Mid NOTE #4 Habitats
Researching my new book How to Leave a Garden, I explored the idea of what a garden actually is with a bunch of 8 year olds, views, habitats and the wholeness of nature providing an overriding score.
Mid note: Middle notes, also known as heart notes, emerge after the top notes of a scented blend fade. Full-bodied and slow to evaporate, they are the lingering soul of a perfume. That which will be remembered.
Thank you to everyone who has contacted me about contributing to my new book How to Leave a Garden. I have been very touched by your stories. It’s always fascinated me how collective memories gather when an idea is posed.
Interestingly, gardens are really only a small part of the narrative of this book. ‘The view’ is where the heart of the matter appears to lie; habitats and the wholeness of nature providing the over-riding score.
I began the introduction to my book The Botanical Bible (2018) with the question ‘What are plants?’. Five or so years on, the question appears to be, ‘What is a garden?’. Where are the boundaries between that which we own and the natural habitats that transcend our beds and borders?
I began the introduction to my book The Botanical Bible (2018) with the question ‘What are plants?’. Five or so years on, the question appears to be, ‘What is a garden?’. Where are the boundaries between that which we own and the natural habitats that transcend our beds and borders?
I asked this of a bunch of 8 year olds at the school where I teach gardening every Tuesday as we explored the area between our main garden and an additional space we hope to develop running from the playground up to the back gate on Godwin Road. Having done a quick swallow-dive presentation of the grounds courtesy of Google Earth so we could survey our technical parameters, I then zoomed back out via a map of Epping Forest that showed how the school is just a tiny part of a much bigger vista that sweeps up from nearby Wanstead Flats and Wanstead Park, through Leyton and Woodford, up into the main swathe of ancient trees and iron age hill forts between Chingford and Epping. A green corridor leading from the north-eastern outskirts of London – our home from home in Forest Gate – up into rural Essex.
I wanted to find out what my newest budding gardeners also knew of habitats and species, so I then took them on a walk along the northerly edges of the playground to pique their powers of observation. I was surprised to hear that a good proportion of the children had never heard of Epping Forest or indeed been, despite the fact that Wansted Flats is counted as the lowermost portion of it. One asked me what he might do there if he did go; those who had been, quickly piped up with ‘climb trees’, ‘lie on the grass and stare at the sky’ or ‘look for mushrooms’. Others began to excitedly discuss when and how they would get there. From Forest Gate it’s only a 20-minute drive or a few stops on the Central Line from Wanstead or Snaresbrook. In which case, I’m surprised that school trips are not a given to this phenomenal local resource.
We studied the trees and learned to identify limes and sycamores, the latter of which most of them knew as ‘helicopter trees’, although largely unaware that these ‘helicopters’ carried the seeds of the sycamore to places where they might germinate and grow into new saplings. Halfway along the back wall, we then stopped again to observe a proliferation of bright green leaves that hung over from someone else’s garden – just one of a row of plots that run perpendicular to the school. Among the leaves were bunches of dark black ‘berries’, which some then identified as grapes. They were amazed that grapes could exist in their school, if by default of the spilling-over vine.
‘Who does the habitat belong to?’, I asked. ‘The garden beyond’, most of the children replied. ‘But I wouldn’t care if I was a bird,’ said one. ‘I don’t think I would know that I was at school, especially if I was eating grapes . . .’ ‘It belongs to nature,’ said another.
‘Who does the habitat belong to?’, I asked. ‘The garden beyond’, most of the children replied. ‘But I wouldn’t care if I was a bird,’ said one. ‘I don’t think I would know that I was at school, especially if I was eating grapes . . .’ ‘It belongs to nature,’ said another.
The rest of our recce followed a similar theme of stopping to observe the landmarks of our collective kingdom: the green leaves and ripening seedheads of the ivy cascading over the wall, the rooted stems scrambling up a tree so the leaves can reach the sun all the better to photosynthesise; the common ragwort at the footings of the wall in the proposed new section of garden, most probably ‘escaped’ from Wanstead Flats by way of its parachute-assisted seeds, part of a 50,000–60,000 cohort capable of being produced by one plant; the 'butterfly bush’ buddleja, with its purple, orange-centred flowers, spiky seedheads, and silver-backed leaves; small colonies of what looks like female fern and hart’s tongue fern wedged in between loosened areas of pointing; red-stemmed and leaved herb Robert, its small blooms providing pops of candy pink against the asphalt.
I let the kids loose with scissors so they could snip off bits of plants to show each other back in the main garden, each individual species then represented on a gridded sheet in the greenhouse as a habitat show-and-tell. In the afternoon, I did something similar with the older kids, but this time drawing trees and their environments.
Gardening with kids is often assumed to be largely about productive crops of edibles or flowers but it’s so important to teach our future gardeners, designers, landscape architects, nature conservators, and citizens of a globally changing world about things like soil and habitats first, during which time they pick up key observation skills and become more keenly aware of how everything is connected.
Gardening with kids is often assumed to be largely about productive crops of edibles or flowers but it’s so important to teach our future gardeners, designers, landscape architects, nature conservators, and citizens of a globally changing world about things like soil and habitats first, during which time they pick up key observation skills and become more keenly aware of how everything is connected.
Perhaps the most arresting piece of work done that day was by a 9-year-old boy who comes to the lessons with a one-to-one carer. He’s been telling me that he doesn’t like nature from the get-go. While everyone else was drawing trees, he was drawing a fire truck. I asked him if he was going to draw the tree as well to which he said I guess so. When I asked if anyone wanted to share their work he was first up, crying ‘Me, me!’. He then delivered a powerful speech about the forest being on fire and we need to save it because of global warming otherwise we will have no oxygen to breathe. ‘I like trees, but I don’t like nature’, he added.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. Because perhaps in our assumption that everyone likes ‘nature’, we forget just how multi-faceted it can be. Perhaps for this insightful and empathetic soul, he can see every detail of and connection within each habitat so vividly, this includes all the scary bits too, not least the unknown, and so focusing on a tree is safe for him.
And perhaps that’s the point of a garden too. To be a safe-haven within a wider habitat, and in some cases so that habitats can be safely nurtured and allowed to thrive.
And perhaps that’s the point of a garden too. To be a safe-haven within a wider habitat, and in some cases so that habitats can be safely nurtured and allowed to thrive. We may divide such spaces with our fences, hedges, and walls – in the name of ownership – but ultimately root systems, branches, canopies, climbers, escapee seedlings, and the wildlife that call such habitats home, ramble on regardless. Outlying arbiters of our gardens and our views.
Welcome to a new series of Mid NOTES a place to share nature-inspired happenings from my botanical world, including articles and books I’m writing or editing, my home garden and school garden, upcoming artworks and exhibitions, and things to look forward to over the coming season. Connect with me on Instagram @sonyapatelellis or email hello@abotanicalworld.com. For books, prints or a full author bio visit www.abotanicalworld.com.