At the end of the month, I\u2019ll celebrate my garden\u2019s second birthday. Two years since my partner and I moved into this garden flat in Brixton. On moving day, I put off inspecting my new outdoor realm until we\u2019d removed the last few boxes from the car. Then we cracked open a bottle of fizz and swug straight from the bottle, sweat working its way through my Taylor Swift T-shirt. I took in the first private garden of my own. The last of the clematis<\/a> flowers were hanging on; it was the middle of a beautiful summer.<\/a><\/p>\n

Constructing flowerbeds was something I\u2019d only read about in books <\/blockquote> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n<\/div>
When people found out I was finally getting a garden after five sky-high years, they surmised that I must be terribly excited. In reality, I was overwhelmed. I\u2019d never worked with soil<\/a> in a meaningful way, I\u2019d barely contemplated making compost<\/a>. Constructing flowerbeds<\/a> was something I\u2019d only read about in books. There was huge promise in this garden \u2013 a blank slate of untidy turf, a few sad shrubs and the world\u2019s most disproportionately large patio \u2013 but there was real potential I\u2019d come up short of whatever expectations I thought I held.<\/p>\n
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Two years on and I\u2019ve learned plenty; I mulch<\/a> my beds with home-made compost<\/a>, I sow hardy annuals<\/a>. I spent the afternoon of my 32nd birthday wrenching a Kiftsgate rose out of the ground, and Valentine\u2019s Day<\/a> planting a bare-root Rosa<\/em> \u2018The Generous Gardener\u2019. Over the course of that first year I watched the light shift across the back wall of the garden from my desk, and, as the seasons changed, things grew up against it. Quite by accident, I\u2019d created a late summer-garden<\/a>, one flush with dahlias<\/a> and grasses<\/a>. On the August bank holiday we threw a party there, and it felt like a homecoming.<\/p>\n
The second year has been calmer and more considered. The winter beds were filled with the skeletons of summer\u2019s perennials, I threw in dozens of narcissi among the previous year\u2019s preciously planted tulips and it kept the squirrels away (they don\u2019t like the taste). We\u2019d plumped for an April wedding, and so I abandoned the lot for a honeymoon at the start of the growing season. This may sound heretical to some gardeners, but what I\u2019ve learned most from the garden is that it manages quite well without me. We returned to long grass, plenty of deadheading<\/a> and new surprises for a new stage of life.<\/p>\n

I dream of plume poppies and martagon lilies and delicate, tiny narcissi <\/blockquote> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n<\/div>
What lies ahead for year three? Bigger things, I hope. I\u2019d always envisaged the garden to have two stages: one of hapless experimentation, another of landscaping and order \u2013 less playing around the edges, more forming something that allowed me to really grow. I dream of plume poppies and martagon lilies and delicate, tiny narcissi. I long to plant a tree.<\/p>\n
One thing I\u2019ve realised the garden is truly missing is a spot to sit and bear witness; it\u2019s lacking an inviting, sun-drenched corner. Because while we can plan planting schemes and trawl through seed catalogues, the most vital part of gardening is to look and to be. I\u2019m currently a rather frantic gardener, rushing around making mental lists and finding things to do. I\u2019d like to be a more observant one, taking in a better understanding of what the space has to offer and making a garden with that in mind, too. Where a good nook starts, a deeper view follows.<\/p>\n
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Read Alice\u2019s column each month in Gardens Illustrated magazine. Subscribe here.\u00a0<\/a><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n
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Watch our Instagram Live tour of Alice Vincent\u2019s new garden<\/strong><\/p>\n
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