Garden books are a guilty pleasure of mine. Like perusing all those beautiful plant catalogues that come in the winter, these essays overflow with the pleasures of gardening without any of the backbreaking labor. No need to work up a sweat, just pour yourself a cup of coffee—or something stronger—and spend an hour or two sharing the joys and sorrows of someone else’s labors. Some of these books have stood the test of time, becoming classics of a kind. Others—and you can spot the new ones right away—give a 21st century view of the garden. Garden writer Sydney Elliston once wrote, “Gardens are a form of autobiography.” This is very true, because every gardener leaves a bit of him- or herself among the shrubs and flowers.
For instance, Karel Capek, author of one of the collections I've listed below, wrote: “I've found a place that would amaze you. People used to live there, but now it's all overgrown and no one goes there. Absolutely no one—only me... Just a little house and a garden. And two dogs.” Instantly, I knew I was going to like his book.
Elizabeth Lawrence wrote, “There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again.” (She’s one of my favorite garden writers, and it’s easy to see why that is.)
And this is from Margery Fish: “For the kitchen refuse I keep a big brown pot (commonly known as ‘the gash’) on the window sill behind the sink, and into it go all the tea-leaves, apple peels, onion skins and coffee grounds. Also crushed egg shells. Walter made a great fuss about the egg shells, he disliked them so and contended that it was silly to bother about them when I could get all the lime I wanted for a few pence. But I think my plants enjoy a mixed diet and I would not deny them little tit-bits of shell, but I did see that they were crushed very finely so that they did not intrude too forcibly on my lord’s eye.” Don’t you love her already?
I hope you enjoy these books as much as I do. I’ll be introducing more of my favorites in the coming weeks—it’s going to be a long, cold winter, after all.
The Bedside Book of the Garden
