Plant seeds and watch them bloom

My distinctly better half and I recently attended a beautiful wedding set in the resplendent grounds of Ballintubbert House.

It got me thinking, not least because I’m a pedant and currently in the throes of mapping my polytunnel for the next growing season. My intention once again is to try bolster whatever crop may come with my growing curiosity in companion plants.

Sure I’d tried a few things this year. I’d read up about garlic keeping slugs away (they didn’t), or pairing beans with cabbage (cabbage crowds out the other).

Lettuce was potted beside carrots, cucumbers elongated next to tomatoes and onions, and my peppers expanded voluptuously side by side with basil (for a bit at least).

But you know what they say about earnestly looking for advice on the internet- the answer will be that you’re either dead, dying, or maybe even pregnant.

It’ll therefore come as no great surprise that I’ve learned significantly more by doing -and failing- than scrolling aimlessly late at night through ‘Top 10 Gardening Tips for Beginners’, or ‘You too can have a garden like this!’, and other follow through clickbait.

So as I wandered the serenely beautiful Ballintubbert property, mug of watery tea in hand, sated by a few verdant leaves I’d light-fingered from a healthy looking lemon balm, I drifted with an intriguing planting metaphor that can so easily also apply to the sanctity of marriage. Eye roll yes, but do stay with me. I’ve a point to make and column inches don’t fill themselves.

It wasn’t an intended frame of mind, rather the place, space, and maybe mood I was in. Rather, reflection comes easy in good company.

Symbiosis

The idea of companion planting matches differing species in order to enhance the growth of others. A carefully distanced symbiosis of sorts, whereas the institution of marriage is predicated on two individuals coming together in the hope of finding mutual support, growth, and even a sense of protection.

Certain plants do thrive better when paired. For example, interlaced with my jungle of 10 varieties of tomato I hung baskets littered with red rubin, Genovese, and sweet basil plants.

Marriage, likewise, hinges on the belief two people bring out the very best in each other.

When the nuptials turned to speeches this overworked analogy I’d softly cooked took on a whole new level of unexpected char.

I listened intently to the heartfelt tributes, tenderly paid to an interdependence of love, care and commitment shared between these marvellously matched newly weds, to their family and their close-knit group of friends, ‘Pips’ and all.

Afterwards, I wandered off from the joyous maul ad lib to fully take stock of the incredible work that went into designing the surrounding gardens. Blessed with a source of mineral rich water from its own aquifers (I’d later read), the confines brimmed in rude health.

As stated, now in my fortieth year I’ve awakened with a newfound appreciation. I notice gardens in a way I certainly hadn’t before, and have even developed an unseemly envy of those whose ridges appear to bloom better than my own. It’s ridiculous I know, because even if I wanted to I probably couldn’t fit any more than I’ve already got.

Yet here I am, rural Laois, 10pm and following a moonlit path back to the walled garden, silently plotting how I might pilfer a cutting or two and make it survive the full distance back to Cavan.

I also wondered what more I could have done, or at least done differently, to try save the French tarragon that never quite took. Or what happened to the Marjoram that thrived and then wilted without warning, before sombrely exiting to the great compost heap in the sky?

In Ballintubbert I’d admired plums fattening deep purple on a tree older than myself, and Dahlias cascading in abundance wherever allowed. I watched petrol-coloured dragonflies dive-bomb lilies in the Edwin Lutyens influenced fountain garden, while yellow bells of a Kirengeshoma palmata gently chimed in the soft summer breeze.

Delicate balance

Their own polytunnel was an example of coherent efficiency.

I’m a gardening philistine but not devoid of observation.

The natural evolution of any relationship, or garden as I see it, relies on striking a delicate balance.

Theirs is a garden matured. Mine? It’s still in the kissing by the bike shed phase.

Success is often dependent on environment - soil quality, climate, and avoiding unannounced pests.

Similarly, the ideal of two beings coming together in matrimony or any other acceptable lifelong bond does not exist in a vacuum.

Careful consideration, flexibility, and an understanding of natural dynamics is crucial.

Not to boast, but my wife is a wonderful person. She is strong and resilient. If I was to liken her to a plant it would be a string bean. Haricot specifically. Humble, highly productive, but doesn’t like the cold.

I might compare myself to an artichoke. Grand in places, prickly and requires a decent amount of effort to get through the troubling outer-layers.

Peas and beans are good artichoke companions. As nitrogen fixers they provide much-needed balance.

The idea of a perfect union is enticing. But the reality is sometimes there are going to be some seasons more difficult to overcome.

I say this from my relatively meagre vantage, married just three years. Like gardening I’m sure I’ve more to learn.

Yet I do know this. Companionship requires patience, nourishment, and effort.

So I say this to Mal and Jen, and others too perhaps. Enrich your companion plants. Be ruthless with the weeds.

As the old Japanese proverb goes: ‘More will grow than that which was first planted’.