queen of Scots, her mother Mary of Guise (Queen Consort to Scotland’s James V), and Mary Tudor (Elizabeth’s half-sister and Queen of England and Ireland from 1553 to 1558). We just about managed to cope with all this, but even our historian companions acknowledged the degree of confusion, as well as the need for transliterations of the Library’s very generous display of Tudor documents.
Staggering out, we came upon a different complication: where to sit to rest our weary backs and eat a much needed sandwich. When you find an empty bench, there is plenty of splendid stuff to look at, but the British Library is visually dominated by a sort of frieze or human tapestry of mini work stations all crammed with – presumably – students making use of the free electricity, free heating, free wifi and clean toilets, things which student accommodation may not always provide. No readers’ card is required for this area!
What does this cost the British Library? What is the benefit? I doubt this audience spends much in the café and nothing in the shop. It’s obviously popular but, although it is obviously valued, does it make sense in terms of energy consumption and carbon reduction?
After an afternoon spent in the wonderful carbon sink which is Highgate cemetery – a light canopy of ash with an understorey of grave stones – we ended up in the Sky Garden at around about dusk (https://skygarden.london/). This is probably a very good time to visit as London is beginning to twinkle whereas it is quite difficult to see the garden.
Yes, we were all underwhelmed with the design and content of the latter. A heavy dependence on Liriope, ferns and palms did not compensate for the prices at the bar. It appears static, uninviting, inaccessible, dense and dark. Perhaps it looks better in broad daylight but the photograph below right seemed to sum up the approach - a green background for the views of London and some expensive ‘hospitality’.
London-by-dusk, however, was a wholly different experience. The images, below, which range from south west to south east, do their best to replicate our - enjoyable - experience.
Top row: left - view down the Thames with Southwark Bridge, the Millennium Bridge, Blackfriars Bridge and Waterloo Bridge; centre - London Bridge and tower blocks; right - London Bridge station and the Shard.
Bottom row: left - HMS Belfast and City Hall; centre - City Hall and Tower Bridge; right - Tower of London and Docklands high rise
It’s spectacular, popular, and a real, capital city draw. One amongst us commented that when he started work in the area in the early 2000s, the newly completed Gherkin (centre of the image on the left), towered over all the surounding buidlings.
But it did make us ponder our carbon bank balance, and we will probably need to make some huge changes. The, ‘Oh it’s all right we’ll just use hydrogen’ perspective will, it seems, only make a modest contribution to the problem in the short term. So we are faced with compromises and decisions on what it is we value and what we choose to change or do without. Terroir is happy to live with wind turbines, for instance, unless and until something better can be organised. To us, knowing their contribution to ‘green energy’, is part of their human value in the landscape. Other’s would disagree, of course.
We enjoyed lit-up-London. Do we enjoy it enough to sacrifice something else so that we can keep the lights on, so to speak? We enjoyed the British Library experience. Did we enjoy it enough for the BL to keep the students and their laptops fired up, as part of that experience?
What would the Tudors have done? We’re pretty sure they would have kept the Tower of London. But we daresay they would have blown out most of the candles.
Can it be a fair COP?
This blog premiered last year with a visit to ‘The Moors’, and we make no apology for having re-visited on a roughly quarterly basis. A wetland, urban nature reserve in north east Surrey, the Moors is a marvellous example of what humans and the planet need, to remain healthy and low carbon.
With the recent publication of the latest International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report one hopes that the whole world is reading and thinking about just that - climate change. One also hopes that the contents of the report will be fed into national government policies around the planet, with lots of trickle down impacts to deliver action right at the roots of local communities. Hope is cheap. Action is not. Riches are unequally distributed.
The IPCC was set up in 1988 by the World Meteorological Organization and the United Nations Environment Programme. ‘The objective of the IPCC is to provide governments at all levels with scientific information that they can use to develop climate policies. IPCC reports are also a key input into international climate change negotiations.’ (https://www.ipcc.ch/about/).
The Panel’s latest report, published earlier this month, is entitled ‘Climate Change 2021, The Physical Science Basis’. The title sounds a bit like an advertisement for hair products, but just skimming through makes for a heavy and uncomfortable read, although it is not totally without hope. Below are a few key headlines, although you have probably already heard them via the press and media.
