As gardeners, we hold in our minds, not the ideal Platonic form of ground well tilled, but the heritage of the sweat watered soils of our ancestors, and the guarantee of the sweet yielding soil of our successors. The labour of a lifetime on a plot of earth is more than worth it, not because of the immediate results it brings, but because of the heritage it transmits to those who will sit in the shade of the saplings we plant today; and because of the prospect of enjoying halcyon days in the future in the garden of our Father, whose husbandry is of an other and far better kind than ours.

We recently moved to a new home and, given how much outdoor spaces are now being used for entertaining, we have poured some energy into our inherited garden. Previous occupants have worked hard to maintain, cultivate, and increase the ground, and that shows. Many of them remain in the neighbourhood, and have pledged themselves to support and labour with me – their experience, skill, and work ethic adds immeasurable benefit. The fences are immaculately constructed and painted, the paths in and out of the garden have been cleared and laid in welcoming paving, birdlife and wildlife have been given a place to forage and feed, and the loam has been painstakingly watered – at times at great cost. We have no complaints about how the ground has been prepared, nor about the team of friends who work alongside us.

Working an inherited garden is, however, hard work. Patches can develop on the thatch because of human traffic, or soil that would not take the seed over the years. Some of the most colourful areas on the lawn are actually buttercup and dandelion, and their short term splendour is no compensation for the long term harm that they can cause. Behind the fence a patch of common ground yields ivy and bramble in abundance and, given a few weeks of innocent negligence, they would insinuate themselves into the garden quietly – weakening the boundary and choking the good growth which we are seeking.

We also have decisions to make about the future shape of the garden. Some principles have governed us, in terms of accepting the size of the patch we have, and the natural lie of the land which will always accept and resist cultivation in one way or another. There is also the challenge of making decisions now which might deplete our choices in the future, or which might require demolition and reconstruction. In the evenings we sketch out what our outside space could look like in the future, taking note of contingencies which might force a rethink – budget, time, equipment etc.

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