So there I was this morning, trudging along on a four mile training walk (I’m attempting the Moonwalk this May – a walking marathon through London, at night, in a bra – no, really, I’m serious) and I saw a wonderful sight – a few small clumps of snowdrops.
Now I know this is nothing out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t so much the ‘what’ as the ‘why’ and ‘who’. You see these were planted by myself and my daughter two years ago on a desolate verge, guerrilla gardening-style.
For the uninitiated, guerrilla gardening is a movement, begun in New York in the early 70s, which seeks to take over and cultivate derelict or neglected spaces. Now, I can’t claim to be doing anything quite as daring as many, but Ava and I did decide to make our mark on some common land in our own way.
It was the tulips that did it. You see, there is a grassy verge at the entrance to our village which I see almost every day. In my opinion, it’s at its riotous best sometime in late May when the wild flowers grow unhampered and just before the summer grass cutting begins.
However, it really caught my eye in the spring, and for all the wrong reasons. After a pleasant enough display of daffodils, I was suddenly confronted by some bright red tulips. Now these are all very well in a cultivated back garden, but they were hardly fitting for the base of a hedgerow.
I realised someone must have thought they were doing us all a favour – brightening up a dull green landscape – but in my opinion it jarred to the point of being downright painful. So I thought, we should enter the battle of the bulbs in an attempt to bring back some native credibility to this little slice of countryside.
Early one sunny morning in late February ’07, myself and a then 3-year-old Ava took some trowels and a clump of snowdrops in a bucket and crept out towards the verge. Snowdrops are best planted ‘in the green’ – which means they are still in leaf although they have finished flowering – as they establish far better like this than from dried bulbs.
We divided up the clump and planted them singly about 15cm apart. We probably managed about 50 before Ava and I both decided we were chilly and feeling a little conspicuous.
Last year there was little to show for our efforts. Such tiny, delicate flowers are hard to spot (especially compared to a garish tulip) but I like to think of them as Davids rather than Goliaths. As a native bulb, they embrace our cold damp soil whilst Tulips, homesick for their native Turkey and its sandy loam, often rot off and have to be replaced.
If this is guerrilla gardening warfare, the small clumps I saw today gives me hope that if we lost the initial battle, we will still win the war.