THE ACCIDENTAL GARDEN

Reflections on a lifetime of gardening.

Midway through his book, the author cites the contemporary British painter Kurt Jackson, a kindred spirit. Jackson’s “Taxonomy of a Cornish Foreshore” depicts a conventional seascape, but dangles tags in the lower half of the painting listing flora and fauna he has depicted. It is a representation of an ecosystem that blurs the lines between what we think of as art and science. Splendid in itself, the painting is an apt illustration of the intent of this “accidental” memoir. It refers widely not only to Latin plant names but also to various poets, including Andrew Marvell and R.S. Thomas, who defined a garden as a “gesture against the wild.” Mabey roams widely, not only through his own two acres in Norfolk, eastern England, but also through philosophy, botany, and ancient customs. We also learn about divining rods locating boundaries and about various forms of composting and uses of agricultural machinery. The author and his wife form two bookends: Mabey is more old school and likes to impose. His wife, Polly, allows nature to lead her with minimum interference. There are digressions on the uniform planting of fruit trees and side trips to Provence and Crete in search of Mediterranean ambiance that can survive a British winter. The book provokes tangential musings: Why don’t the British give knighthoods to gardeners? Is it the class prejudice against working with your hands? The book whiffs slightly of “we happy few” and can feel insular. Anyone sweating through a Phoenix summer of 100 days at temperatures over 100 degrees might feel less than sympathetic to the “heat wave lite” here described. Nonetheless: Anglophile gardeners addicted to Britain’s Gardeners’ World program will regard this short book as catnip.

Eco-friendly musings worth digging into.