Coming Home With Fresh Eyes

Tomorrow I'll be back in Gloucestershire. The gardens I know so well will still be there, but I have a feeling I'll see them a little differently.

Whenever I travel, people often ask whether I switch off from gardening for a week. The honest answer is that I probably don't. I may leave my tools at home and exchange my work boots for something a little lighter, but my mind never really stops being curious. Wherever I go, I'm looking at trees, shrubs, public planting and the landscapes that surround me. I suppose, after more than twenty years, that's simply become part of who I am.

This week has been no different.

I've spent time walking through parks, exploring the landscape and, yes, even visiting a garden centre. Some things have inspired me more than others, but that's never really been the point. Travelling has a wonderful way of reminding you that every place has evolved in response to its own climate, its own soils and its own challenges. The plants growing here aren't trying to be Gloucestershire, just as our gardens at home shouldn't be trying to become somewhere else.

There's something rather freeing about that thought.

As gardeners, we can sometimes become convinced that the next plant, the next trend or the next idea will somehow transform our gardens. Yet the best landscapes I've seen this week haven't been created by chasing fashion. They've been created by working with what nature has provided. The plants belong, the trees have found their place and the whole landscape feels settled because nothing is fighting against its surroundings.

I think that's a lesson I'll take home with me.

Not because I want to recreate Fuerteventura in Gloucestershire—quite the opposite. This holiday has made me appreciate just how fortunate we are. We have seasons that change the character of our gardens, hedgerows full of wildlife, ancient trees that shape the landscape and a climate that allows an extraordinary range of plants to flourish. It's easy to take those things for granted when you see them every day.

Sometimes you need to leave home to appreciate home.

I've often found that to be true in gardening as well. Spend every day in the same garden, and it's easy to overlook the quiet changes happening around you. Step away for a week, and you return noticing things you hadn't seen before. A tree that has put on more growth than you realised. A shrub that's settled beautifully into its space. A border that's beginning to knit together in a way it hadn't when you left.

Distance has a curious way of sharpening your vision.

As I pack my suitcase this evening, I won't be bringing home unusual plants or bags full of gardening books. Instead, I'll be bringing back ideas, observations and, perhaps most importantly, a renewed appreciation for the gardens waiting for me at home.

I already know that the first time I walk into one of the gardens I look after, I'll notice something I might otherwise have missed. That's one of the quiet gifts of travelling. It reminds us that familiarity can sometimes blind us to beauty, and that a change of scenery has a habit of refreshing not only the body but the way we see the world around us.

Tomorrow I'll be back among the trees, the hedgerows and the gardens that have shaped so much of my life.

And somehow, after a week away, I think I'll enjoy them even more.

Marcus

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Marcus Bergin

Practical gardening advice, podcasts and inspiration.