Why Do You Garden?

A health scare, running and a lifetime of planting

I’ve always been a gardener. But running. That’s something that’s come and gone from my life. There was the phase when I was in uni. I’d come home and run around the block, all 5 kilometres of it. I lived in London for three years and would often get home from work and head out in the dark to run across Putney Bridge, along the Thames, across the Hammersmith Bridge and back south along the other side of the river to home. Towards the end of my three-year stint in London, I even managed to run a half-marathon.

On my return to Australia, and more favourable gardening conditions, the running stopped. And started and stopped some more. I had bursts of motivation, followed by back-of-mind neglect. I kept telling myself, “One day I’ll build on my half-marathon effort.” I’d pull on my running shoes and head out for that first run. Putting my body on notice. “This time, body, I’m serious. One day we’re going to run a marathon. Get ready.”

At some point, the delusion of running a marathon – and even the running itself –stopped. My business grew and occupied most of my time. The kids were born. Life. Got. Busy. Too busy to run. The running shoes languished in the cupboard, neglected, pulled on only occasionally to kick the footy with the kids. Normally, for footy, I stick with the steel caps that I’m already wearing. They’re good enough, and they’re an excuse for the wayward kicks. But sometimes, when I want the kids to feel I’m really making an effort, when I want to get my body moving, I pull on the runners.

I reckon it’s been at least 15 years since I’ve had any kind of running routine. I’m very active. I spend time digging, bending to weed and lugging timber, firewood and other materials around the property. I run and chase the kids playing ball games. But I’m not that active. I’m fortunate that I can mostly pick and choose what I do when. When it’s raining, in the depths of winter, I spend most of the day at my desk, writing. Other times, my work involves consulting. It gets me out and about, seeing the countryside and advising clients. But consulting involves a lot of travel. A lot more sitting on my bum in the ute. Yes, I’m active, but I’m not fit. My heart rate never really rises.

Recently, I had a health scare

I won’t go into details, and it’s all worked out all right. There’ll be no interruption to your weekly gardening email. But I’m frustrated with the public health care system. A system where you can fall between the cracks. A system where for three whole weeks, you can wonder whether you’re dying, only to be told, oh no, there was nothing to worry about, so we didn’t contact you. We’ll keep monitoring you though.

It was enough of a scare for me to finally do what I’ve been saying I’ll do for over a decade.

I pulled on my running shoes. And now, again, I’m a runner.

And I’ve kept at it. Motivated by wanting to keep my aging body going for as long as it can, I’ve pushed through those initial painful runs. The ones where every part of your body screams at you “Stop, we’re not cut out for this!” My chest thumps “Gawd, what hell are you subjecting me to?” and my lungs wheeze “Pleeeeease make it stop”. But I keep on running. It was my fourth attempt before I could navigate five kilometres of hilly back roads without pausing to walk for a bit. Most of those hills are imperceptible in a car. Running them gives me a new appreciation of the local landscape, a better understanding and connection.

Now I’ve pushed through the worst of it and running is fun again. Some mornings I get up at 5 am and set aside my regular writing habit to run through the darkness. Sometimes, I squeeze in a running session before the kids get home from school. But three times a week, I’m running. I’ve got my eyes on a half-marathon later in the year. And who knows, maybe a marathon is on the cards for 2027. Finally.

All because of a little health scare

Isn’t it odd how it takes a fright to really motivate us. I’m not surprised by my “until it was almost too late” lethargy. I’ve heard variations on “My husband has cancer, so we’ve decided to grow a vegetable garden and eat more healthily” over and over again.

A huge percentage of my consultations are booked by folks who are making major lifestyle changes and want to start growing food. Often, it’s because of illness. Moving house is an obvious motivator to get stuck into gardening. So is retirement, or starting a new job, or going back to work after parental leave. But it comes down to suddenly having extra time, extra cash, or life-threatening motivation. Starting gardening, like starting running, needs a catalyst.

“I have such fond memories of home-grown tomatoes in my grandparents’ garden. I’ve been meaning to plant some for years.” For many people, smelling and tasting home-grown produce triggers nostalgia. And for some, it’s enough of a trigger to start getting their own hands dirty. Others need more help.

Gardening and growing food has been a constant in my life.

I’ve always been a gardener. There are photos of me as a four-year-old pottering in the garden. As a pimply teenager, I set up my own patch on the family farm, fenced it off from the cows and my sister’s horses and used my own pocket money to buy seedlings and seeds to plant it out. I’ve pottered with grow bags on London patios. And as a renter in Melbourne, I dabbled with making garden beds from timber pallets and growing trees in upcycled plastic beer kegs. Now my garden is one of the pillars on which I’ve built my life. No heath scares, no sudden revelations or dramatic catalysts required. I’m a gardener: always was, always will be.

But what about you? Why do you garden?

Hit reply to this email and tell me why you garden. Was there something that inspired you to give it a crack? Or, like me, have you always been a gardener? Do you garden to remember? Or to share the joy of home-grown food with friends and family?

If you’re feeling brave, attach a photo of your garden so I can see it. If you’re feeling reckless, include yourself in that photo.

If I get a good number of responses, I’ll use them to compile a sequel to this post. A snapshot of some of my readers and why they garden.

Go on, be brave.

Hit reply.

Note: Readers will be identified only by their first name, initial of their surname and town or suburb. If I publish your response, I might need to edit it for length, clarity, or some other reason.

---

This post goes well with:

• Making Every Season Count

• Gardening to Remember