Let’s Eat

Let’s Eat

It is with great pride that I can declare Room Three of The Palace Garden open. It has been a long time coming with plenty of distraction and a generous helping of procrastination standing in its way, so it comes as a bit of a surprise that there isn’t much left to do except weed and wait. Even as a new garden the weeds have gate crashed and are having a ball. I seem to be up there at least once a week evicting them before they get comfortable with their feet under the table. As with any new garden it is important to understand what is required for the ongoing maintenance. Gardens aren’t static and don’t care that you’ve spent months getting to the point that you can call the garden finished. It isn’t finished – plants continue to grow and will need constant monitoring to ensure they grow in a way that meets with the intended plan.

But weeds aside, the plants have a lot of growing to do. The garden is on a sandy soil, in harsh environmental conditions and once they establish, the aim is to leave them to their own devices as much as possible. There are no prima donnas in the mix.  In a difficult growing situation, it is best to start with small plants so they can adapt to their surroundings as they grow, rather than expect large plants to be shocked when introduced to their new home. Many older plants used to a more luxurious existence will easily turn up their toes at the indignity. As it is, I’ve had to replace a few little plants already. It isn’t a life for a shrinking violet.

The downside to planting to suit the needs of the plants and garden is the whole experience is a tad underwhelming. In my head I can see the mature vision in all its glory, but currently, it is just clumps of green fuzz, barely creating a scene. But in time it will be wonderful, I just have to trust the process. It is just as well the hard landscaping is there in a supporting role in the meantime.

The paths and structures took the most time, effort and if I’m to be honest, money. One of the delaying factors in the beginning was wondering if I really wanted to do this and spend money on another garden that I didn’t need but seemed to want to build. I’m driven by some kind of unknown energy that requires me to expand this little garden into something more. I would be filled with deep regret if I didn’t push forward, so that is what I did.

It started with a blank canvas created by our kind neighbour with a trusty tractor clearing away the kikuyu, followed by weeks and weeks of reaching into the soft sand to pluck stray rhizomes until they no longer waved their green flags above ground alerting the world to their presence. String lines lingered longer as I wrestled with the 3D vision on a 2D plan, uncertain of the balance the structures would create in the space. I struggle with imagining spatial awareness and always assume the space is wider or longer when the tape measure tells me in reality it is the complete opposite. I could do nothing about this except trust the numbers and carry on with my design.

The pergola was the biggest feature in the garden and painted white makes it stand out in the space, until the plants grow big to soften the harsh brilliance. It seems like a bold colour choice for a natural environment, however the moonlight glow reflected by the painted beams gives the perfect ethereal look I was aiming for and the fairy lights that hang from the rafters add the perfect illumination for entertaining in the dark.

The heirloom rose Blanc Double de Coubert from 1892, is apparently suited to a harsh coastal environment, was proved by spending 16 days in a dark box as it was jostled for too long at the mercy of the postal service. After their ordeal I expected to find three dead twigs, however they waved their pale green leaves at me as I opened the box and welcomed them home. They should grow 2m x 2m and take their place up the side of the pergola, providing a green balance to the hill opposite. Their white blooms will provide brightness, and their fragrance will fill the garden with joy.

There are so many hidden secrets in the garden that could be easily overlooked by the casual dinner. The paving pattern, while decorative and far from ordinary, has been designed to look like a rug cast below the table with the outside pavers pointing outward to represent the tassels commonly found on their woollen inspiration. The smaller paving areas that punctuate the paths are like welcome mats to greet the visitors into the space. The paths themselves are just ordinary gravel to blend in with the concrete colours that are background features that should tie things together in a way that anonymously holds the garden together. The way is illuminated with lime chips scattered causally among the gravel like breadcrumbs in a fairy tale. In time the sharp edges will be blurred by plants.

The final piece of the design is the statue of St. Francis of Assisi, who among other things is considered patron saint of the environment, which is important in this coastal garden that should leave as light a footprint as it can. He is also associated with hospitality and his welcoming compassion gives his statue meaning, highlighting values the garden aims to embrace, rather than just a piece of artwork that looks pretty.

With everything in place and nothing more to do – except weeding, I was ready to share the garden with my family and friends and what better way than embracing the Matariki holiday, the Māori New Year with principles that line up so well with the garden, honouring the harvest, sharing  food with friends and family and it was a fabulous occasion, everything I imagined when I first looked out over the weedy patch of land.   My heart was full. The Palace Garden has a dining room that will mark casual meals, intimate moments, and grand celebrations for seasons to come.

Come again soon – ideas for room four are rolling around in my imagination.

Sarah the Gardener  : o)