My garden is a compromise between what I wanted to have in it and what mother nature has accepted. At first, I completely disregarded her opinion, and many of my plants failed despite my efforts. I still make unjustified attempts to smuggle a plant that I admired in a magazine or book, which has little chance without an irrigation system and a decent layer of fertile soil, and there are cases that mother nature, sighing over my hopeless stupidity, allows me to enjoy with her little concessions.Fortunately, I love birches, catnip and thyme, all plants with millions of tiny flowers and the conditions that prevail on my plot are suitable for them. There was never a plan according to which a garden was to be built. Instead, there were hundreds of hours of walking and figuring out what would be best to plant here or there. Everything was created spontaneously, on the spur of the moment or in an article in a gardening magazine. Each plant that grows more or less here gives a lot of joy, and each one that dies creates a place to plant something different. All unexpected plant guests are greeted with joy and curiosity. This is not a garden created to admire and evaluate, it is a place filled with as many plants as they wish to grow here, in line with the idea that green and green always go well together, even if green is not always green. There are times when I lose control over some parts of the flowerbeds, the plants dominate and push, each looking for the best place for itself, and sometimes I step in, introducing my own rule, and sometimes I find that it turned out very nicely and stays as it is.There have been moments when the ambition to create something extraordinary obscured the simplest joy in what is, but both me and my garden are long behind us. Having a garden is a great pleasure, working in it can be a break from today's crazy world. There is always a reason to be happy in the garden.
