|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The decking and paving of gardens, in the name of modernity, has destroyed insects and thus the food for birds, writes
Sarah Sands
THERE is a Victorian tone to these frostbitten days, with the ruination of the feckless and the resurgence of the Salvation Army. The deaths of little house sparrows seem to be part of the same parable. The concreting over of little gardens, in the name of modernity, has led to tumbling numbers of the least fancy and most steadfast of residents. When I think of birds in the garden, I recall Oscar Wilde’s fairy tale The Happy Prince, in which a swallow befriends the weeping statue and takes its jewelled eyes to help the poor of the city. Then, it drops down dead. There is fellowship in that feeble breast. The decking and paving of gardens has destroyed insects and thus the food for birds. Sparrows particularly love honeysuckle and wild roses, in other words, cottage gardens of the most chocolate-box kind. Our generation has presided over an age of debt but also an age of convenience. Anything requiring time or effort has been slung out. Fashion magazines advocate replacement rather than repair. Fridges and televisions pile up at municipal dumps. The lifespan of trainers and computers has shrunk to a matter of months. Nobody keeps pets anymore. Fewer care for elderly parents. And no fashionably minded person wanted to give up valuable "me time" tending wild roses. Gardens are slow and frustrating. Each winter my patch of green grows wispy and then bald. I have been warned against trying to grow grass within the shadow of a tree and, of course, it is like fighting the tide. It would be much neater and more architectural to put down paving and gravel. That is what most other urban people are doing. Paving or decking satisfies the modern horror of dirt and the dislike of unnecessary labour. Mindlessly cycling nowhere in a pool of sweat at the gym is preferable to a morning raking leaves. Sushi is healthy, but more important it is instant. Slow cooking has existed as a guerrilla movement during the age of convenience. Now that we all have to learn patience and austerity again, we might as well start with gardens. They teach you the long view and perseverance. I will scatter my garden seeds again in the spring and erect my absurd silver-foil flags to put off the pigeons. There will be grass again by summer. At the first signs of the downturn, non-conservatives, including much of the right-wing press, gloated that green values would be ditched in favour of hard-headed economic calculation. Happily, it has turned out to be the same thing. A need to save money has made us address recycling and rationed electricity more urgently. Business leaders agree that the green economy is the next economic boom. Texan oil men are putting their money into wind farms. A return to gardens would heal us economically and spiritually. Rosie Boycott’s plan to turn London into a great garden city is brilliant. Why not have allotments across the roofs of galleries and public buildings? Gardening is the least divisive activity known to mankind. It has no politics sex or class. It unites families, schools and communities. It is the symbol of triumph of the human spirit. I remember flying by helicopter across Baghdad during the summer of 2005 and what could you see? Little, tended, back gardens amid the blitz. The paving of gardens was part of the short-sighted, smug, sterility of the 1990s. Save our Souls. Save our Sparrows. — By arrangement with The Independent
|
|||
|
|
|||
