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City nomads against the gloom: building a community

18/11/2015

 
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Lurking Chameleon - sculpture made from tyre rubber
Amid all the current horror and gloom of the news, a natural reaction is wanting to escape - to withdraw to some safe haven. A garden perhaps. After all, both the words garden and the Latin term hortus have at their root something meaning an "enclosed piece of ground" - somewhere protected, by a fence or such like.


I thought of this linguistic origin when I came across the Nomadic Community Gardens near London's Brick Lane last week. By definition - see above - it is a garden. But not your average type!

As so often when I go to Brick Lane, I found myself distracted and led astray by the ever-changing kaleidoscope of street art. Eventually it brought me to a plot of land, sandwiched between a railway line and the Overground, and enclosed by fences that didn't exactly look inviting. 

What had piqued my interest, however, were signs that said "Café", "Nomadic Community Gardens" and "Open, come in!"

There were vans, lots of structures made from assorted bits of wood and at first sight it very much looked like a place where homeless people had congregated and set up camp together. Whilst still standing there, unsure whether to progress or not, two men drilling wood and feeding a fire in an old drum invited me in. So I entered and then realised I'd stumbled upon something special. The "nomadic" in the name did not, as I had mistakenly thought, refer to people but to the transient nature of the garden itself.
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Spot the garden cum café... Entrance to the Nomadic Community Garden past a bridge from the Overground
The site had lain unused and derelict for 20 years, overgrown by weeds and gathering rubbish as such sites do. Then this spring some guys had the brilliant idea to start transforming it into a community space, where people could meet, garden, share stories, ideas, skills and each other's company, create art and - in their own words - "discover what it means to build their own community from the bottom up".

And that's what they did. They secured permission from the landowners and started building raised beds. Not just any raised beds: they are on wooden palettes. That makes them mobile. If the land is to be developed at a later stage - and prime urban spaces usually are - these raised beds can be transported to another neglected site. It's a similar concept to Global Generation's Skip Garden, but more "vagabond" (in a good sense) from the outset. As they state: "The idea is to move with the changing face of the city and create gardens in spaces in the 'meantime' before something happens to them".

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Urban Paradise: transportable raised veg and flower beds

People got aboard. The roughly 100 small plots were quickly adopted by locals, many of whom are from the Bangladeshi community. (Incidentally, there is an established community garden and a club, focused on Bengali women, just the other side of the Overground rails at Spitalfields City Farm. It is called the Coriander Club and has received much attention - e.g. in this post on the wonderful blog Spitalfields Life - but I am told they have nothing to do with each other. Not yet, perhaps :-)

Back to Nomadic Community Gardens. Now, in mid-November, little was growing in the open beds and mid-day, mid-week there were few people. But you could still make out what it might have looked like in summer and there is still a lot going on now. For while the veg and flower plots give the garden its name, it is as much a social space where people come to sit around a bonfire at night, maybe listen to someone making music, meet up or just hang out. The place is open into the night, I'm told.
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Campfire pit with a view of the Gherkin: Nomadic Community Gardens cater for all sorts of needs
Locals come, of course, but occasionally even a busload full of tourists who have been to nearby Brick Lane Market stumbles in. The place seems most welcome and appreciated: when I visited, a young Asian guy on a bench greeted me and spoke enthusiastically about the garden. No, Russell wasn't one of the plot holders - he just loved coming here and sit for a while, he said. This is much facilitated not only by old chairs from skips but a vast array of self-made furniture: boards and again wooden palettes fashioned into loungers, armchairs, benches, low tables,... People can come and create their own if they want, the limit set only by your imagination.

There is a big boat to play in for children and some donated toys, and a sculptor once made a huge stag from waste wood which now stands proudly near the entrance, the garden's very own landmark. And of course there is the street art: on request anyone can spray-paint murals big and small, so there is a constantly changing outdoor gallery. They even hosted Street Art Festival Meeting of Styles this year.

