My mother-in-law owned this house before I did.
The night the last occupants moved out, leaving behind them an eccentric corner of chaos, she and I paced round the house and garden marvelling at how anyone could live with lime green walls, and who would build a small portion of the Lake District in a suburban back garden.
The garden was striking. There has never been a whole huge amount of it. Yet the former residents had managed to incorporate a huge pond, fountain and waterfall in craggy rock, a veritable fortress of a shed, a vegetable garden and so much more.
It was a man-induced wilderness, overgrown and beloved, unruly and wanton as it met the forest at the back fence.
Over the next two years my mother in law swung into action. With infinite tact and care she subdued the wilderness, despatching a deep pond so our toddlers were not in danger, importing lorry loads of forest earth to enrich the beds, paving to subdue, creating signature flower beds and a bird table which must have been a five-star in the avian tourist board brochure.
We would sit on the bench in the beautifully controlled garden and sip mugs of tea and chat. Order has always been my mother in law’s metier.
And so it came to pass that we swapped houses. She moved to our small compact detached, in an area populated with retired people, and we moved up to the tall Swedish-designed ent-like town house.
The garden was doomed.
I adore gardening: I used to keep gardens which were the envy of all who surveyed them. But two young children are not conducive to order, and time did not dictate that the little patch of England outside was a priority.
The weeds began to grow, the forest to encroach. The trees will take over, you know, if they are not checked: they will lean across the fence with no regard for personal space. The once beautiful beds became ragged and the clean-cut paths obscured by children’s toys and small wheeled vehicles.
The garden was quickly returning to wilderness.
It is unsettling how quickly nature moves in to reclaim its own. Gerald Manley Hopkins spent time bewailing the loss of our wilderness, but here’s the truth: it’s just beneath the surface, waiting to take over once more.
The impermanence is all ours.
The ruin – what is left of man’s activity when all is said and done -might be thousands of years old, or it might number a mere few decades without human occupation.
Battersea Power Station stands, a modern-day cathedral to the God of electricity, a ruined metaphor waiting to be rescued. It stopped generating electricity in 1983. Someone, in some get-rich-quick-scheme, took the roof off ready to turn it into a theme park and never quite got round to completing the job.
Nature has moved in. It’s not pretty: but everywhere it can, it has planted living things. The structure would stand for millennia I suspect: but it would be a green structure, inhabited by the wild, punctuated by birdsong.
Along from the manicured seaside cheer of Folkestone’s Leas is a forgotten Napoleonic Martello tower. My obsession with these British wartime measures, defunct almost before they were built, is ongoing; and I have already written about Spanish artist Christina Iglesias’s fabulous comment on nature’s strength, Towards The Sounds Of Wilderness.
The artist did not touch the centuries-old tower, which has caved in and is simply a great mound of ivy inhabited by delighted birds: rather, she built an enchanted mirror-tunnel to get to it, and designed a parapet on which to stand and observe, and listen to the exquisite song of nature: the wind in the leaves, the chatter of its occupants.
Up on the Palatine HIll at Rome lie the ruins of a mad emperor’s gold-plated villa, built after Rome’s fire in 64AD. It replaced the charred houses of aristocrats; at last, he commented, he was housed like a human being. Made of gleaming white marble with no bedrooms, kitchens or even detectable latrines, this was pure extravagance.
But by 104AD it was beneath a bathing complex built by another Roman emperor. The emptiest of gestures had been subsumed in order than man might play.
“Remember, man, that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.”
Man has built great empires which have returned to dust. But the power of nature endures.
The wilderness has reclaimed them all.
Written in response to Side View’s Theme: ‘Long Live The Weeds And The Wilderness Yet’. You can find her challenge here.
Picture source here
Kate Shrewsday 
I have visions of you standing, like Canute, at your back door. Sadly, holding up your hand and saying ‘Stop’ will have no effect. Don’t despair, your garden will spring forth anew when you have more time.
Well, you can always hope……. 🙂
I can….when the children have gone away to university maybe….
The strength of nature only emerges when it is left alone… man destroys checks and balances with his interference, the more’s the pity!
