Some of My Favourite Gardens Never See the Sun | Marcus Bergin's Garden Notebook
Marcus Bergin reflects on why shaded gardens deserve to be celebrated and how one forgotten corner became full of possibility.
GARDEN STORIES
Marcus Bergin
5/8/20242 min read
Some of My Favourite Gardens Never See the Sun
One conversation beside a dark, forgotten border reminded me that first impressions can be wonderfully misleading.
It was one of those gardens where people naturally apologised before we even reached the border.
"I don't know what to do with this bit," they said, pointing towards the side of the house. "Nothing ever grows there."
I walked over and stood quietly for a moment.
It wasn't a gloomy space at all. Yes, it was shaded for much of the day, but the soil was good, there was plenty of moisture and a mature tree overhead created that lovely dappled light that changes as the sun moves across the sky.
I smiled.
"I think you've got more possibilities here than you realise."
Over the years, I've had that same conversation dozens of times.
Somewhere along the way, we've become convinced that shade is a problem to solve. Garden centres are full of plants photographed in bright sunshine, television programmes celebrate colourful borders in full sun, and it's easy to come away believing that every successful garden should be bathed in light.
But nature has never worked like that.
Some of the most beautiful places I've ever walked have been woodlands.
The light is softer there. Ferns uncurl beneath ancient trees, moss covers old logs and birds seem happier to sing from the shelter of the canopy. Everything feels calmer somehow.
Why should our gardens be any different?
I've always found shaded gardens quietly fascinating. They ask you to look more closely. Instead of relying on bold splashes of colour, they reveal different shades of green, interesting leaf shapes, and subtle textures that change with the seasons.
A hosta leaf after rain can be every bit as beautiful as a summer rose.
The fresh fronds of a fern uncurling in spring are as exciting to me as the first tulips appearing after winter.
They're simply asking us to notice different things.
Perhaps that's one reason I enjoy working in shade so much. It rewards patience. You begin to appreciate the quiet details that might otherwise be overlooked.
That forgotten corner beside the house didn't need knocking down or paving over.
It simply needed someone to see its potential.
A few carefully chosen plants, a winding path of bark, perhaps a seat tucked beneath the tree where the afternoon sun filtered through the branches.
The customer's face changed as we talked.
For the first time, they weren't looking at a problem.
They were imagining a garden.
That's one of the greatest pleasures in my job.
Not planting.
Not pruning.
Not even seeing the finished result.
It's that moment when someone begins to look at their own garden differently.
Because the truth is, shade isn't the absence of opportunity.
It's simply a different kind of beauty.
And some of my favourite gardens have never spent much time in the sun at all.
Marcus
