I am writing this in an unusual corner of Provence where the ground beneath the vineyards is smothered in green, rather than starkly bare. The locals around here find it peculiar, but as the Italian clover and the broad beans grow tall and meadowy in the late spring, they lock nitrogen into the soil beneath – and that, in turn, feeds the vines. For some, no amount of nitrogen will save them: they have offered their last harvest and will be removed, and because this is a newly regenerative vineyard, the ground will be left fallow; nothing will grow on there for several seasons. The soil can recover.
Sometimes we afford our plants luxuries we wouldn’t allow ourselves. A few days ago, I received a note from a garden-designer friend, asking if I’d ever lost my interest in gardening; if I’d ever found that I couldn’t motivate myself to get out into the space that is supposed to be a haven and a delight?
Content from our partners
