The city gardener: Come rain or shine, we’ll have tomatoes

The recent sandstorms wreaked havoc on our wind-exposed terrace. I almost had to lie on top of the garden furniture to keep it from flying away. We already lost the kids’ playhouse to the wind last year.

Over the stormy weekend, the plants suffered too, the containers drying out almost immediately after watering and tipping over, leaving soil, sand, broken branches and dried leaves everywhere.

The sandstorms made me reflect on the connection a gardener shares with the oft-moody forces of nature. In fact, it made me think of London, with its fickle sun and reliable rain.

Actually, London had been on my mind anyway. We have been contemplating a move back and have found ourselves steeped in conversations about London schools, suburbs and Tube stations. And I have been wondering, among other concerns and anxieties that accompany moving countries, how my gardening skills, and all that I have learnt about growing things, will transfer from this desert city to the northern climes.

I didn’t garden much the last time I lived in London. Having grown up in temperate, dry Karachi, I never could wrap my head around gardening in the frost and rain, or all the paraphernalia that confronted me in garden centres – fleece covers, polytunnels and greenhouses, to name a few. Then, too, we lived in a newly built town house with a rectangular patch of just-sowed grass, which, like a blank page staring at a writer, seemed intimidating.

One summer, a colleague invited some of us to a bring-a-plant party in her newly rented flat. It was a beautiful June afternoon in London, when the days seem endlessly bright. I remember getting off the Tube at Kilburn Park in Northwest London, carrying a potted lavender, heavy with blooms and scent, in a galvanised metal bucket. On the second floor in a Victorian conversion, Emma’s apartment was a charming postage-size studio with a little, L-shaped roof terrace.

The view from there was characteristic of suburban London: a chequerboard of long back gardens, wooden fences, washing lines, toolsheds, children’s pools and barbecues that had been dragged out for summer.

Emma’s roof garden at the time was a couple of neon-­coloured beanbags and pretty lanterns. People brought rosemary, geranium, African lily, a miniature bay tree, starter berry pots, roses, ferns and grasses, transforming the space into a soothing retreat.

I prefer little spaces to huge gardens and lawns. It’s much more interesting to garden in a small, intimate space, a spot for occasional contemplation and quiet relaxation, a place in the city to watch plants, birds, insects and furry creatures negotiate the challenges of urban living along with us.

I am excited about how urban gardening has gained momentum in London over the past few years. Allotments were always popular, but they were associated with retirement and years of waiting in line. Today, younger people are also growing food and flowers, with an awareness of food security and environmental challenges.

For long walks and old trees, there are London’s parks. As for the rain, I am actually looking forward to worrying less about my plant’s watering needs. There will also be seed swaps, urban farms, beekeeping, birdwatching and day trips to the countryside.

And from what I have learnt by gardening in Dubai, I know that rain or sunshine, there will always be tomatoes in my garden.

Shumaila Ahmed is a Dubai-based gardener, teacher, researcher and writer.