I am camped high up among the crumbling volcanic peaks of the Isle of Rum, in the Inner Hebrides, sheltering in my tent from dense clouds of the hungriest midges I have ever encountered. As darkness f

An old man lives at the bottom of my garden. His name is Robert Barkus, or Bakehouse, or Bagust. Nobody is quite sure. But I often sense him around when I’m gardening, and I’ve found out a fair bit ab

‘ Her dream house was surrounded by gardens: a berry garden, an apricot garden, a cherry garden, a persimmon garden, a potato garden, a vegetable garden and a huge compost.” Ana Roš, a passionate rock

The Breath of the Gods: The History and ...

There is a van in John Little’s garden. That information may not seem so surprising perhaps, until you learn that the van in question isn’t simply parked. It is semi-submerged, with greenery growing o

Whether winter-faded ferns, the spindly harvestman or the tyrannical stare of an irate chicken, through-lines from the prehistoric to our modern age are all around us in November, says John Lewis-Stempel