How to Be 6 Per Cent Happier by Next Weekend Without Winning Lotto
If you had asked me as a child, I would have said gardening was a form of child labour, supposedly outlawed except in our own backyards. Back then, it meant holding the hose over strawberries while Dad muttered at the lawnmower.
At 25, my answer was a firm "no" as I continued shovelling manure. While I loved growing fruit and vegetables and observing which predators ate which pests, I had no interest in selling produce or cultivating flowers.
It wasn't until I was 35 that I grew my first petunia. By then, I had a few ornamentals, thanks to neighbours Jean and Angela. Jean, who was 50 years my senior, lived two kilometres down the road and generously shared seeds and cuttings. Angela, living five kilometres away through mountain and bush, had aphids in her hair during our first meeting but possessed an incredible understanding of roses, callistemons, and banksias.
My garden was already filled with local bush flowers: hillsides ablaze with hardenbergia, trees adorned with wonga blossom and clematis, the honey scent of bursaria in midsummer, golden everlastings fading to parchment, and vast swathes of rock and grass orchids. I wondered, why would I need zinnias?
Then, The Women's Weekly came to interview me about my books. The next day, their gardening writer retired due to illness. My garden looked glorious—thanks to Jean and Angela—and I had written books on pest and weed control. They asked if I could fill in.
I didn't mention that the flowers grew themselves or that I couldn't distinguish a zinnia from a zebra. Decades later, I'm still writing about gardening. I've learned that spreading petunias will continue to thrive with proper nourishment, water, and warmth, and that native blooms like callistemons produce more long-lasting flowers when pruned.
Gardening made me happy then, and it still does.
The Science Behind Greenery and Happiness
For years, I've advocated that humans are happier with greenery around them, citing numerous studies. However, it was surprising to read in New Scientist that greenery alone contributes only two points on a happiness scale out of one hundred. Hearing or seeing flowing water outdoors adds four points. Combine both with a bird pond or fountain, and you might reach six points—if you pay attention.
These studies focus solely on the presence of greenery and water. They don't account for the joy of watching parrots splash in a birdbath, a frog gulping insects attracted to a reading light, the taste of freshly picked corn, or the triumph of a successful harvest. They also miss the awe in a child's voice asking, "Mum, are those oranges on that tree?"
Practical Steps to Increase Your Happiness
Based on current knowledge, here's how to boost your happiness through gardening:
- To be 2 per cent happier: Plant greenery around you, whether in soil or pots.
- To be 4 per cent happier: Add a birdbath or fountain to your garden.
- To be x% happier: Let a child pick your lemons and feed them sun-warmed strawberries.
- To be y% happier: Share bunches of blooms, basil, ripe tomatoes, and baskets of fruit with those who would appreciate them.
The values of x and y depend on the individual. Personally, I am 95 per cent unhappier when away from the bush and my garden.
If gardening doesn't bring you more than 2 per cent joy, don't force it. However, do incorporate greenery into your life and others', even if it means hiring someone to plant resilient trees and shrubs that reduce traffic noise, attract birds, and possibly yield apples unexpectedly. Don't forget to add that extra 4 per cent with a fountain or birdbath. Alternatively, make time daily to stroll by a lakeside and listen to water rats splash.
This Week in My Garden
I'm currently cheering on Old Ugly, a hardy avocado I thought had died during extreme December heat after six months without rain. Yet, its bare branches are now filled with tiny fruit, and leaf buds are reappearing. How can you not love a tree that bears fruit even when nearly dead, only to spring back to life?
I'm also watching Naked Ladies, or Belladonna lilies, that have sprung up overnight, cutting back dead ginger lily and tree fern leaves browned by the heat, and realising that salvia and hydrangeas are the only blooms blacktail wallabies won't eat, regardless of how hot and dry it gets.
Additionally, I'm picking apples of an unknown variety—pale green with faint red stripes—that remain crisp and sweet as they age. I've realised I missed feeding the garden during last week's showers, the perfect time for it. Shame on me; next season's fruit harvest will be smaller, and flowers won't bloom as abundantly or as long.
Jackie French is a Canberra Times columnist, an Australian author, historian, ecologist, and honorary wombat. She served as the 2014-2015 Australian Children's Laureate and was the 2015 Senior Australian of the Year.
