By design a home is a defence against the natural world. And yet that same home feels incomplete without some incorporated hint at the surrounding mass of nature. Which takes us to the garden, and whether it be wildly rambling or architecturally precise, it has the common feature of being nature both generated and constrained. Which through some small trick of our innate instincts and psychology is enough to quiet that small voice within us that craves the natural world as much as that greater concurrent instinct seeks shelter from it. Proximity to greenery and growth soothes us even if it’s just at the subsconscious level. Passing a small thicket of some plucky edging plant as you come and go in that nakedly exposed five metres between the door of your parked Tesla and the clicking remote lock the front entry, is a brush with a wider, wilder world. It must register somewhere. And more than that be necessary for some profund albeit well submerged sense of well being. To actually garden, to lose yourself just a little in the life of plants … well, that’s anther story.