I haven't sat down and written anything in a while: this is in large part due to the backlog of monthly updates I still have to get through, and the prospect of revisiting a bunch of failed auditions is a bit depressing, but a book I bought on a whim has made me want to ignore all that and write about something that has captured my imagination.

I feel like I should hate gardening...

One Garden Against the World is, on its surface, a book about gardening. I am not a gardener, I never have been and, until we got this house, I never thought I would be. Growing up I always loved nature; rivers, hills, caves; the macro stuff, the wild stuff. I love wild, untamed forests where trees dominate the landscape and imbue the air with magic. I could sit beside a river or waterfall forever just listening to the sounds, knowing that whatever life might throw at me I could always come here for some respite, because this water has flowed longer than I've been here, and will still be going when I'm gone. I love love seeing animals in their natural habitat, making homes of all shapes and sizes for themselves as they try and get by, just another day, just another day.

So what could I possibly enjoy about gardening? This forced, artificial facsimile of nature. Wildlife and wilderness watered down to serve as decoration. A hobby dominated by older people who, from an outside perspective, give the whole thing an air of entitlement. Not an attempt to improve or curate, but to exploit for aesthetics sake. Who knows, maybe it'll make the neighbors jealous?

Obviously I had no idea what I was talking about.

I'll tell you exactly what I love about gardening: the more I learn about climate change, animals, the natural world, the more gardens appeal to me. A little corner of the world where our vision for our climate can take centre stage. Want to help the animals? Build a pond, or a hedgehog hotel, and make it easier for our little friends to get around. Plants are more your thing? Great! a lush garden helps pollinating wildlife flourish. As Kate says, gardening for wildlife is gardening for everyone.

If you boil it down, One Garden Against the World is a diary. Chapters exploring the development of frogspawn in her pond are broken up with facts and figures about the different insect life she encounters this time of year, as well as anecdotes from her life that show how her passion bleeds into her everyday.

What sets it apart is that none of these stories are treated any differently. We get to know her family as they deal with her mother's declining health just as much as we do her struggle to keep her local hedgehog population safe from a too-dry summer. Every few pages I'm struck by how intimate the book feels, not because she's trauma-dumping her darkest secrets, but because the joy and heartbreak her garden brings her falls flawlessly onto the page. It's hard not to share her excitement when the first swifts of the year make an appearance, or her frustration when seagulls face constant harassment by a local drone pilot.

The same feeling I get sat in my own new garden, I get in the pages of her book.

Have I fallen in love too late?

At the time of writing it's the 20th of August 2026. We've had five record breaking heatwaves this year already and swathes of the country are facing drought and wildfires. My partner and I have lived in this house for just over two months and every day we find a new job to do to make the house livable. The garden, as much as we recognise the privilege of having one, is pretty low down on the list of priorities. If I get around to sorting it out by this time next year I'll be massively impressed.

But how hot will next year be? How much damage will be done? I would love to start planting for local wildlife. I want to build a pond and make homes for the bumblebees and attract butterflies as well as grow the odd ingredient for my dinner, but how much longer have we got?

I never thought I'd describe a book about gardening as "timely" or "relevant" but there's really no other word for it. My fear is that even though she's describing her garden at risk, her book will soon be a record of a garden no longer possible in British homes.

I hate talking like this. Hope is an active thing for me, a choice I make, a driving force that I believe in, but I am genuinely scared of British summers now. I'm well aware that each year is likely to be the coldest one I'll ever see in my lifetime and that droughts and wildfires are the new normal, but hope is what keeps me going. It's the active force that's encouraging sustainable lifestyle changes for me and making me more proactive in my community.

I don't like having to wave the flag for the climate. I want to live in a world where caring is the default, where nature is our collective home and animals are our much loved neighbors, but that's not where we're at right now, so the flag has to keep flying.

Buy the book though, it's fucking great.

Addendum

Since writing this I have started a modest crusade into the more unkempt areas of the garden. The compost bin has started and some of the bigger disasters have been cleared up. Progress is slow, satisfaction is immediate.