Embracing failure

If I could turn back the clock and just have a little chat with my younger self, just as he took his first tentative gardening steps I would say this: “Embrace failure”

If I could turn back time… (ok that’s quite enough of that! There’ll be no Cher here, thank you! Ed.) But, if I could time-travel back and just have a little chat with my younger self, just as he took his first tentative baby-steps along the winding and alarmingly pot-holed garden path, I would say this:

“Embrace failure”

Now speaking with a little experience, but still with those initials fails still fresh in the memory… I would have to say “failure is a good thing”. I would go as far as to say that failure is arguably the most potent learning device there is. But also the most advantageous because, in gardening, failure often provides you with an opportunity. An opportunity to try again. To try something new. To fulfil that age old idiom: “Every cloud has a silver lining.”

If you learn to embrace failure, you’re far less likely to be heartbroken when things inevitably go awry. And trust me, they will. Sometimes spectacularly so! But that’s fine. Embracing ‘the fail’ makes you stronger, resilient, more determined. If you’re more resilient and more determined, you’re more confident and in a far better place (mentally and emotionally) to try new things. To experiment. To push the boundaries of your knowledge. Dare I say, even discover a new aspect to your garden and gardening.

Consider this though, even the most experienced gardeners and garden designers fail. But they learn from it, seize upon it, then they flip it into an opportunity. An opportunity to learn or try something entirely new!

Some gardeners absolutely LOVE their plants. I mean, they adore them. Worship them! They live for their plants and their plants are absolutely everything! You could call it an obsession or even liken it to an addiction. I’m not that kind of gardener. Personally, I think it’s a boon to my gardening that I’m not heart-achingly emotionally invested. Harder in practice than in theory, admittedly.

I get the feeling, from talking to many other gardeners, that I am perhaps less sentimental than most? I don’t form emotional attachments to particular species, cultivars, or individual plants. It’s not because I don’t care. It’s mainly because I look at a border or an entire garden as a whole.

How a garden makes me feel is not dependent on any one particular plant. It is how they are all interconnected, how they relate to one another, the patterns, forms, rhythms, and colours they express in combination. Like a conductor and their orchestra. I may point an irritated quivering baton at one or two, that need to get their act together, but I’m mostly concerned with the harmony.

Thinking about it, this does make my life as a gardener easier, because the vast majority of plants are replaceable… as is that wandering violinist. If I lose a shrub that is performing a particular role (anchoring, structure, leaf colour, blossom, etc) it’s more than likely I can find another that performs that role in a similar fashion. It may not be a perfect replacement, but so what? It could actually be better! So I seize the opportunity, when it arises, but I do not dwell on failure.

(Not in the garden, anyway)

This perspective genuinely helps me (quickly) overcome the losses that would otherwise really sting. Maybe its enabled me to act more decisively too. A few errors of judgment aside, I am quick to nip problems in the bud. Or take more drastic intervention like hard pruning, or lifting and transplanting even in the middle of summer. Sometimes, you just need to be proactive and not be afraid to cut your losses.

The caveat for me is always my mental health. If I’m hit with a depressive episode (that often lasts 6-8 weeks), then the garden must fend for itself while I batten down the hatches. Occasionally, this is when the I come back to find issues with rose rust, plants tested to their ‘drought tolerant’ limits, or invasive weeds, etc. It is what it is.

Stupendous fails

For a fun little exercise, I looked back at some of my BIGGEST failures and considered what I learned and what opportunities I found. So, without further ado, here are my own personal failure flips:

My Magnolias

When the cottage garden was first planted, I had two Magnolia stellata. They were expensive plants, but ailing. I had read that you could rejuvenate shrubs with a good hard prune. Let me tell you, in this garden, there’s been no better example of “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing!” I pruned. Hard. The result? Zero vigorous regrowth. Nada. Just an ugly, unbalanced, squat little shrub. Oops!

Lesson learned: There are some species that will not tolerate such harsh treatment and will simply sulk. Magnolias are one of them. The ailing was actually due to the intensely alkaline soil… We live and learn.

Opportunity: With the magnolias removed, I used the space for Hydrangea paniculata, H. arborescens, and an Acer palmatum. The acer was left to us by a neighbour. It had spent decades in a pot. Planting in such alkaline soil was a punt, but it paid off. The acer is spectacular!

The Lavenders

I bought frost tender lavenders (Lavandula canariensis) and planted up two gorgeous galvanised planters. These lavenders have soft, almost fleshy leaves, highly perfumed. I knew they were frost tender, so I placed them in the Potting Shed over winter. I assumed that with a roof and sun beaming through the windows, that it would be frost-free. I was wrong.

Lesson learned: Do not put anything frost tender the potting shed.

Opportunity: With the planters free, I will replant with either frost-hardy English lavender, rosemary, or Perovskia.

The Leeks

In my Kitchen Garden raised beds, I had grown a wonderful crop of leeks. They were looking perfect. Majestic. Suitable for adorning the shelves of Daylesford! But I had forgotten to cover them with a mesh row cover to keep out leek moth (Acrolepiopsis assectella) and allium leaf miner (Phytomyza gymnostoma). By autumn, the leeks had collapsed into mush, eaten from the inside out. I salvaged a few, but they were whittled down to pencil-width cores before I found enough undamaged leek to eat. All now fit for the compost.

