I’m Dan. For 20 years I’ve been a keen gardener without a garden. In June 2018, that all changed. Finally, I own a patch of East London dirt. It’s small, awkward and shady (just like me) but it’s mine. This is my mission to turn it into an urban oasis.
You have to start somewhere. In my case, I’m starting with a fully-paved, northwest-facing backyard that’s seven feet wide and 24 feet long. There’s an even narrower, concreted strip up the side of the house and a few square feet out the front, where — unfortunately — we have to keep the bins. This is my blank canvas.
I spent the first 19 years of my life on my grandparents’ dairy farm in Australia — where my Grandmother had acres of roses, vegetables and fruit trees and where my love of gardening began. I spent the next 19 years working as a journalist in Australia and the UK — sometimes writing about gardens, but never having one of my own.
Forgive the tardiness, but the sun is out and I have been gardening like Vita Sackville West on crack. (Which is how she liked things, apparently.) It has been a sometimes frustrating, sometimes triumphant, spring and early summer. Let me share what I’ve been up to.
We’ve been to the hospital three times since Christmas. To be fair, the garden was only to blame once.
I have a few things I need to get off my chest, so this post is as much confessional as it is gardening blog.
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