I’ve been looking at pictures of Chernobyl today for part of my research for this piece, Denise. They demonstrate that in the most cataclysmic of human-created events the wilderness comes back. Different; sometimes tougher – the packs of wolves are far more prevalent there than they were before – and deep in the DNA of each weed is a very different signature. But life comes back, all the same.
That is so interesting. I can understand if the disaster was nuclear related the DNA would be affected, but what about other man-made disasters? Could any ‘stress’-related disaster alter DNA? Interesting because history could be read in the DNA’s!
That must be possible, Denise 🙂 Time for some more research and another post, perhaps….
Great answer to a difficult prompt.
Has your MIL forgiven you yet?
She is an incredibly good soul and has never (how I do not understand) uttered a word of reproach.
Dust to dust, so apt. We may be specks in the wind, but, in the face of all that will eventually overtake us, we must reach out to others and do a little good each day. Your Mother in Law doing good in her way with the beauty and order of her garden, you providing us with thought provoking perspective on the insignificance we represent.
Yes, Lou, how right you are. The little deeds each day are our part in something vast. I had a wonderful time yesterday reading about some of yours. Especially Happy Feet. I love Happy Feet.It is an arrow straight to the heart of a needy community.
In all my various gardening wranglings over the years, I have become a healthy respecter of the mound you describe, or Battersea. There’s something about imagining what things once were from what remains.
Great response to Sidey’s challenge,
Thanks, Andra 🙂 Nature is not as feeble as those poets would have us think. And I know what you mean: even an old piece of ruined mine sparks a story in the mind.
You see, that is my reasoning behing not mowing the grass or trimming the hedges at all. It is just going to go back to wilderness anyway, why should I waste time and energy trying to forestall the inevitable? Better to let nature do her work now while I spend my day on more lasting pursuits – like surfing the Internet.
Indeed. I have a picture in my head of you at the pc, and behind you a window vista packed with lusty tendrils reaching for the sky a la Jack and the beanstalk…..soon you will have to employ a prince to hack you out…The Surfing Beauty. Perfect.
How did you know that I have wisteria climbing up my house as we speak? I need to pull it off before it does permanent damage. And can you at least send me a princess instead of a prince? Some buff Amazonian princess hacking her way to rescue me seems a pretty good Christmas present. 😉
Amazonian Princess wending her way to you and your wisteria by FedEx, Michael.
I’ve read that it takes 12 years to establish a good garden – and only two or three for it to return to its original state. We, here on the Cutoff, have gotten sorely behind the leaf-picking-upper phase of life. I’m fervently hoping that they just settle down and enrich the soil. That’s my plan – until next spring when I really have a mess to clean up.
Someone has to invent an all purpose musher for these soggy Springs, Penny. I could sorely use one.
Beautiful post on the theme, Kate. All we are is dust in the wind . . .
…part of something so much bigger than ourselves, Nancy 🙂 The universe is a vast and wonderful place.
Dear Kate,
Once again, a rather haunting post and a reminder that we are mere mortals and that nature willy-nilly will endure and, ultimately, triumph. A question: I noticed that one of the commentators used the word “prompt.” Is that how you get your varied topics, Kate, from a prompt for bloggers? I’m always amazed at how far and wee your mind wanders from day to day. It’s somewhat awesome.
Peace.
Sidey does one prompt a week on a Friday, Dee. I find its so refreshing to follow the agenda of someone who thinks laterally as she does. The link is at the bottom of the post. The rest of the week the ideas come from a slightly over-stuffed life.
This is a lovely post and so true.
It make me feel better about the state of my garden too, so thanks.
You and me both, Tinman. My garden is a glorious tip.
Carefully planned and manicured gardens are a delight. Personally, though, I’d prefer to have wilderness right up to the back door. My next-door neighbors have grown a suburban forest in their backyard which I can see and enjoy over the fence. In contrast, my yard has nothing but grass. Easy maintenance, of course, but as soon as the budget permits, I want to start my own forest. If only I could do it with a snap of the fingers, because at my age, I really can’t wait 20 years for everything to grow from sapling to maturity.
If you were any closer, I’d send you some of my forest….
Lovely, Kate.
With a yew hedge and beech hedge and several trees, plus borders, veg plot and grass I wonder, every year as I battle with hedge trimmers, how long would it take for this to return to nature….
we have been here 18 years. For 18 years I have been making my mark. Only two or three for nature to take over again, hmmm?
