Guilty pleasures.

We all have them. Something that makes us feel good ~aahhh~ but guilty. My own guilty pleasure is my garden. I?ve been spending most of my time out here since this past May; thinking, pottering, tinkering, healing. It?s doing me a power of good too. You?re probably going to be hearing a lot about it in the coming weeks, so here is a short history of my refuge of peace.

My flat, along with its oddly-shaped garden, is part of the local library. When the place was built in 1907, it was a grandiose, two story affair with a large garden at the back. When a new, single story was added in 1952, the garden was reduced to a mere strip of its former self. When I first moved here in October 1998, the garden was dotted with a few small bushes but was otherwise barren after years of herbicide abuse. The garden and I hit it off straight away; we had ? and still have - things in common, although this is something I?ve only recently understood.

I?m told the garden was tended with love by one of the former tenants, but that was many years ago. The flat sat empty for a long time and the garden grew neglected. The town?s gardener began to use the quirky strip that disappears round the back of the library as his personal plant dump. Not composted, just dumped. He?d covered over part of the building?s damp-proof course with eighteen inches of unwanted topsoil and dead plants. He put his energy into the more public gardens and would only spend enough time here to saturate the ground with poison. When I moved in, he asked if he could carry on ?using? the garden and I gave him a resounding ?NO-thank-you-very-much!? He didn?t use the garden, he didn?t act as caretaker, he abused it.

The first bit of gardening I accomplished after my move was to build a small retaining wall from red sandstone, gleaned from the recently demolished old mortuary cum fire station. I used earth in place of mortar and much to everyone?s surprise, it still stands firm eight years later. I dug in the older dumped plants and composted the rest. The bigger problem, the years of chemicals, I had neither the knowledge nor the money to fix. If a garden had a liver, I?d give it milk thistle, but I?ve no idea how to fix poisoned and ailing soil. As winter was fast approaching, I decided to let Mother Nature take her course and hope she?d heal on her own.

The following spring brought with it a few spindly weeds and my hep C diagnosis. For the first time in years, the garden was without herbicides and rubbish and I was without alcohol. Neither of us missed our chemicals but we both struggled against our poisoned past. I wondered what Mother Nature would come up with and she managed spurge, goose grass and dandelions. I was tired and discouraged with life in general so the garden was left to its own devices. Optimistic gardening plans made over long winter nights were forgotten. Neither garden nor gardener was healthy enough to do more than lie fallow.

I lost all interest in the garden over the next few years. My hep C condition was steadily worsening, and after a hard day?s painting, playing in the dirt was the last thing on my mind. As time went on I was diagnosed with HIV and treated for hep C with the delightful Pegintron. Somewhere along the line, I began buying various cheery little plants to brighten up my front door, but I didn?t take much notice of the garden itself other than to trim back the surviving roses that grew wild on the wall. The garden had its life and I had mine.

Then during the summer of 2003 ? after Pegintron - I suddenly noticed the garden had blossomed. Three predominate wildflowers moved in and were flourishing. A few plants I rescued from being dumped by the old gardener managed to survive and grow strong even after what they?d been through - including my neglect after rescue. The whole garden was coming back life and so was I. Mother Nature continued to have her healing way with the earth and the soil became enriched by the cycles of plant life, busy insects and burrowing worms. My CD4s were climbing and the roses were blooming. We were both slowly coming to.

The summer of 04 found me learning how to function in the alien environment of an office, finding my feet and strength in part-time work and training, and adding bit by bit to my potted garden. In early summer of 05, after struggling my way back to full-time employment, a bad hep B vaccination reaction forced me back on to incapacity. It was a terrible blow. I felt as though I were back to square one, discouraged, weak, tired and often in pain. Meanwhile, the garden had no such set back and went merrily on its wild way. I added to my collection of potted plants and hoped for the best.

This year my strength is returning and I?ve begun to spread around the garden a bit, sowing seeds, creating a sitting area and most of all, enjoying the peace of my garden. I love being out here, I love writing out here, and so the Garden Dispatches are born. Today is the American Independence Day and tomorrow is the Rock?s much older national celebration ? Tynwald Day. I?ll be here in the garden, weather permitting, so check back for the day?s new Garden Dispatch. I might tell you more about why my garden is a guilty pleasure, or I might find something else to think about. There?s only one way to find out?