The Gods of Gardening are a determined bunch

The Gods of Gardening (and why they’ve got it in for me) 

I believe in the Gods of Gardening, and I’m certain they know my name. 

They sit somewhere up there in a fluorescent-lit corporate office, clipboards in hand, watching me step outside with hope in my heart and secateurs in my pocket. Every time I think I’ve cracked something, they clear their throats, exchange knowing looks, and decide it’s time to smite. 

Not all at once, of course. That would be cruel. 

No, they take turns. 

The God of Weather 

The most dramatic of the lot. Loves timing. Lives for irony. 

This is the god who waits patiently until my hostas have made it through an entire growth phase without a single slug hole, just to send a hailstorm so violent it looks like someone’s taken a hole punch to every leaf. The same god who’ll deliver the biggest storm of the century on the exact night I plant baby trees with roots barely holding hands with the soil. 

If things are too dry, they’ll withhold rain for weeks.

If I finally water deeply and thoroughly, they’ll unleash a biblical downpour the next morning. 

The God of Weather doesn’t destroy everything. That would be obvious. They prefer selective damage. Enough to hurt, and sometimes enough to justify tears.

The God of Soil 

A quiet one. Smug. Very smug. 

This god cursed me with clay. Thick, sticky, boot-stealing clay. Then, just as I thought I’d beaten it with compost, mulch, patience and optimism, they escalated. 

Enter the grubs. 

Fat, creamy little nightmares that turn into beetles and eat foliage like it’s a personal challenge. This god delights in letting me think I’ve finally got good soil, only to lean in and whisper, “Not this year, Kate.” 

They’re big on long games. Multi-year curses. The kind that require diagrams and spreadsheets. 

The God of Flower Colour 

Petty. Corporate. Thrives on chaos. 

This god’s only job is to make sure that if I accidentally plant the wrong thing, it’ll flower yellow. Not a tasteful soft yellow. A loud yellow. A yellow that announces itself from across the garden. 

I imagine this god and their colleagues absolutely losing it when they see my face. There’s high-fives and back-slapping. Someone brings in cake. 

It doesn’t matter how carefully I plan my colour palette. If there’s a loophole, the God of Flower Colour will find it and exploit it aggressively. 

The God of Growth and Timing

This one loves being technically correct. 

They’re responsible for plants that grow beautifully… just not when I need them to. There’s the tulip display that starts the day after I go on holiday and ends the day before I get back. The perennial that explodes into glory when I’m away and collapses the day I get home. 

This god also governs plants that grow far too well. The ones I was “just trying” that now require annual negotiations and boundary enforcement. 

Balance, apparently, is not part of their brief. 

The God of Pests and Predation

Unhinged. Freelance. No rules. 

This god releases slugs after rain, aphids just as buds form, and birds who suddenly develop a taste for that one thing I was excited about. They’ll allow one perfect nectarine, just so I know what I’m missing when the rest get taken. 

They also coordinate with the God of Soil, because teamwork makes the dream work. 

Final thoughts

Every year I return to the garden thinking, ‘This is it. I’ve learned enough now.’ 

And every year the Gods of Gardening remind me that knowledge is not immunity. 

Still, I plant. I plan. I hope. And I suspect that somewhere up there, someone ticks a box and says, “She’s optimistic again. Excellent.”

Did you know?

According to some very dedicated scientists with microphones I didn’t know existed, tomato plants make tiny ultrasonic “screaming” noises when they’re stressed. Not audible to humans, thankfully. Just…little clicks. Like botanical bubble wrap having a crisis. So every time I forget to water them, I’m not neglecting my garden - I’m hosting a silent horror film for nearby insects. The good news: it’s probably just air bubbles in the plant’s system popping. The bad news: I will never emotionally recover from knowing this.

What to do in the garden this week

Northern hemisphere

• 🌿Lightly trim spring-flowering shrubs after they finish blooming to help maintain shape.

• 💦 Do a low-key soil audit. Dig a small hole and look for earthworms (good sign), compacted soil and moisture below the surface. Your gardens future performance relies on healthy soil. To improve health add compost for added fertility, other organic matter like leaf mould to improve texture and drainage qualities, and mulch with coarse materials on top to retain moisture.

• 🪻A bit of ‘lazy gardening’ from time to time is beneficial. Letting coriander, parsley, rocket or basil go to seed gives you flowers for pollinators and future self-seeding. It’s actually ecological brilliance, not laziness!

• 💦Check irrigation functionality. There’s nothing worse than putting your irrigation on a timer system only to come back a week later and find it’s ‘blown a gasket’ and is just dumping all the water in one now-boggy spot of soil.

• 🛏️Edge your garden beds. Crisp edges make everything look intentional.

Southern hemisphere

• 🌿Do a low-key audit of what worked and what failed in your garden over the recent spring, summer and autumn months. What flopped? What bolted, died, sulked or attracted every pest in the postcode? Write it down while you can remember and plan some improvements for next season.

• 🌱Sow things that like the cold but be sensible and only sow what you actually eat. Don’t sow broad beans if you hate broad beans. Spinach, silverbeet, brassicas (broccoli and cauliflower), kale, celery, and lettuce all cope with the cold.

• 🌼Build healthy soil while everything else is starting to take a rest. Add compost, leaf mould or manure. If you’ve been thinking of starting a new bed, now is a good time. Winter may seem like ‘down time’ in the garden, but there’s actually a lot that can be done in late autumn and heading into winter that’ll set you up well for the coming spring and summer.

• 🌸Hellebores/winter roses are a great ‘go to’ for some winter colour in the garden. They’re such pretty flowers and always bring a welcome burst of colour in the colder months.

What’s new on Behind the Garden Gate?

• 🌿Nitty Gritty: this week it’s all about how I grew a ‘shade sail’. You could purchase a perfectly suitable actual shade sail, or you could grow something far prettier and ‘on theme’.

• 🐔Garden to Table: this week I take a deep-dive into how chickens fit in the Garden to Table theme. If you’re keen on knowing where your food came from and what’s gone into it, as well as knowing whether the animals that food came from have lived a happy life, then this article is for you.

As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I’m in the process of migrating my articles to Substack. It’s so much better set up for publishing this type of content, and I also think probably a much better user experience for you too. The articles I publish arrive straight to your inbox rather than you having to make an effort to head onto my members-only page to find the content. It’s just easier on Substack. I’ve realised that now, and so I encourage any of you who would like to receive my content in that way to head over and subscribe over there. I have free and paid options. Free subscriptions give you my free Sunday newsletter each week plus all the photos and notes with little tips and guidance that I add to my feed every day. Paid subscribers get all that, plus two additional articles each week with much deeper dives including garden knowledge, design tips, plant care advice, the odd recipe, and a bit of humour. You’ll find me as The Manic Botanic on Substack - not Behind the Garden Gate.