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For those who want a break and refill, there is Hayley Edwards' "Roving Café" van, selling hot drinks, cake, mugs full of steaming soup and more. You can sit in the roofed area next to it, where there is a proper table with flowers in a vase and some glossy magazines to browse, or anywhere else you want.

Over a delicious leek soup with a lemony twist I was told that Nomadic Community Gardens even made the local police happy: whilst prior to the creation of the garden this plot and surrounding alleyways were a no-go area for most people, now the police only have to amble past on their normal patrol routine. This seems to be a common experience with community gardens which truly manage to get the community involved. It also was a stated aim of this one , as their page on crowdfunding website Spacehive stated:

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"We have seen how people are atomised, interacting more with their TV's than they do [with] their neighbours and this leads to feelings of fear and anxiety. [...]

What matters most is quality of life and part of the frustration, alienation and powerlessness so commonly felt, especially in cities, can be attributed to our relationships; relationships to our environment and each other. A community garden is just the sort of place where these symptoms of the current, modern human condition are alleviated if not reversed. [...]

We hope growing a vegetable will be a catalyst for the systemic change humanity so clearly needs."
Nomadic Community Gardens have an agreement with their landlord so they are allowed to use this plot until summer 2016. The landlord, they tell me, is very happy and supportive of them. So maybe they'll be able to keep the gardens running there even longer.

To return to the start of my post: I know there will always be sick and twisted people out there and community gardens can't prevent all horrors. But it is heartening to come across an initiative like this, a welcome (if small) positive antidote so to speak, and somehow I feel there should be more of them - in London, Paris and around the world.

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Raised beds with frames for climbing veg or flowers

Here are some more pictures, the horizontal ones can be clicked to enlarge:
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Magic trees and a flying visit to the garden at Felbrigg Hall

4/11/2015

3 Comments

 

Never mind the seals, the most awe-inspiring find on our minibreak to Norfolk was a hollow tree. A sessile oak, to be precise, more than 500 years old. We had gone to Felbrigg Hall, now a National Trust property. As it was such a brilliant day - clear blue sky, windless and mild, more summer than start of November - it seemed a sin to spend even a minute indoors and we explored the estate instead.

Much to the joy of our children there were ever more fascinating trees: trees to climb, uprooted trees to climb, dead hollow trees to step inside, hollow trees that were still alive yet could be stepped into and climbed... But the crowning find was a tree which the four of us couldn't enclose with arms outstretched: A mighty oak, root bases bulging, and two small caves beneath them which looked a bit like the entrance to a foxes' den. Nothing suggested that this monster was hollow. But of course, the children immediately started exploring those "fox holes" and a few seconds later we heard squeals of delight from inside the tree.
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The magic oak tree from outside...

They were adamant that we should come, too. My man gracefully declined so they directed their combined efforts towards me: "It really is a short passage only, and very wide - even wide enough for you, mummy!" Being somewhat of a tree hugger, I didn't need all that much persuading. I did briefly reflect on the ignominy of getting stuck and having to be pulled out again by the fire services, but luckily it didn't come to the worst.

Once inside, it was an experience unlike any I have had before. Mainly, I think because unlike with most hollow trees, you really were completely enclosed by the trunk, the only "window" being that above your head. Yet the space was wide enough to fit several people: we could have sat down and had a picnic in there! I couldn't help but think of two childhood reads - one being Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale "The Tinderbox", the other some adventures of Pippi Longstocking, the world-famous character created by Astrid Lindgren.
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... and from the inside, looking towards the sky.