“It is unequivocal that human influence has warmed the atmosphere, ocean and land.
Widespread and rapid changes in the atmosphere, ocean, cryosphere and biosphere
have occurred.”
“Human-induced climate change is already affecting many weather and climate extremes
in every region across the globe. Evidence of observed changes in extremes such as
heatwaves, heavy precipitation, droughts, and tropical cyclones, and, in particular, their
attribution to human influence, has strengthened.”
“Many changes due to past and future greenhouse gas emissions are irreversible for
centuries to millennia, especially changes in the ocean, ice sheets and global sea level.”
But
“Scenarios with very low or low GHG emissions … lead within years to discernible effects on greenhouse gas and aerosol concentrations, and air quality …”
https://www.ipcc.ch/report/ar6/wg1/downloads/report/IPCC_AR6_WGI_SPM.pdf
Looking at the Moors, trying to think globally and act locally, it is depressing how very obvious climate extremes have become. In 2020, we had a prolonged spell of very warm and dry weather. The wildflowers bloomed profusely and provided massed stands of vibrant colour.
This year, as noted in Blog 31 (The Darling Buds), spring was late and, apart from a brief dry spell, rain has been exceptionally plentiful. Growth has been lush and massive - huge leaves, oversized trees - and the overwhelming palette of The Moors has been very, very green. Now, in August, as we shiver in our pullovers while drying sodden umbrellas, the greens are still the dominant hue. Spring’s hint of white has been replaced by over-tones of yellow, blue and red, but the contrast with last year is still remarkable.
2020’s vibrant stands of tufted vetch are now battered and tired, the common agrimony and willow herbs are isolated and low key, and the latter (below right) weighed down by a flourishing growth of black bryony.
The ragwort continues to flourish but its normally ubiquitous companion, the cinnebar moth caterpillar, is notable by its absence. By this time last year the teasels had strutted their stuff and where dry and brown. This year they are only just getting to their peak.
Climate change does not necessarily mean plant extinction but may mean plant migration. At somewhere like The Moors, species which have not done well in 2021, may have a chance to return next year. Meanwhile other species, such as buddelia and water mint, have done better in the wet weather, and species which are much more unusual may appear, such as marsh woundwort (in this case, struggling with another vigorous black bryony) and chicory.
The sheer mass of growth has also changed the character of The Moors this year. Where paths are lined by trees, the canopy is thick and has already developed the dark green foliage of late summer. Shading has kept the cycle path remarkably open. Enchanters’ Nightshade has crept to enjoy the shadows and stinging nettles are thriving on the now damp areas of richer soils. Nearer the brook, and on a windy day, the vastly expanded willows do an excellent imitation of a William Morris wall paper. Between the lakes, where no tree has much of a roothold, the path is virtually hidden by the explosion of vegetation. The craft skill of last year’s hedgelaying exercise is now obliterated by substantial new growth.
Summer downpours have proved to be a heady mix at The Moors. The water levels thoughout the wetland are at winter levels, yet the vegetation is responding to summer temperatures and light levels. Although not currently flooded, the wetter areas of the cycle path are as muddy as in winter. All water bodies are full yet the eruption of vegetation growth has hidden the smaller seasonal ponds from view. Woe betide anyone who tries to take a walk through this apparent meadow of purple loosestrife, below right.
The Brook has vanished completely, except for one point where somebody has cleared a narrow track to the bank, as though checking that the stream still exists.
What will COP 26 and climate change 2022 bring?
A good grouse?
Are we too grumpy? Maybe we all need to get out more.
Last summer, when we could (get out more), we spent some time walking in the Derbyshire side of the Peak District. I hasten to add that these were legitimate walks, although we did keep a sharp lookout for the Derbyshire Constabulary and for lagoons which had turned a suspicious shade of black. Little did we know that carrying a takeaway coffee would later become an icon of Derbyshire lockdown bad temper and an extreme interpretation of recreational rules.
What is it about Derbyshire which puts people out of sorts? We are certain that the Derbyshire community, as a whole, is not to blame. We know for sure, however, that areas of beautiful, dramatic and inspiring landscape such as the Peak District or the Lake District create intense human passions – often about protection, conservation, access, management and policing - which may polarise views and create adversarial situations.
