The Modern Mumma’s Day out… and so much more
Call me old fashioned but I could spend hours in a garden centre. No. Make that days. Oh, the Monty Dons and Rachel de Thames among you may scoff, for I am not a horticultural purist, in fact, about as far from one as you can get – despite being a Taurus who is supposed to be as green-fingered as they get, the only ‘green’ thing I have ever successfully managed to keep alive was an orchid… which I kept forgetting to water.
But I just adore a good garden centre.
First off, it’s the smell, isn’t it? You pull up in the car park, all expectant and smiley and you already have eau de composte up your nose, the freshly potted bulbs infusing the air, heck, even the fertiliser adding to the fragrant mix. There is something so compelling and full of promise as you wander those first few lines of spider plants, climbing roses and lavender tubs wondering what affordable little luxury you’ll treat your life to today.
It makes me come over quite excited. In an Earth Mumma way.
How will we jazz up the garden? Wouldn’t that yucca plant look becoming in the dining room – especially with a terracotta urn? Am I brave enough to start an 80s rockery? Shall we make a fishpond? Ooh, raspberries… let’s try to grow some raspberries!
But even as a kid, the garden centre was one of my favourite places to be.
My sister and I (cos freedom was a little less wrapped up in cotton wool back then) used to run the aisles, gazing excitedly at seed packets as if trying to decode an enigma, pulling off batches in our hands and trying to convince mum and dad that we could grow strawberries and marigolds in our garden – despite what the planting instructions had to say about the season.
We’d play ‘houses’ in sheds and conservatories, fraying the nerves of the shop assistants whose beady eyes never left our presence. We’d zig and zag among rows of honeysuckle, runner beans and bougainvillea, knocking off half a dozen flowers in the process and depositing mounds of earth behind us like a pair of moles leaving their mark. But it was all part of the fun.
And the mayhem didn’t stop when we got home either. We might well of tired of the cacti we’d been treated to for our bedroom windowsills, but we absolutely never got bored with creating our own garden centre in our own back yard… over-watering dad’s cabbages and daffs, de-heading the fresh mint and then pegging it when mum announced she was about to whip up some homemade mint sauce for the Sunday lamb roast.
Ah, the good old days.
Yet garden centres, as different as they may be now – as commercialised as they may be, have always been there for me. Through the happy and sad, the exciting and mundane moments of life:
Like after the stillbirth of my baby.
The garden centre then became a blissful refuge. A place to just be. Yes, there are sections crammed with far too many cheap books (many of which have about as much to do with flora and fauna as a Disneyland resort), Crabtree & Evelyn smellies (well, the gardener’s scrub you could argue is relevant) and Emma Bridgwater teapots. However, as an afternoon out, there is often no better place to while away a couple of hours. The sights, sounds, smells and colours are uplifting. There’s an ever pervading – in a non-obtrusive way – sense of hope. There’s the comfort of cake and tea. It’s a gentle place to dwell… if only temporarily. Your loss, your pain, your confusion momentarily take joy from the beauty surrounding you. You come home with a mini orange tree, or a rose bush, or an orchid. A tiny gesture which gives real meaning to the phrase ‘love conquers all’ – even the darkness.
Like moving in with your partner.
Oh, happy days! They say the ‘sock thing’ – ie. does your other half chuck them at random intervals unwashed throughout the house, or do they thoughtfully plonk them un-paired (very important distinction) in the laundry basket – is the true indicator of whether you can live with your beloved in mutual domesticated bliss. But I would argue that it’s a trip to the garden centre. If your man is anything like mine he will attempt (unsuccessfully) to deter you from buying olive trees, peonies, hot tubs, Crabtree & Evelyn’s entire range, 5 Yankee candles – the big’uns – and cheap cookery books on pasta, cupcakes and BBQ sauces, loading your trolley instead with ‘practical’ trays of coriander and parsley, potently stinking creosote for the fence and another pair of secateurs. Just in case he loses the 3 others he has in the shed.
What is it with men and secateurs?
Like letting the kids let off some steam on a we’re-so-bored-there’s-nothing-to-do kind of morning.
Get up. Be the early birds. Arrive before the crowds of like-minded parents get the same genius idea. Let them zig and zag those plant rows. Obviously this is the year 2016, if they’re little, don’t let them out of your site. If they are teens, hand the shop assistants several hip flasks of whiskey and go chill out in the cafe. It could get messy.
But all joking to one side, the garden centre IS a great morning out. It’s fun, educational and inspirational. Buy them those seeds – yes, even the ones you can’t really pot until the spring. Let them experiment, get their hands dirty and turn their back on their tablets for five minutes. It’s so good for them to get creative, despite the mess we might have to clear up, despite things wilting or lulling them into a false sense of security and then suddenly dying… For when those successes do come to harvest, when their tomato plants are ripe and bursting at their juicy seams, the feeling of achievement is priceless!
And of course, many garden centres cater for the younger ones nowadays with mini playgrounds where they can diffuse any temptation to dip nets into fish tanks and torment Nemo and his cousins by expending their energy in a more constructive way. And more importantly, you can relax with a cream tea and a cuppa and dither over whether to treat yourself to the hydrangea or the rhododendron…
Indeed, every mood that takes our fancy is a legitimate reason to get down to our local garden centre today, to help the bee population buy buying lots of purple flowers and to make our backyard, our community, our country, our world, our planet just that little bit happier.