What stories could this tree tell, if only it could talk? Did it ever shelter a fugitive, I wonder? Did children play in it when Felbrigg was in private hands? One thing is certain: it got to know Humphry Repton. The same Humphry Repton of "Red Book" fame who created nearby Sheringham Park which I wrote about in a June post. [As soon as I will have learned how to create anchor links with my webhost, I will provide them - until then: apologies for the clunky experience in this blog :-) ]

Anyway: before he began his career as a professional landscape designer, Repton was employed by Felbrigg's then-owner as a secretary. Though this isn't certain, he could have been involved in the planting of the park. The guide book states: "The park is certainly Reptonian in character, with its gracefully sculpted clumps and belts". Our magic hideaway, however, would have been a mature oak by then already. It's fun to imagine Repton might have climbed this tree on his days off!

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View across the lake and park to Felbrigg Hall.

Naturally, since I was there I also wanted to see Felbrigg Hall's walled garden. Walking around, I reflected on the slight differences between my attempts at taking pictures and those of a pro. I recently attended a truly interesting talk by Jason Ingram whose stunning and at times almost otherworldly photographs of gardens regularly grace the pages of Gardens Illustrated magazine. His main message had been that good photographs are all about the light and hence about good timing.

It made me realise again that I could not earn my pennies that way: Quite apart from the questionable artistic skills and near total lack of technical knowhow (the latter of which at least could be remedied with some true determination and effort, I think), I consider getting up early as a severe form of torture. I have no problem with working late into the night, but early starts? Not if I can possibly help it! So regularly to "be on location about an hour before sunrise"?  Jason, you really don't need to watch your back...
But to return to Felbrigg Hall: even if I got up early, I would not - as a normal visitor - have access to the gardens at that time. (I'm not sure what the National Trust would make of people scaling the walls...) We mere mortals have to content with opening hours and other visitors to the place. Still, the light was fantastic all day long since it is autumn and the sun is low. And while a proper DSLR camera along with some good lenses is still on the wish list, the real hindrance to me is of a different kind: family constraints.

                                   family and garden photography don't match

How can one possibly take good pictures - even by amateur standards - with a family in tow?? Or rather: ahead of one, as they constantly grumble "Mum, you take aaaages! It's boooring! When are we going to get the ice cream you promised?" In fairness, they tend to entertain themselves quite well and more often than not my man will take a fast-paced tour of the grounds with the children and then wait at a playground, café or other spot until I trundle in. But still. It doesn't get you in the right mood and frame of mind if you constantly feel guilty or at least conscious of people waiting for you.

In Felbrigg I was told they'd wait for me at the car park while I could look at the walled garden. The car park! My man wanted to get back to London early and sure enough he was right - we paid the price afterwards by being stuck in traffic and needing double the time. But I ask you: what offer is that? I didn't dare more than a brisk walk around the place - enough though, to feel I should smack myself for not having "abandoned" my family earlier in the day and come here instead.
There is very little information on the garden in Felbrigg Hall's guide book and I didn't have time to read the explanations on the boards that were dotted around. It seems there is some kind of communal veg growing going on. Other than that, there is a very well stocked and labelled herb garden including dye plants, trained fruit along the walls, two or three greenhouses, a traditional orchard with bee hives and hen houses and some great ornamental planting, too. Most exciting to me was the "middle bit" (the garden is subdivided by walls into five sections) where a surprising number of tender plants flourish in wide borders. Think palm trees, ginger lilies and giant echiums. Dominating the garden is a dove-house from around 1750 with room, they say, for 1000 birds. 

So here are some pics, taken whilst dashing around like a mad woman. Any half-decent image is purely down to that amazing light we had. Cheers!

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    About the Author,
    Stefanie


    Born and raised in East Berlin, Germany. Has moved a few miles west since, to East London. Gardening since childhood, though first attempts were in what should properly be described a sandpit (yes, Brandenburg’s soil is that poor). After 15 years of indoor-only gardening has upgraded via a small roof terrace to a patio plot crammed with pots. Keeps dreaming about a big garden, possibly with a bit of woodland, a traditional orchard and a walled garden plus a greenhouse or two. Unlikely to happen in this lifetime - but hey, you can always dream.



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