The 1932 mass trespass on Kinder Scout, which drew support from both sides of the Pennines, is a classic case in point. The fact that it took a further 80 years to pass legislation which allowed any form of open access to landscapes such as these, is enough to make anybody irritable. We refer, of course to the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000 (the CROW Act). Even the National Parks and Access to the Countryside Act 1949, which recognised the significance of these landscapes, if not of universal access, had to wait 17 years to reach the statute book, after a gestation period which included WWII. The Peak District was the first National Park to be designated, and this year sees its 70th birthday. But not even this anniversary seems sufficient to create universal joy and good will to all.
As an example of some of the issues which make landscape management so ‘interesting’, and defusing conflict so important, we will take a look at some of the walks which we enjoyed so much last summer. There was considerable debate between the three of us who took part but not, I am pleased to report, a single cross word. Do I hear laughter in the background?
Ladybower Reservoir and Win Hill
Let’s start off by being petty: nice bit of traditional waymarking but the plethora of roundels makes a bit of a nonsense of the ‘Public Footpath’ message!
More seriously, did they really need to mow the down stream slope of the reservoir dam in the monocultural, English garden style? It seems possible to accept a more diverse and sustainable ground flora beneath the scrub and bushes on the left of the photo, and around the photographer’s feet.
We’ll pick up the non native coniferous planting later.
Ladybower Reservoir was constructed between 1935 and 1943 to quench the thirst of the expanding industrial towns surrounding the Peak District. The long, deep valleys of the rivers Ashop and Derwent, the high rainfall and low popuation, made the area seem ideal for water storage. The population was not non-existant, however, and two villages, Ashopton and Derwent, were flooded and their population moved to an estate downstream of the dam. They must have found it galling to discover that ‘Derwent's packhorse bridge, spanning the River Derwent … was removed stone by stone to be rebuilt elsewhere as it was designated a monument of national importance’. And that, ‘The church spir' was left intact to form a memorial to Derwent. However, it was dynamited on 15 December 1947, on the rationale of safety concern’. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ladybower_Reservoir
Of course, after WWII, the attitude to planning and infrastructure changed significantly. In the 1950s and 60s, the plans for the Llyn Celyn reservoir in Gwynedd caused deep controversy. Despite the degree of protest, the village of Capel Celyn and its valley, located in a stronghold area of Welsh culture and language, was flooded to provide water for the - English - city of Liverpool.
Do people grouse about Ladybower today? It is a large of expanse of open water, beloved by thousands of tourists. But - parking and traffic creates a management nightmare. It provides drinking water, but access to the reservoir is controlled with limited recreational uses including no swimming (potentially hazardous). Architecturally, it is imposing and technologically, interesting. It looks wonderful when full of water, much less so in a drought, and probably a potential nightmare to manage access when the water level is so low that you see the remnant village.
Let’s move on to the top of Win Hill and look at the view.
Oh look - lots of issues here! On the plus side, there is no one else around, so those of us who love getting away from it all are very happy. But we did get up early to achieve this. We don’t see this as a problem, however. Self-managing the timing of our access to potentially busy areas is part of the challenge.
But obviously, lots of other people have been here and the photo hints at the erosion that all those walkers have caused. In the early days of the Pennine Way this was a serious problem, and much of the route has been paved to overcome the ‘sea of mud’ crisis. This is a sensible solution, which increases access but does diminish the wilderness feel. I was worried during our recent wet winter that the ‘sea of mud’ look created by a lockdown population desperate to get out and keep sane, would bring out the worst in our open space managers. What a swell of pride when the response was basically, ‘don’t worry, keep coming, we’ll sort it out later’.
And the view? What’s that lurking in the distance, sporting a high chimney and a massive quarry? It’s the Bredon Hope Cement Works, with the village of Hope nestling in the Valley below. The up side? It all started in the late 1920s, long before planning legislation and the designation of the National Park, but environmental control is much stricter now.
Lots of the finished product goes out by rail (left), so minimal impact on road transport.
