Gardens

"Abu Wad's whole existence seems dedicated to the beauty of life"

About the time my first son was born I used to look for quiet streets in Southwark to take him out for walks. Invariably, on the way to or from walks along the South Bank we would go along the unpromising Redcross Way in the middle of which was a small haven of peace and green and growth. This garden was founded in 1887 and almost lost during the twentieth century until it was rescued and revived the year before my son was born. A garden relies on insight and creativity, love, nurturing and persistence and often help from like-minded friends. Well over one hundred years later, though small, it is still giving sanctuary and pleasure to people every day. It was at this time I first thought what a special legacy a garden is. 

Nearby, there used to be a mysterious locked gate with things tied to it. Behind I remember nothing but wasteland, like a building site but there must have been a sign somewhere because I knew centuries ago it had been a burial site. I wonder if the guerilla gardener who planted here was inspired by the Red Cross Gardens because now I see Crosssbones has become a garden itself.

This is another community garden made by volunteers in Dunkeld, near me. I recommend the village also for the views of the river, the cathedral, and especially the surrounding walks. 

All gardens are restful and re-energising, even - sometimes especially - those in the centre of a city.  And yet gardens, living testaments to creativity and care exist in such variety. These are just a few of those I have seen this year, often with my children.

The magical orchard and meadow at Falkland,  full of cherry trees

Centre of the maze, Falkland Palace, Perthshire

Beech maze, Scone Palace

Drum castle, Aberdenshire, which has quadrants of historic roses

Gardens recommended to me between Jujuy and Independencia, Buenos Aires

Wildflowers planted on a verge opposite some houses, Auchteragven

Willow room and tunnel, New Lanark

Teehaus in Weissenburgpark

This short film about the last gardener in Aleppo, contains so much.  Many will, like me, find it distressing but it is also about an inspirational man who, like many gardeners seems to have improvised with what was to hand and turned all circumstances to his advantage. He had faith in life and beauty and saw new life growing even as his garden was damaged by war.  He saw a way forward, a meaning and purpose in the most chaotic, dangerous and difficult conditions.  I listen to his words: "music", ordinary people, help, beauty, nourishment, life. You can tell so much about someone just from the words they use. Despite his death and the obvious personal tragedy for his son, he lives on and in the best way. 

For me so much of value in life and the things that help us decide how to live is found during time spent in gardens but also in stories shared and in conversation. Although his circumstances were so different to mine and although he speaks for only a few moments in that short time I learn so much about beauty, hope, love, wisdom, courage and great strength of character. 

And also, that if you make the right conditions and if you believe that it is possible, not only can beautiful things can grow in the most unpromising places where others would never believe it is possible but when people see what is possible some of them go on to plant too. Because while a plant growing is miracle enough, what is planted is never only a plant. 

Tonight my son asked for a second story. It was late and I said one was enough but he begged.  And time with our children is so short, especially time of this sort and you never know for how long you can enjoy such grace and good fortune, so how can you refuse?  He brought this:

It is the tale of a thief who does not initially realise what she has stolen. But, on opening the bag of acorns realises there is a forest in her arms.  She becomes someone who transforms grim roundabouts and dark cities. 

And I think this story is about the change within ourselves, which can be an awakening or a struggle, when we realise things about which we may have been unaware or mistaken.  It is about when we understand where value lies and we continue to pass on what we have learned - quietly, by planting and letting things grow.

"What's wrong with me?"

I scoffed at the worried self: Too insecure, that's the main problem -  get yourself in order. A less abrupt, gentler talking-to might have worked: You’re just tired.  But unless I took the tough line I sensed I might cave in and stay in.

