1 of 131

Write now Article Tools

From a very early age I grew up in a block of flats and did not have the luxury of a back garden. My father had made our small concrete balcony into a green haven full of all kinds of plants, hanging and otherwise and he even grew vegetable too! It is amazing what you can do with a section of grey 10 by 10 tarmac and a couple of grow bags

When I reached 13 years old, my parents decided that they couldn't live in the "flats" any longer, and managed to get an "exchange house" with the local council. I resisted the change in environment and was adamant that I didn't want move away. After all, the high rise had been my home for most of my life, and the thought of living in a normal house filled me with dread.

My Dad was very excited. "We can have a proper garden at last", he told me, "and you can help me if you would like to." I shook my head. I had taken a wander around for a pre "looksie" the evening before and had got a pretty good idea that a garden was filled up with all sorts of nastiness, such as slugs and snails and spiders to name but a few mini beasts. The very thought of going out there made me shudder.

"No thank you Dad, it's your garden and I am not interested". And that was that.

When I think back to those times I amaze myself to think that in the four years we spent there I could have counted on one hand the number of times I actually walked around our dear little garden. I feel ashamed now to remember that my dad poured all his heart and soul into his plants and vegetables and up until a point; I never showed the slightest interest. Even when it came time to peeling a few home grown spuds and shred some velvety green cabbage. If I knew it had come from Dad's garden, I wasn't interested. I was special. I had to have the veg. from the shop.

In the end my Mother had a "special" talk with me. She told me that they were worried about me, and that I never went out for fresh air and that it wasn't good for me to stay indoors all of the time. I suppose I was compensating for leaving the flat. "Time to move on", she said gently.

After this, whenever I came in from school after the last session, there would be a chair waiting for me on the back doorstep. My Mother
wouldn't let me in until I had sat down for at least 10 -15 minutes and one day she handed me a bowl which was full up of these really tiny onions. "They are shallots" she told me. "The kind that they make picked onions from". Wow, so this is what a pickled onion looked like before it got

• 1
• 2
• 3
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about True gardening stories: My most inspiring garden experience?
We want to hear your view. Write now!