That Time I Allowed a Lemon Tree in My Garden
Observation, interaction and responding gently to my environment
A lemon in the making
Four years ago, I moved into my rental unit, complete with a small concreted courtyard. Somewhere between the previous tenants leaving and me moving in, a gardener had cleared nearly everything that once grew there — including chopping a beautiful, mature Callistemon just outside the west-facing unit, down to a stump. The horror.
But this isn’t a rant, I am merely setting the stage.
This would also be a good moment to add a disclaimer: this story really needs photos.
A few before-and-afters, maybe a halfway shot or even a time-lapse reel.
But I don’t have any of those. I know I’m meant to document and share my work, but honestly? I forget. All. The. Time.
When I’m with clients, it’s tricky. I want to stay present rather than step aside and document. And when it’s just me? I tend to do my best gardening when I’m simply sitting in my space and something happens to catch my eye.
A plant needing care, a bit of damage from that cheeky blackbird (who’s now become my nemesis) seedlings looking thirsty — something will call me up from my seat.
I wander over to “just do that one thing”… and somehow, three hours later, I’ve watered, mulched, repotted cuttings, and flipped the compost pile.
Anyway, back to the tree.
When I started slowly (very slowly) tending to this bare garden space, I noticed two shoots sprouting from a small tree stump cut right to the ground — probably from that earlier “gardening” rampage. Since this west-facing, brick-walled yard was so bare, I figured I might as well let it grow. The one thing I could tell then was that it was citrus, recognising its leaf shape and scent. Knowing citrus trees, and seeing how it was chopped, I assumed the new shoots were suckers growing from the rootstock, so I didn’t expect good fruiting, or any fruit at all. I was just happy for the added greenery and potential shade.
Earlier this year, in one of those “happened to be in the garden” moments, I noticed my citrus had grown tall and healthy, though in need of a prune. As I trimmed bit by bit, I realised there were actually two quite distinct young trees — one with very long spikes, and the other with significantly smaller ones and tiny flower buds.
I decided to take another chance on this tree, by removing the spiky sucker side and allowing the flowering one to take up space and the energy that the established root system had to give.
A quick prune
Today I happened to be sitting in the garden again and noticed the tree needed another little prune, one that would allow it to focus its energy on the flowers and developing fruit. Moving slowly around the tree, snipping here and there, I had a happy realisation: By observing what was already happening and responding gently to nature in my garden, I’d allowed a whole lemon tree to grow and mature in my little space.
At this point I am fairly confident it is a lemon — I just don’t know which yet.
Sitting here and writing this short tale, I become aware of how much “slowly” and “I happened to be in the garden” shape my own healing gardening experience. The quiet joy that comes from allowing, and the softness of observing and gently responding to what’s around me.
🍋
May we all have a little more “slowly” and “just happened to” in our days — letting calm and curiosity guide us along our path.