Anna Pavord: 'Gardening brings a joy both physical and metaphysical'

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Gardening is an escapism of sorts. By doing it, we make a cloak to throw around ourselves, a screen that softens the impact of the harsher world beyond. Left to herself, nature always tries to do this. Think of the postwar bombsites of London, colonised so quickly by willowherb. Or of the tarmac newly laid for off-road parking, pierced in spring by the buds of daffodils that for decades had bloomed in what was once the front garden. Plants are survivors. They were here millions of years before we were. And will continue, in some extraordinary, reinvented form, for millions of years after we have gone.












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