Lesson learned: Do not be tardy with row covers. Cover crops immediately, you fool!

Those Clematis

When I planted the Flower Garden originally, I chanced upon a bargain. A dozen clematis plants going for £5 each. It was the end of the season and they were in tatters. I haggled down to just £3 per plant. Bargain! They were planted along the bare fence and under homemade obelisks. Over the next two years, they failed, one by one. The soil was too shallow, too alkaline, and too dry. That is my assumption anyway.

Opportunity: All the clematis along the fence and obelisks were replaced with climbing and rambling roses, plus wisteria. They are vigorous and happy. The fence all but disappears under the glossy rose leaves and blooms. The homemade ‘ash pole’ obelisks were replaced with huge cor-ten steel obelisks and they look phenomenal!

Those Bulbs

Since the flower garden was made, we have had tulips happily repeating in the borders. They were planted roughly 6-8in deep (15-22cm). But that wasn’t deep enough. A family of squirrels moved in and, in their winter hunger, have dug up every last tulip.

Opportunity: The tulips were part of a trial and I didn’t care for how they looked. The alliums and narcissus have been left alone, so I will continue to plant more of those. Any new tulips will be planted extra deep (12in or 30cm), but I will only plant out tulips in the green - those that have already given their best display on the Terrace or in the Courtyard. I think buying tulips for the borders here would be plain foolish!

That Paving

The paving was laid in Spring. A cold spring. I trusted the guys that were laying it. They were friends of the family, after all. But they continued laying and pointing even when frost was forecast. They didn’t bed the slabs properly either. The frost compromised the pointing which failed. Rain water seeped under and froze, popping the slabs. So I have loose paving and barely any pointing left.

This is a hard one to learn because of the expense.
Opportunity: I will soon learn how to lay paving and point!

Those Hostas

When the Cottage Garden was first made, I was looking for plants that coped with shade. Hostas are ubiquitous on shade gardening plant lists, so in they went. However, it was very dry shade and shallow soil. The hostas struggled, they were stressed, their growth was weak.

They were plagued by slugs and snails from the outset, homing in on that weakened growth. I thought the solution would be irrigation, to make that soil good and moist for the hostas. It only exacerbated the issue because now I was making the environment even more habitable for those malevolent mollusks. The hostas were all but annihilated!

Lesson learned: Hostas in dry conditions increases the risk of stress and subsequent attack by pests.

Opportunity: I uprooted the hostas and replanted them in pots. With the rich compost and regular watering, they recovered and have been absolutely incredible ever since, now taking pride of place on Shady Table. In their place, I planted shade-loving hardy geraniums, polemonium, thalictrums, Libertia grandiflora, Japanese anemones and more. None of which slugs like to eat!

That Rose Rust

For years, I had pruned all my roses in late autumn. I always defoliated them entirely, diligently clearing away all the leaves with my autumn garden tidy. The result was healthy, vigorous roses. Then I read an article saying they were best pruned in late winter. Okay, so I gave that a go. The result was Rust. Infected leaves had lingered on the plants for too long. Fallen infected leaves had decayed around the roses, leaving the rust spores to survive. New spring growth was immediately affected, exacerbated by the cold wet spring.

The worst case was the Generous Gardener on the garage wall. I kept looking at it, thinking I'll get to that… I’ll get to that. But I didn’t. Unfortunately, it was the summer of ’22 when my mind imploded, but that’s a tale for another time. I finally defoliated the climber, but all new growth continued to be infected. In the end, I hard-pruned the rose, which was the worst thing to do. It never recovered and will now be removed.

Lesson: Rust can spread like wildfire. As soon as you see orange pustules on the leaves, snip them off. Don’t wait. There are fungicides, but I will not use them as it’s an organic garden. If rust or blackspot has been an issue, prune your roses in late autumn, clearing out all fallen leaves and detritus under the rose. Keep them tidy!

Opportunity: This mini-disaster will have a happy outcome. The Generous Gardener will be replaced by the evergreen Trachelospermum jasminoides (Star Jasmine) and the rich perfume will fill the drive and the pure white flowers better suit the Courtyard Garden. Another advantage is that there will no longer be enormous thorns right next to the passageway - seriously, what was I thinking?!

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So there we have a few of my very finest failures! Gems, the lot of them. But I remain sanguine. I’m happy with the opportunities these fails have provided and that nudge to continue learning and not be such a smart arse. Every day, remains a school day. And that is absolutely fine with me.

I’ve shown you mine. Now you show me yours! Tell me about your biggest fails! Go on! Be courageous. This is a safe place…

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Coming up…

With the new season storming ahead and a flush of new gardening enthusiasts banging on the door of their local garden centres, I thought it was prime time to share some thoughts on GARDENING TOOLS! What are the essentials? What makes a good tool? What tools and brands do I use and recommend?