An acre of magic

Published on Wednesday 21 September 2005 02:02

I WAS listening to Gardeners' Question Time on Radio 4 as I drove towards Lea Gardens. Enthusiasts in Essex were complaining about salt breezes off an estuary. Salt breezes? Estuary? They want to try salt storms off heaving seas.

Lea Gardens lies on a low hill in Tresta, Shetland, 200 metres from the sea, latitude 60 degrees north, parallel with Newfoundland. Here, gardening is more battle than hobby. Here, you need optimism, energy and a determination not to get downhearted.

Rosa Steppanova has these qualities by the barrowload. She has created an enclosed acre of magic, a haven from the storms, a symbol of success against the odds. They said it was impossible. Hence the title of her book, The Impossible Garden.

Rosa, originally from northern Bavaria, first came to Shetland in 1976 - by chance. It's difficult to arrive here by chance, as it's 12 hours and 200 miles by sea from Aberdeen. But she and a friend were hitchhiking to "the Highlands" and ended up with a lift to the islands. Rosa loved the place immediately, took a six-month job, and has stayed ever since.

In 1977 she and husband-to-be James Mackenzie bought The Lea, a dry-stone cottage, with dilapidated outhouses, in the middle of a nine-acre croft. It had a daisy bush. The soil was dark, acidic and peaty, with an iron pan beneath that made drainage difficult.

Shelter was minimal: just remnants of dyke. As winter storms scoured the barren landscape, Rosa pined for Bavaria: "The vineyards and forests, the chanterelles and blackberries in the autumn, sweet violets and apple blossom in spring." But she didn't want to leave Shetland. So she hit on an idea: create a garden akin to the family plot back home. At first she was more realistic than ambitious, planting the old Shetland standards outlined in her book: "Fuchsia magellanica, Ribes sanguinem, Rosa rugosa, a few gnarled elders, ancient, wind-pruned sycamores the occasional rowan and whitebeam."

Then Rosa started branching out, creating a large and sturdy shelter-belt, behind which she experimented, experiencing heartbreaking failures. Nothing daunted, she now has more than 1,500 species and cultivars, and is in the process of planting up another acre, creating Britain's most northerly botanic garden.

On a day of mists and glimpses of weak sunlight, I approached up a rutted road and was greeted by a sheepdog with a football. "Her name's Flo, but she thinks she's David Beckham," explained a man with a shock of silver hair and a similarly hued beard. This was James and, as he led me towards the haven, Rosa emerged. She clutched a steaming cup of coffee and cheerfully declared herself "burnt out at the end of a busy season".

Behind her stood The Ship, her latest outdoor artwork, composed of masts, nets, soil, succulents, Sumburgh sand and the door of a boat that ran aground on Hildasay. Another work using "holy" stones - was inspired by the late Derek Jarman (with whom Rosa had corresponded) and sits at The End of Civilisation, where the wilderness of the shelterbelt begins. Before we reached that point, Rosa stopped by a flower bed and exclaimed: "Oh, that's a first!" An ophiopogon was in flower. We passed a row of plants in pots - "my ladies in waiting" - and encountered Woozle, one of several cats who have the run of the place as do, more distressingly, the midges.

Rosa took me on a tour, warning first: "It's really jungly. People say: 'It looks so natural.' Which I think means they think it could be tidied up." But how to tidy up paradise? The rhododendron valley, wild flower meadow, even the traditional herbaceous borders were inspiring. A red admiral flitted on the mauve flowers of a Buddleja 'Lochinch'.

Though the sky overhead was grey, yellow suns shone up from the soil: Inula hookerii. Red-berried rowans, golden elder and Japanese larch added more colour and shade, belying Shetland's treeless reputation. In an enclosure on higher ground, blackcurrants and raspberries were grown, and down a winding grass path we passed New Zealand pampas: "No problem". More problematic have been the south-westerly winds. "They just scalded everything. At the end of this season, the whole west side is burnt to a crisp. But you have to be pretty optimistic, despite such knockbacks."

Rosa employs two part-time workers in summer, one in winter, not to mention James, of course, and the occasional help from their 15-year-old daughter, Anna. Most work takes place in the nursery, "the bread and butter of the garden". Elsewhere, for botanic status, everything will have to be labelled and catalogued.

Rosa relishes the educational role: "That's what I really enjoy doing. People very often don't know where to start. I encourage them to put up some shelter first. Later, it's an absolute joy when they come back for more plants and advice. There's a growing interest here, particularly among younger people."

The visitors' book pays testament to the joy the garden has brought. "What an oasis - an enchanted garden." "Inspiring." "Sheer delight."

"Wow - an Aladdin's cave, with flowers and shrubs!" "Tres beau," wrote Jean and Christine from France. "Impossible? Not here!" wrote the King family, from Cumbria.

They're right, of course. As I said goodbye and headed back down the rutted road, Flo the sheepdog nutmegged me and bent a Beckham-esque ball between two standing canes. Yup, at Lea Gardens, anything is possible. sm

•The Impossible Garden by Rosa Steppanova is published by The Shetland Times at 25. Lea Gardens is open to the public every afternoon (except Thursday) from March to October, or by appointment. Tel: [phone] or e-mail: [e-mail]