Those fears are far from unique. I know - not all - but many women can and do feel these things. I know because sometimes they say.  I heard a woman I know say it this last weekend at the Edinburgh International Tango Festival. The worry we have when we do not dance  came up: What’s wrong with me? but in jokes and laughter.   In so doing I realised we know it is a common condition shared by many of us, but redundant because we also know in all likelihood nothing is wrong with us.  In the vast majority of cases women get dances for common reasons such as being younger, slimmer or more known.  They may be very well presented, better dancers or they may accept anyone to use them to "get seen". They may appear popular and be seldom off the floor by accepting all comers.  They may prostitute themselves to get dances in ways we might not care for.   And they are not necessarily better dancers.  I can think of at least five women I danced with at the festival who were all very likely older than me and who were all an absolute pleasure to dance with, far better than many, probably most younger women I dance with.  I asked a visitor sitting next to me how she had found the Festival.  She looked extremely capable at getting what she wanted. She seemed youngish, attractive I would have thought to men but gave an open, helpless shrug that said, I know it isn't personal when they don't choose you, but what can you do? The second clause of her reply demonstrated her experience:  "I can't get the guys I want who also want to dance with me." She knew it has to be a mutual thing.

Before we become thus familiar and therefore competent at managing these feelings, the birth of this acknowledgement is not always so easy. With some women, frequently new dancers, it comes out quietly almost in - needless - shame or even occasionally on the brink of tears or in their confession after private tears. Often it is not just difficult conditions or being unknown or general insecurity at, say, that moment but in response to ways they have been treated by partners on the floor or in invitation. I cannot say how much my heart goes out to them because I have known how they feel for all those reasons. We talk about and laugh at our common fears and try to have perspective on them. But more often we feel alone in them. We feel they are not representative of our ordinary selves so are worth no attention. We try to dismiss the fears but, undealt with they linger oddly, like the predatory guys who can't dance but who prowl the floor gazing down creepily and far too close at the seated women, blocking our view and who ought to be dealt with by any self-respecting organiser. 

We may feel we have worked so hard “at tango” [sic]. We have paid and travelled and practised and thought endlessly about our dance. But we give little thought to how we feel and what to do with ourselves when things do not go to plan or when we worry they might not or when the conditions are not conducive to our being at ease. With all that "tango training" how could things not go to plan? That is, for instance, the plan of dancing well and often with the people we seek. Yet for various reasons and especially when we are new or do not know people that is just what can and does happen.

September 2014, at an encuentro.

A: I have realised my problem. If I am not in the right frame of mind, which is to say relaxed, I am hopeless at cabeceo with people I don't know & haven't spoken to.

B: That's normal. The problem goes when one becomes better at a) relaxing and b) avoiding the kind of event that traps you into dancing when you're not in the right frame of mind, esp. tango camps, inc. encuentros.

How to get through this at any kind of milonga? I still have this angst and claim no expertise. One way of course is not to go to milongas you do not know alone but to go with friends.  Though I have tended to strike out a lot on my own and now do know people and milongas in Scotland, England and further afield, I cannot claim it has been easy.  Most of the time it was not though there were rewards.

Another option is to leave a milonga not long after you sense the doubts start to creep in from the shadows.  I know resourceful and self-reliant women who if they are not having a good time will do exactly that and I suspect more of us probably should.  I mentioned to someone recently this issue of going to an encuentro and feeling trapped there. They gave a nice example of someone who does go to them, but lightly: she goes for an hour and if she isn't having a good time, she leaves. She uses the spa in her hotel, does some sightseeing and finds other ways to enjoy herself. It strikes me as very good sense. 

But if you are still not sure if it is you or it (the conditions) or them (the crowd) the doubts can nag. I think susceptibility to these things is partly down to temperament. Experience helps, patience, losing self-consciousness, finding other things to distract you like listening to the music watching the dancing especially the fun interactions between couples or better still, for me, and if I can get it, good, relaxing, distracting conversation.  And from within that I often find a sort of wordless understanding, a kindness and empathy in others that is hard to beat.  It is an unpatronising, non-judgemental, reassuring solidarity which, if it endures after a while we call friendship.