No Two Gardens Are Ever the Same | Marcus Bergin's Garden Notebook
REFLECTIONS
Marcus Bergin
7/17/20263 min read
No Two Gardens Are Ever the Same
People sometimes ask me whether looking after gardens becomes repetitive. After all, grass still needs cutting, borders still need weeding, and hedges never seem to stop growing. From the outside, I can understand why it might look that way.
The truth is, I've never really found two working days to be the same.
Yesterday was my first day back after a week away, and as I drove from one garden to the next, I was reminded just how varied this profession really is. The day began in a garden I've known for quite some time, one measured not in square metres but in acres. There was no grand project waiting for me, no dramatic transformation to unveil. Instead, I spent the morning deadheading, weeding, and gradually working my way around the borders.
To some people, those jobs might sound routine. To me, they're part of getting to know a garden.
As I worked, the garden was full of life. Birds seemed to be everywhere, with birds of prey calling overhead for much of the morning. The air slowly warmed as the hours passed until, almost without noticing, it had become one of those proper summer afternoons where the heat settles over everything. It reminded me that gardening isn't simply about the work we do. It's about being present in a place long enough to notice the world carrying on around us.
Later in the day, I found myself standing in a very different garden.
It wasn't an estate with sweeping borders or mature trees stretching into the distance. It was simply someone's home, and they wanted a little help keeping their lawn looking its best. We stood together talking about what they hoped their garden could become, and it struck me that the size of a garden has very little to do with the satisfaction it can bring. Whether it's half an acre or a few square metres behind a house, every garden matters because it matters to the person who spends time there.
That's something gardening has taught me over the years.
We sometimes admire the grand gardens that appear in magazines or on television, but some of the happiest conversations I've had have taken place beside an ordinary garden gate. A small patch of grass where grandchildren play. A border planted in memory of someone special. A favourite rose that's been growing for decades. Those gardens carry just as many stories as the famous ones.
The day finished somewhere entirely different again.
I walked around a beautiful property surrounded by established gardens, knowing that this was the beginning of a new chapter. At that stage, you're not thinking about mowing or pruning. You're simply looking, listening and trying to understand the character of the place. Every mature tree, every neglected border and every winding path tells you something about the garden and the people who have cared for it before you arrived.
Those first walks are always exciting.
Before a single plant is moved, there's a quiet period of observation. You begin to imagine what the garden could become while reminding yourself to respect what it already is. I think those moments are among the most enjoyable parts of my job because they're full of possibility.
Driving home later that evening, it occurred to me that I'd spent one day in three completely different worlds.
A large country garden.
A family lawn.
The beginning of a new project.
Different places. Different people. Different challenges.
Yet every one of them reminded me why I chose this profession all those years ago.
Gardening isn't really about maintaining plants.
It's about caring for places that matter to people.
And no two are ever quite the same.
Marcus
