Some readers already think, “What a daft question,” but please hear me out. Nobody seems to ask this, just as no one says, “What is a tree?” People take the term garden for granted. Yet it’s harder to explain than appears.
Many would say, “It’s space outside the house,” which means where it is depicts what it is. But the Oxford dictionary defines a garden as ‘a piece of ground, devoted to growing flowers, fruit, or vegetables.’ This explains the word through what takes place there.
Though both concepts seem clear, there are slugs in these two lettuces. For example, some Zen gardens have no plants, though their monks call them gardens. Some gardens are not attached to a house. I said it was less simple than you think.
So why am I asking the question? Often Monty Don (the UK’s leading TV gardener) talks about challenging his ideas of what a garden is, and that prompted my thoughts.
Viewers who share his garden each Friday might wonder why his ideas need testing. From tiny ferns to forest trees, from peas to pears, from grass to ginger, he grows healthy plants in spaces oozing serenity.
Does any garden contain the same range of pleasing plants, or mix of garden rooms and styles? Yet, he remains humble. He knows that though his space pleases him, others see gardens differently. Hence the diversity of gardens his TV programme shows. This carries us to the core of our debate.
One short phrase does not define all garden styles, and the range is huge. Balcony, Cottage, Courtyard, Desert, English, Forest, Gothic, Islamic, Japanese, Jungle, Mediterranean, No Dig, Permaculture, Prairie, Rococo, Wildlife, and Zen may precede the word garden.
The OED ignores what happens besides raising plants. Growing fruit, vegetables, or flowers seems all-encompassing, but excludes other acts. What about sharing your garden space with nature? Monet gardened to have an open-air studio. Zen monks use gardens to master meditation. Therefore, the OED definition is not enough for me.
Why do I garden? Not just to crunch homegrown carrots or swoon at my sweet peas, though these acts generate joy. No, growing in my garden makes me happy, despite my deeds seeming drab alongside Monty’s outcomes. The process trumps the payoff, and the OED misses this joy factor when defining gardens. Let’s trowel through history to see how gardens began.
The word garden predates the OED. It has roots in three languages: German, French, and Middle English, meaning an enclosed space in each. It shares roots with the French word jardin.
Today, modern gardens use hedges or fences to define their boundaries, remaining true to the concept of enclosure. As bees need nectar, humans crave privacy, a key facet in gardens. But I suspect the early fences kept stray animals and enemies out before they promoted seclusion.
Evidence suggests humans planted land during the Neolithic period in Syria in 8,500 BCE. It seemed easier to cultivate food plants in one place than to wander widely hunter-gathering. It was an act of survival, not leisure. Fields for crops, not gardens for flowers.
The Egyptians built walled gardens 3,500 years ago. They were definitely enclosed spaces, which embraced beauty and food. Tomb art shows leisure and artistry as integral to their high-status plots. The water feature had arrived, as ponds with lotus blooms appeared in their drawings.
This moves us closer to modern gardens with space to relax, combined with space to grow.
A further link between modern gardens and ancient plots is the way they enrich language. For example, to prune out dead wood, all is rosy in the garden, to cherry pick, he’s putting down roots, to weed out the poor candidates, I heard on the grapevine, to lead someone up the garden path, let’s nip it in the bud, or to prepare the ground.
But Egyptian hieroglyphics got there first. A papyrus plant drawing meant green. A branch hieroglyphic shows a measure of 100 cubits or a wood. The lotus blossom hieroglyphic had several meanings. It denoted rebirth, creation and purity. It strayed into the realm of politics, representing the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt.
The lotus was sacred, symbolising rebirth as it sinks below the water surface at dusk and emerges at dawn. Some rich people were buried with pictures of their garden in their tombs. Their spirits enjoyed it after death.
This takes us to spirituality, which holds hands with gardening, whatever faith you choose.
The Bible offers,
“Now the LORD God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden; and there he put the man he had formed…” (Genesis 2.8).
The Koran promises,
“Those who guard against evil will have gardens with their Lord.” (Surah Al’Imran, 15)
Hindu texts dating back further state,
“Gods come near the places which have water and gardens in them.”
We know the Egyptians used trees as symbols for their gods, and their temples had gardens.
Buddhist beliefs centre on respect for nature. That is the true soul of gardening.
In Greece, Plato and Aristotle built schools with green open-air plots to heal the spirit and aid thought. How tidy they were too, though perhaps too neat. COVID lockdown did not invent the outdoor classroom.
In Japan, gardens connected to faith for thousands of years, and the Maya and Inca linked gardens to their gods.
Chinese faiths have centred on gardens for 7,000 years. Returning crop remains to the soil built the cycle of life.
While I do not claim gardeners need religious faith, gardens inspire comfort, peace, and calm, which most faiths seek to induce. These feelings set gardens apart from mere spaces where plants prosper. The definition we seek must take this into account.
So, when humans claim their garden saved their mental health during COVID lockdown, I sigh. Long ago, humans grasped gardens linked to their souls, but modern humans forgot it chasing wealth. Why did we need sickness to recall values once taken for granted?
Recently, humans felt lockdown gardens became their guardian angel. But treating gardens as passing havens in times of stress misses the point. I hope humans learn gardens are for life, not just lockdown.
Therefore, we should include the concept of a safe, calm space in the final definition.
Humans and gardens have souls. When people visit the best examples, they seek planting ideas and the use of structure, form, and texture. But the thoughtful search for the garden’s spirit.
This is easy to detect when the owner used their passion and sweat to build it. Visitors sense the garden’s essence in the creator’s absence. Check Hidcote Manor, Foggy Bottom, Great Dixter, etc. if you disagree. Their creators’ passion for plants drove them, not a desire to display power as in Versailles and Hampton Court Palace.
So, we agree gardens must offer privacy and safety, affect our mood in a good way and have their own soul.
Until now, we have used famous examples, which may alter but never change location. We have assumed gardens are static. But must they stay in one place? This would exclude nomadic peoples from gardening.
Houseboats display pots and tubs with fruit, flowers, and herbs – mobile gardening. Tribes on the move sow seeds of plants they wish to crop when passing that way in the future. This sounds like gardening despite the lack of design or landscaping.
Therefore, gardens do not require fixed spaces, although this weakens the notion of enclosure. No one encloses houseboats. Tribes on the move build no fences. I warned, expressing what gardens are is harder than first appears.
Some firms offer garden designs that cancel plants as a key aspect with no thought of Zen. The reasons cited are less work and no messy hanging baskets, pots, or shrubs to disrupt outdoor living. Nothing spoils clean lines!
I call dead leaves and fallen petals part of garden life, not messy, and does nature favour clean lines? Have you ever followed a river’s entire course? It wiggles and bends like a cobra crossing desert sand. Show me nature’s clean lines.
Even though designs devoid of plants may please the eye, we must ask, are they gardens, landscaped plots, outdoor spaces, or theatre sets? Some gardens grow no plants to aid a focus on spiritual thought. These plots empty of plants, help monks meditate.
Where is the line between spiritual refuge and garden? Is there one?
That’s enough for now. I need a cup of tea. Part 2 will appear next week with my definition of what a garden is.
So, what are your thoughts? Do you have your own definition?
