| Finding the Right Fit |
| One of the things nobody tells you when you start a gardening business is that the gardens are often the easy part. Plants have their own rhythms, of course, and they’ll occasionally surprise you just when you think you’ve understood them. Roses refuse to behave as the books suggest they should, weeds seem to possess an uncanny ability to appear within hours of clearing a border, and no two seasons are ever quite alike. Yet plants are, in their own peculiar way, wonderfully honest. If you pay attention, they’ll usually tell you what they need. People are rather more complicated. When I founded Earthly Comforts in 2022, I was grateful for every enquiry. Like most small business owners, I said yes far more often than I said no. Every new client represented another opportunity to earn a living, gain experience and slowly build a reputation. At that stage, I believed that success meant adapting myself to whoever happened to ring the telephone. If someone wanted a gardener who worked quickly through a list of jobs, then that was the gardener I tried to become. If another preferred long conversations about plants, I happily stood and talked. It seemed only sensible that a good business should mould itself around every client it served. Looking back, I don’t think that belief was entirely wrong. In the early years, flexibility is often what keeps a young business alive. Every garden teaches you something, every client broadens your experience, and every mistake, uncomfortable though it may be at the time, quietly becomes another lesson. What many, however, do not often appreciate is that businesses, much like gardens themselves, continue to grow long after they’ve first been planted. As they grow, they begin to reveal their own character. Over the past few years, I’ve realised that Earthly Comforts has developed a personality of its own. We still carry out practical gardening, and I suspect we always will, but I’ve become increasingly interested in something that sits quietly behind the work itself. I enjoy building long-term relationships with gardens, noticing the small changes that only become obvious after months or years, and accepting a degree of responsibility that goes beyond simply completing the task written in the diary. Without consciously planning it, I found myself thinking less like a contractor and more like a custodian. That subtle change also altered the sort of relationship I enjoyed having with clients. Some people naturally like to hand over responsibility. They might greet me with a cup of coffee, ask how the garden is progressing and then leave me to decide what deserves attention that day. Those visits are built upon trust. They are not an abdication of interest; quite the opposite. The client cares deeply about their garden but trusts someone else to exercise professional judgment on their behalf. Other clients prefer something rather different, and there is nothing inherently wrong with that either. Some enjoy deciding precisely how every hour should be spent. Others have a clear picture of what they want achieved each visit and understandably expect those instructions to be followed. Their satisfaction comes from remaining closely involved in every decision. That relationship is no less valid; it is simply built upon different expectations. For a long time, I believed that one approach had to suit the other. If I worked hard enough, communicated clearly enough and cared deeply enough, surely every relationship could be made to flourish. Experience has slowly persuaded me otherwise. The happiest professional relationships are rarely built on one person continually adapting to the other. More often, they succeed because both people value the same way of working from the outset. I sometimes think of it rather like visiting a favourite restaurant. One person may delight in a leisurely tasting menu, enjoy conversation with the staff, and let the chef guide the evening. Another simply wants an excellent meal served promptly before catching the last train home. Neither diner is wrong, yet neither is looking for quite the same experience. The quality of the food may be identical, but the relationship with the restaurant is fundamentally different. Gardening, I’ve come to believe, follows much the same pattern. Some clients are looking primarily for labour, carried out efficiently and well. Others are looking for judgment, continuity and the quiet reassurance that someone is paying attention even when nothing particularly dramatic needs doing. Neither expectation deserves criticism. They simply represent different ideas of what it means to employ a gardener. Perhaps the most liberating lesson of all has been realising that I don’t have to become every type of gardener for every type of client. That isn’t a failure of professionalism; if anything, it is a recognition that genuine professionalism involves understanding your own strengths and respecting others’ expectations. Just as no garden thrives in every soil, no business can be everything to everybody without eventually losing sight of its own character. As Earthly Comforts has evolved, so too has my understanding of what I hope to offer. I no longer think in terms of accumulating as many clients as possible. I’d much rather build lasting relationships with people who share the philosophy that continues to shape our work: careful observation, quiet consistency, thoughtful stewardship, and a willingness to accept responsibility for the places entrusted to us. Those values will not appeal to everyone, and I have gradually come to regard that not as a weakness but as a sign that the business is becoming clearer about its purpose. That realisation has changed the way I think about success. In the beginning, success meant persuading every client to remain. Today, I see it rather differently. Success is finding those gardens where the relationship feels natural, where trust grows steadily over time and where both gardener and client quietly recognise that they are trying to achieve the same thing. Perhaps that is what people really mean when they talk about finding the right fit. It isn’t about agreeing on every detail or avoiding differences of opinion. It is about sharing a common understanding of what good care looks like. Once that understanding exists, the gardening almost becomes the easy part. |
| About our writing & imagery Most articles reflect our real gardening experience and reflection. Some use AI in drafting or research, but never for voice or authority. Featured images may show our photos, original AI-generated visuals, or, where stated, credited images shared by others. All content is shaped and edited by Earthly Comforts, expressing our own views. |
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