Ever read the secret garden, Pseu? There have been moments in my life when I came upon an overgrown but beautifully planted garden, still there beneath the brambles. The personality of the gardner was still there and uncovering their decisions was like discovering the personality of an aesthete. Such a privilege.
I haven’t read that book for years, ad maybe I should re-read it. Do you think it would stand up to a book club discussion?
Well, I love it: lots of different facets, the Indian imperialism, the Yorkshire connection, Mary herself, Colin and the extend of mind over matter when one is ill; bereavement and what happens to the children, even in privileged environments. For starters 😀
Hay Fever aside, I could never contemplate gardening. The fact that I’m rubbish at it is by the by. Luckily, I like the overgrown and out of control look, so I suppose in that regard I’m an open door to where Nature’s concerned! I enjoyed reading this post, Kate, and could feel Nature’s energy surging through the back garden in waves! You highlight the fact that Nature is truly in charge very nicely! 🙂
Thanks, Tom. So nice to have you back. Nature will do plenty of gardening of its own. Time to sit back and enjoy the show 🙂
Inspired post, Kate. Nature subverts even the most tidy, manicured gardens and in doing so provides hours of therapy for millions 😉
It’s true, BB: what would we do without weeding after a furious day when everything has gone wrong at work? My garden, even dishevelled as it is, soothes me, as it does so many. Lovely comment, thank you.
There’s underground wiring here on our small, leased plot, so serious digging is taboo. Hence, such gardening as is done at this household is confined to pots and bins (literally grew delicious ivory peppers in a Rubbermaid tote this summer. :)) Apparently, Mother nature doesn’t mind that the veggies and geraniums aren’t located directly underfoot, since her attempts to take over with weeds and the like are every bit as vigorous in those pots!
I recently saw a segment on television about the resurgence of plant life and wolves in the Chernobyl area, despite the fact that humans (scientists and researchers) who venture there are still very much at risk. The area appeared beautiful, yet almost frighteningly eerie with the greenery intruding into and overtaking the remnants of man-made structures.
Such opposite ends of the spectrum; from our backyard gardens (even those that might be somewhat blowsy) to that place where nature apparently will indeed triumph (as Dee suggested) given sufficient time.
Another fun and thought-provoking post, Kate.
Blowsy. Wonderful word: and I love blowsy gardens. I can just imagine you with all those wonderful pots…
sometimes, there is beauty in what mother nature provides us – and soon enough, kids toys will be replaced by teenager’s things!
They will, Tandy, you’re right. Sometimes it seems as if this time will last forever. My mind knows it won’t. Think I’ll let nature have her way for a bit longer 🙂
Sobering thoughts Kate as I remove the last of the sweetpeas and morning glory.
They’ll be back, Rosemary 😀
Your garden sounds wonderful!! I never really mind the encroachment of the wild, since I feel so much a part of it, but I do try to keep the gardens here semi-tidy. This past year, I got a lesson on how quickly the wilderness can take over even the most manicured plot. Gram had a mild stroke, and though she’s recovered, it took several months of fairly intense care on my part. No time for the gardening. I was lucky to get my hair washed! By late summer/early fall, when I was free again to see to them, the gardens had all but vanished! Lots of work for the spring…
I sympathise, Elizabeth – a whole season can pass us by in such circumstances. I hope your Gram is in better health now…
Hello 🙂 Dropped by from Aquatom’s blog post. I really like the way you write and couldn’t agree with you more. I feel we humans tend to forget that we are all a part of Nature, and Nature has been here from the very beginning, while we travel this earth in measured life times..and because of this, what we build would also be measured unlike that of Nature.
Very good point, Jacob! Thanks for coming over to take a look!
Thank goodness Nature has her way so quickly. many eyesores become charming ruins, decorated by the best, the random hand of life.
Indeed. What artistry. 🙂
‘it’s just beneath the surface, waiting to take over once more.’ Yes.
I always plant trees wherever I live. The next occupant always cuts them down. They just don’t get it.
No, Tooty, they don’t. If I ever move into one of your places I promise to leave the trees up.
Loved your eloquence regarding Battersea Power Station – so descriptive and pretty!
Thank you, Persephone…it is a gorgeous building, sadly neglected…