Has she become a tree hugger?

How nature has helped me mend this year

I went to the Chelsea flower show on Thursday. A huge milestone, as this was my maiden London trip since December (I am usually up there about once a month) and first proper outing with crowds and public transport since having had my chemo and radiotherapy treatment. My lovely friend Kirstie was with me in case I should suddenly decide it was all too much and I needed to get home quickly, and we were also generously invited into the beautiful hospitality suite of The Newt in Somerset, the show’s sponsors, which made the hustle and bustle much more bearable (aided by their delicious Fine Cyder and Babylonstören Rosé).

I know the show has its critics. “Elitist, expensive, too ‘celebrity’” and part of me understands those sentiments. But this year, amongst the throngs of Panama hats and £12 Pimms there was a strong message coming from the gardens and planting. That being quite simply, how Mother Nature can be some of the best, mostly free, therapy available.

One of the show gardens had been designed by Miria Harris who had suffered a stroke a few years before and this display was telling her recovery story and how her own garden had assisted in that. A clay wall (seen above) was exactly the same width as her handspan and could be used to steady her whilst following the path around the beds. In fact Monty Don, whilst interviewing Miria, became visibly overwhelmed and emotional as it brought back memories of his own stroke. He asked whether the pond in the middle was symbolic for her as he had immediately seen it as the dark place he was in at the time. “It was like a black hole or a pit and my mind was falling into it and words and thoughts were just disappearing”. Powerful stuff.

The garden which won Best in Show, incredibly designed by a first timer Ula Maria, was for Muscular Dystrophy UK and was based upon the principle of forest bathing. With more than 40 trees surrounding a shaded area packed with vibrant irises and lush greenery, Ula wanted to show how the forest and its canopy could offer a place of refuge and solitude.

One of the gardens that moved me particularly, was that of the Church of St.James, Piccadilly, designed by Robert Myers and entitled “Imagine the World to be different”. The central London church is quite obviously so much more than a place of prayer and offers a number of schemes to support the homeless, including a counselling service, hot meals and a clothing bank. Currently there is an old caravan being used for the therapy sessions but the beautiful new wooden structure (below) built especially for Chelsea, will be transported back to Piccadilly now, along with the plants, and offer a far softer, warmer space more conducive to the virtual hug those in need will receive whilst in there.

Plants themselves have, of course, long been used in alternative medicine. I am a huge fan of natural tonics and essences and would normally revert to these rather than a pill pot (sadly not an option for the Big C). I remember a work colleague and I once both going through particularly stressful personal times and sitting with droppers of Rescue Remedy each morning whilst catching up on our respective dramas. I must admit that we ended up giving up on the drops and ended up chugging the ‘calming, floral extract solution’ straight from the bottle, which probably wasn’t ideal, but it had the desired effect.

However, the message coming from Chelsea this week wasn’t necessarily about the ingestion of healing plants although there were many edibles and herbals present. It was twofold really. Firstly, how just being outside and amongst vegetation can instantly lift you and secondly, how growing things oneself with soil under your nails and hope in your heart, can be one of the most powerful tonics there is. And this really is where my story unravels this year.

My lymphoma treatment took place during what are always known here in England as our darkest, greyest, wettest months (although boy did this year drag those out) so being knocked out by chemo and spending hours laying on the sofa would probably have hurt much more had the sun been streaming through the windows and everybody was having fun outside. But as I slowly started to feel less unwell and the nausea subsided, my mind turned to the garden and planting. I have a secondhand greenhouse, inherited from a kind neighbour, which is the perfect shelter on a drizzly day, and in the hours when I had some strength and enthusiasm, I started to sit in there sorting through pots, seed packets and little jars I had saved things in, often unlabelled just adding to the anticipation.

I sowed, I watered, I checked (sometimes hourly - ever the optimist) until as with my own health, little green shoots started to appear. Some things I left in the greenhouse and others I planted out into the garden. I battled against the creatures who were determined to enjoy my treasures more than me (snails, mice, slugs, pigeons and rabbits …I see you 👀) but somehow things have survived. Tiny broad beans are appearing, miniscule mange tout are tempting me, flowers have crested the tomato plants and mini, green, bullet hard strawberries are hanging in clusters just awaiting some ripening rays.

I was never in doubt that completing your daily 10,000 steps through an apple orchard, or by a bullrush edged river, or through a field of corn and poppies, would do so much more for you than if inside a sweaty gym on a treadmill, but I think I have even surprised myself at just how much the garden and the growing of things has affected and boosted my sense of well-being, particularly mentally.

I won’t know for another few weeks, whether medically I am out of the woods. What I do know is that something has switched inside and I sense positive change. I crouched down over a courgette plant this morning, the lower leaves of which had been thoroughly decimated at the slug buffet and were skeletons of their former vibrant selves. But then in the middle, as if by magic, darker, stronger leaves with flowers attached were pushing through, almost sticking two fingers up to their enemy and I suddenly got quite emotional.

Yes, I have lost the plot and I am identifying with a courgette plant, but I could see the similarity. Well done Mother Nature, you’ve brought me back from a dark place and hopefully soon, I too can be emerging stronger, more vibrant, whilst sticking my two fingers up to my personal enemy. For now I’ll keep them crossed.