A sense of place

I’ve come to understand that not all gardens are in tune with their environment or in harmony with their surroundings. For us, at our 1850s bolthole from the world, the quest has always been to create a meaningful sense of place. The garden simply came along for the ride.

It was a cold, still, quiet day when we first arrived at The Stones – the kind of day when you might hear the tiny feet of wrens in the undergrowth, if it weren’t for the thrum of bees in the rosemary. Everything whispered of the past, of well-trodden ground. Even without a garden, the place felt anchored, like the affectionate hug of old friends. Straight away, we knew it was meant to be.

That certain something was what we’d been searching for. I’m a firm believer in that kind of intuition, especially when it comes to finding somewhere to call home.

The house and outbuildings tell their own story, as do the ancient walnuts, the wedding-gift roses planted by former owners, and the bones they laid out across what were once feral paddocks. Together they are the threads in the tapestry of this place.

In creating the garden, it felt like adding a verse to a melody someone else had written long ago. But before we could add our notes, we had to learn the tune. Without it, all we’d be making was a garden, not a sense of place.

We didn’t know that at first. We were novices – more enthusiasm than nous – throwing ideas about with careless abandon. Some settled. Others looked absurd, at odds with their surroundings. Within our first week I bought two elaborate urns and planted them with bougainvilleas, doomed by the first frost. The urns belonged on the verandah of a much grander house. They looked rude sitting there – all posh and pompous – on the toes of a home that didn’t need to boast to be beautiful.

So we stepped back. Slowed down. Paid attention. We watched how the seasons moved, how the light shifted across the paddocks, and listened to what the place was whispering.

I devoured every book by Edna Walling I could find, soaking up her thoughts on quiet, humble gardens. I learned about the geology – how volcanoes shaped the valley, how the rocks and waters worked their own mysteries. I read histories of the Dja Dja Wurrung, and of the settlers who turned the land upside down for gold, their makeshift towns that never took flight, now swallowed by bush. We spoke to the old-timers, heard their stories, studied the photos and tales of the Garseds, who lived for generations at The Stones. We lived through droughts and floods and everything between.

Slowly, we began to understand the melody of the place, and the many small notes within it. Without quite realising, we were shaping more than a garden. We were shaping a place where everything, somehow, fits.

Australia's pinkest, dottie-est, most glorious magazine goes on sale this Monday 3 November. Seek out Issue 13 at your local stockist or order up online and get your present cupboard stocked up for Christmas.

Order Issue 13

Jeremy's October garden notes

• After writing about the Big Tree in last month’s column, a hive of bees that lives in the tree created a swarm and decided to form a new hive right in our kitchen chimney. Feeling alarmed at their choice of lodgings, I called Daniel, the bee shepherd from nearby Castlemaine. After a long conversation about scaffolding, dismantling the chimney and whether the bees posed any threat to our daily lives, he proposed the idea of leaving them be. This very notion made me question why I felt it so necessary to move them on in the first place. On second thoughts, we have decided they are ok to stay. Perhaps I should consider installing a honey tap next to the fireplace?

• A year ago, esteemed gardener and Instagram friend Carolyn Robinson sent me a box of allium bulbs after admiring them in one of her posts. Think clusters of royal purple fireworks on long elegant stems. I so enjoyed planting them last summer, and have watched with eager anticipation their wonderful celebration from first shoots to show-stopping crescendo.

• On the topic of the generosity of gardeners, our garden here at The Stones is a bounty of gifts and exchange; of cuttings, seeds and plants. Each lovely interaction acts as a kind of sentimental stitch in the fabric of the place. It’s what gives the garden true heart and meaning.

• Now is the time in our part of the world for planting out our summer vegetables. There’s always speculation, however, as to whether we might get another late frost. Traditionally, the planting-out date for such things here is Melbourne Cup day. But I’ve jumped the gun a titch, and the tomatoes, golden squash and basil are in already – soon to be followed by aubergines, cucumbers, capsicums, chillies and, of course, zucchini.
• On the subject of zucchini, there’s a time of year when locals come up with all manner of recipes for cakes, slices, pickles and relishes to deal with the bounty. The scope of different ways to sneak them into things is astounding. There’s even local lore in Daylesford that townsfolk are advised to keep their car windows closed to avoid having them deposited in their cars by desperate home growers, trying to get rid of the buggers.

Catch up on Jeremy's previous stories here or find him on Instagram at @thestonescentralvictoria