| Did Gardening Make Me More Social? Or Was I Always This Way? |
| I was asked a question recently that made me stop and think: “Have you always been a social person, or did gardening make you more social?” It’s a fair question. I’m often seen chatting in the street, laughing with clients, stopping to talk to neighbours, shop owners, and passers-by around Sandwich. From the outside, it probably looks like I’ve always been this affable, outgoing person. But the truth is a little more layered. When I was younger, I was actually quite shy — especially around the opposite sex. I wasn’t the confident chatterbox people see today. What I did have, though, was humour. I could make people laugh, and in many ways, that became my bridge over shyness. Laughter helped me connect when my confidence hadn’t yet caught up. Then I discovered work — and with it, people. Most of my working life has been spent in service-based roles. One of my earliest jobs was in a gift shop, where the owner once told me I had “the gift of the gab” and could probably sell oil back to the sheikhs who owned it. I didn’t realise it at the time, but that comment stayed with me. While still at school, I started in the catering industry — working in hotels, then moving into large civic halls and banqueting venues. After that, I changed direction into retail fashion and trained as a bespoke tailor with the Burton Group. From there, I switched careers again — into recruitment, and later advertising within the adult music and entertainment industry. On paper, it looks like a lot of career changes. In reality, the common thread running through all of them was people. Service with a smile is service with a smile, whatever the industry. So did gardening make me more social? Not really. But it did make me more connected to the community. Gardening places you right in the middle of people’s lives. You’re outside. You’re visible. You’re working in shared spaces where neighbours pass by, dogs stop to investigate, and conversations naturally start. You’re not behind a counter or a desk — you’re part of the everyday rhythm of a town. In Sandwich alone, I look after around 70 clients. That means I automatically know roughly 200 people by name through them — partners, neighbours, friends. Add to that the local businesses and their teams, plus all the familiar faces you come to recognise and remember by name, and suddenly your social world expands without effort. People stop you in the street. They ask how their garden’s doing. They introduce you to someone else. Over time, you become a known face, not just a service provider. Being a town gardener comes with an unspoken rule: it doesn’t pay not to be social. But more than that, it suits who I’ve quietly always been. Gardening didn’t turn me into someone new — it simply gave me the right setting to be myself. A role where conversation grows as naturally as plants do, where familiarity builds trust, and where being community-connected is part of the job description. So no — gardening didn’t make me more social. It just rooted me exactly where I belong. There’s a moment at the end of Kingdom of Heaven [2005] film that has always stayed with me. [I am a Blacksmith] A king seeks out a man famed for his deeds, his courage, his leadership. Titles are offered. Status is assumed. And yet the man simply repeats who he is — not what he’s been called, not what he could claim, but what he chooses to be. I’ve always liked that. Because in many ways, it feels familiar. People sometimes project importance onto the role, the visibility, the number of gardens, the knowing of names. But when it comes down to it, stripped of labels and expectations, my answer is simple and honest, and enough in itself: I am a Town Gardener. |
Earthly Comforts 
I’ve never found the right place to be myself and at 79 I think I’m still trying to figure that out. I also was a quiet shy person who wound up working in people-centric jobs (can’t call any part of my working life a career) including retail, recruiting/interviewing and a job that required cold calling. (me, the person who hated phones). I was good at all of them. You’re lucky to have a found a place to be comfortably yourself.
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