Provision of local employment - Bredon says the company is ‘the area’s largest employers with the majority of the 200-strong workforce at Hope living in the Peak District’ and that they employ a ‘diverse range of people’. https://www.hopecementworks.co.uk/about/
Down side? Big energy user and lots of CO2 goes up the chimney. Damage to visual amenity? You decide. At this distance, we thought it rather interesting and a demonstration of geography in the raw (the plant is here because the required limestone is here). Living next to it, may produce a different answer, however.
Don’t like it? One of the great 21st century challenges is finding alternatives to, in this case, building materials, to reduce negative impacts. On delving deeper, alternatives can often be worse than the existing situation. Ingenuity essential.
Thanks to Wikipedia for some help with the above. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hope_Cement_Works
Strines Moor and the real grouse.
Grouse moors: where to start. So many issues, so many points of view.
Shooting and grouse moors were a big part of the original Right to Roam debate. The few owned vast acreages of moorland and denied access to the many. It was still an issue in the CROW Act which does allow for short term closures of open access land to allow for shooting.
You could devote a whole blog to intensive grouse shooting and grouse moor management and indeed Terroir was planning to do this until we came across Guy Shrubsole’s blog post on ‘Who Owns England?’ https://whoownsengland.org/ Do read his January post, entitled ‘The Climate Sceptics Grouse Moor’ which, although a diatribe against one particular moorland owner, gives an overview of some of the issues. Read all his links too, to get a view of both sides of the argument. Both the hunting and shooting orgnisations and the environmental press argue lucidly for and against intensive grouse shooting.
Here is a quick round up of the main issues. We have already mentioned access, so we will move onto the management debate. Rotational cutting, burning and draining of grouse moors is standard practice. If cut back, heather re-grows until it becomes ‘over mature’ - tall and leggy - when, if cut back again, it will restart the growth cycle. Each part of the cycle has its ecological advantages and so it is not uncommon, on any form of heathland, to cut areas on a rotational basis and try to mimic former and traditional management via grazing and burning.
Above - classic pictures of rotational cutting of upland moorland for grouse shooting. The patterns are wonderful and I would happily upholster my sofa in something based on this, but the ecological implications are less appealing.
Grazing and burning of lowland heaths, often in urban areas, is not really attempted any more for reasons of livestock welfare and control and, for burning, for reasons of pollution, and burn control, particularly in areas heavily used for recreation. On upland moorland, the substrate is often peat, which puts a whole different perspective on the matter. Peat is regarded as an excellent carbon store and burning and drainage is seriously damaging to peat. Strines Moor is classified as Upland Heath (https://magic.defra.gov.uk/MagicMap.aspx) which means peat depth may be limited to ‘only’ 50 cms deep, but there is plenty of blanket bog in the area, and the name is an excellent description.
Of course, species conservation and biodiversity is also part of the debate with game keeper and ecologist fighting it out on who can best conserve and manage heath and bog vegetation, ground nesting birds, raptors, butterflies and … . You get the picture.
Tree planting is the other ‘Big One’, which must be discussed.
Deciduous woodland beside Ladybower Reservoir
One of the big upland debates centres on trees. Visitors love the windswept uplands, with their stunning views, ‘wilderness’ experiences and complete contrast to an urban and often industrial home environment. The Forestry Commission loved the open uplands for their unobstructed tree planting options. Don’t forget that the Commission was set up in 1919 after the terrible experiences of WWI, to provide a strategic resource of timber, should such a conflict ever re-occur. Of course, it did re-occur but by 1939 the new plantations were at best only twenty years old and even the fast growing, non native conifers were not of a size or condition to deliver.
Post war, support for planting non-native and non-local timber conifers continued with a mix of enticing tax breaks for those owning large estates, and a range of grant funding. In my view the economics never stacked up, but the promise of jam today more than compensated for the lack of jam/income at maturity and felling. Criticism of the visual impact of the sitka spruce farms and of damage to biodiversity and native habitat became increasingly vocal. To encapsulate over half a century of grumpiness into one sentence, changes were made in planting design, management and species choice, and the governmental approach shifted to include access and nature conservation as prime objectives along with timber production. The grant forms became harder and harder to understand/complete, so just about everyone had something to moan about.
