It took me ten years of gardening to consider planting a tree. I have relatively valid excuses: for seven years I gardened on modest balconies, where bringing a 40cm x 40cm pot up three flights of stairs felt like a bold move. But I’ve had access to land at ground level for three years now, and it’s still taken a fair bit of courage.
There’s something about tree planting that just feels so, well, big. Gardens are shapeshifting things in terms of time, both ephemeral and permanent at once. You may sow the seeds of something that makes its home there far longer than you do (Welsh poppies, for instance, or a particularly content Buddleja), but one season in your garden will only exist for that moment: you’ll never witness the same combination of weather or plant magic again.
Trees, however, have a permanence. My grandfather lived in the same house long enough to watch a tiny magnolia expand into a house-hiding giant, but that took 60 years. We plant them knowing we’re unlikely to see them achieve their full potential. It’s one of gardening’s most hopeful and generous acts.
A four-metre tall cherry tree went into the lawn in April. I went for ‘Accolade’, on account of its soft-pink, semi-double flowers (better for pollinators than doubles), autumn colour and, crucially, modest mature size: hopefully, it’ll never grow so large that someone will fell it on account of my poor decisions.
Planting a tree is one of gardening’s most hopeful and generous acts
I was ushered into planting it because we’d taken down a decrepit plum tree as part of the landscaping, and I hated the idea of leaving a garden with fewer trees than when I’d found it. But I decided on the position – in the middle of the garden, between the back door and the studio, perfectly situated to fill the hallway window with the sight of pink flowers for a few magical weeks a year – after realising how much I like gardens with trees that make themselves known.
I’m now trying to make up for lost time. A small birch tree has gone into a large reclaimed iron planter in the corner of the garden, wilding an unlovely concrete pathway, and a Dodonaea viscosa ‘Purpurea’ – or hop bush – snuck into one of the beds opposite a window after I fell for its papery flowers and coloured foliage. Increasingly, I feel that trees, while initially a bit intimidating, are somehow addictive once you commit to the permanence of one. I’ve also eagerly inherited a large potted hazel tree to hide the compost bin, which will be arriving in the weeks to come.
Some of my hesitancy was originally due to the fact that my garden feels a bit modest for all this tree activity. I changed my mind after a transformative visit to fashion designer Margaret Howell’s south London garden: the first thing you encounter on stepping into it is an array of beautiful multi-stemmed trees.
Trees are somehow addictive once you commit to the permanence of one
An increase in city-based show gardens at RHS Chelsea, Tatton and Hampton Court has further shown how effective big plants can be in small spaces. In her IBC Pocket Forest garden at the 2021 RHS Chelsea Flower Show, designer Sara Edwards juxtaposed wildlife-friendly birch and rowan trees – the latter one of my favourites in cities because of how the berries pop against building materials – with upcycled Intermediate Bulk Containers. The result was arresting proof that there is always more space to grow in urban gardens.
I don’t know what will become of my trees. They will stay in our garden longer than we will. It’s a bittersweet thought, especially as I planted the cherry with my son’s spring birthday in mind. But trees are more than mere plants, wonderful as that is; they can become landmarks and habitats, time-keepers and living artworks. With any luck those I have planted will continue to have a life of their own, taking on meaning for the people who live among them in future.
Don't miss our expert guide to top trees for the garden.