With increased understanding and awareness of climate change, the whole tree planting thing shifted gear once again. Here is a flavour of some of the issues (it’s extraordinarily complex, so please don’t expect a comprehensive run down, details, or academic verification). Trees absorb carbon as they grow, but they grow very slowly. Alternative carbon sinks are available. Managing woodland to create a continuous supply of fuel might be close to carbon neutral, but wood smoke contributes to air pollution and we are already banned from burning ‘wet wood’ (more than 20% moisture content), please note if you own a wood burning stove. Mass tree planting can do more harm than good and this is a serious issue. We were incandescent over an episode of BBC’s Countryfile, which appeared to be supporting mass planting of a single non-native conifer, in Northumberland. I thought we got over that approach last century.
Tree planting will be and should be one of the pieces in the carbon control jigsaw but, as with peat, it’s not as easy as it looks. Tree planting must use appropriate, preferably native - and locally native - species and mixes, or our wildlife and ecology will be sunk. It must also take into account other landuses and habitats, which may actually be more valuable than new tree planting - yes, really - otherwise our ability to sustain, diversify and also feed ourselves will be significantly damaged. It must be in an appropriate place in the landscape, taking into account our love of the hills, views, access, and the needs of human beings, or our history and society will go down too.
To do all of this, we must have appropriate leadership, support and guidance from our government and its advisers. We must learn lessons from the Corona epidemic. And we must do it on a global scale.
End of rant, but it is rather important.
The Garden Politic
James Wong created quite a stir with his recent Guardian article entitled ‘Other arts are political, why not gardening?’ https://amp-theguardian-com.cdn.ampproject.org/c/s/amp.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2020/nov/29/james-wong-other-arts-are-often-political-who-says-gardening-shouldnt-be-too
Thomas J Price: Network Yorkshire Scuplture Park
To summarise, James Wong (ethnobotanist, write and broadcaster) argues that gardening is an art, and that arts are political, in the same way as, say, sculpture or music. Think of the ambiguous nature of Shostakovich’s symphonies or the lack of people of colour represented in British sculpture. If you think politics should be kept out of gardening, says Wong, then by implication, you don’t consider it an art form. In case you haven’t read the article, Wong’s piece was triggered by a ‘keep politics out of gardening response’ from some of the visitors to a Hampton Court flower show exhibit, shaped like the Empire Windrush and inspired by the issues facing displaced peoples from around the world.
I have no difficulty in coming down on the side of gardens as both art and politics. In my view, it is as impossible to create and manage a garden or a park without making decisions which declare your world view, as it is to keep a sense of the artistic (however poorly executed!) out of your creation. I would add, however, that – as with some art – the design and management may simply reflect the attitudes of the creator/manager; it does not necessarily make a conscious or specific political statement. Thus, even the smallest urban garden, which may not be overtly political, will represent our society, as well as its maker’s nature and nurture.
Ponder then, on the potential message that an intentional garden statement can send without denigrating the art - and science - of gardening. The wall which separates Petworth Park in Sussex from the surrounding village is, to me, as lowering and ominous as the Berlin Wall and, whether you interpret it as a symbol of class, or of politics, it clearly indicates the separation of the rich and powerful on the inside from the less fortunate on the outside.
Ponder also on the current ‘trend’ towards garden biodiversity, use of locally native species and sustainable management. This is not about fashion, but a clear statement of intent regarding climate change, resource management, reduction of carbon footprints and protection of the planet. Surely that is political?
But for me, the most worrying implication of Wong’s article is the inevitable Twitter storm which followed it, focusing on horticulture and race. On Wednesday 16th December, Wong (@Botanygeek) tweeted, ‘It’s certainly been a colourful few days. Been asked by the police to read all the 1000s of tweets to screen grab & report the hate crime & threats. What that also revealed is 1000s kind & supportive messages, inc the very highest levels in hort.’.
That is a very serious reflection on our society.
Talking of gardens and planetary threats, however, I will finish with the political topic about which I originally intended to blog this week, anyway. The tell-tale signs of climate change are everywhere. Here is Terroir’s gallery of a very floriferous winter.
November on the Isle of Wight
December in Surrey and Sussex
The odd one out is, of course, the gorse, which can flower throughout the year. Hence the comment, ‘when the gorse is out, ‘tis kissing time’!
