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Initially, we gardened on quite traditional lines – Sebastian, my partner, was not interested in plants. Then two years ago I was pregnant and couldn’t do so much, so I directed him out of the window. Now it’s evened up a little more. His experience has grown, though he says, “You always ask my advice, then ignore it.” His sole preserve is vegetables. I’m not allowed to interfere. In some areas the boundaries are blurred: like in autumn, moving things around, lifting, planting. We do that together, and lawn care, routine tidying – one clipping, another lifting. It’s quite companionable. Gardening is our main recreation. I’m quite interventionist in the garden; I move things a lot to get it right. I was very impatient but since I had a child I’ve learnt that you can’t control everything. My mother and father are very keen, serious gardeners and I had my own little area as a child. In my twenties I lived in a flat with no outside space but there was a New York-style fire escape and I kept plants out there. We had a little garden in our first house where I grew things from seed because we had no money – all cottage garden perennials: planted one year, instant garden the next. I loved every bit of it. Then we bought this house with a quarter-acre field and got straight into making a garden – we’d turn up, dig garden, lay turf, mulch the borders while the end of the house was falling down. My propagation skills have improved, so I buy one plant and multiply.

What we have to do in our day jobs is restrictive, full of rules. In the garden you can let it all hang out and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of it. I feel exhausted sometimes but it’s a good exhaustion. I work out problems while I’m gardening; it genuinely is very therapeutic. Nothing else in terms of hobbies or pastimes has ever given me such satisfaction.

Tom Fort, 55, writer, fisherman, cricketer; suburban garden in Reading

We have delineated spheres. I do the fruit and veg and all the destructive control work: sawing off branches, clipping hedges, mowing – all the noisy, aggressive jobs. My partner Helen delicately pricks out her sweet peas, tends the border flowers and the pots. I’ve never had any interest in flowers – it’s like my inability to appreciate art. I’ve got raised beds – an incredibly exciting piece of geometric precision, very appealing to the male eye. At this time of year, I think about the garden all the time – wake up and anticipate going down to the plastic greenhouse my mother gave me and peeping in to see what’s happening. Or I think, must thin the lettuce seedlings today. Mind you, I don’t think about it as much as I think about fishing or cricket.

I grow raspberries, rhubarb and gooseberries. And fruit trees – apple and plum. There is something incredibly satisfying about playing the hunter-gatherer, coming in with trug full of produce for the table. The lawn gives me the same quiet purr of satisfaction – I’ve got new edge clippers so I come away with a smirk: have a look at my edges. The main gardener in my life was my mother. She’s 91 now, and says every year she will give up but once she gets the sniff of spring she’s out there an hour or two every day. What moves her spirit is flowers, the aesthetics of the garden. She has no interest in growing things to eat. Is this nature or conditioning? I don’t know. This division seems to be fairly universal, though one of my four brothers is a real gardener; he loves flowers and has no interest in sport. An aesthetic sensibility.

Carlo Roberts, 39, teacher and art student; small garden in Hackney, East London

When I was a child, we had this totally derelict garden of a Georgian house in Bristol: my dad built terraces, areas for us to play, secret places – he was very attentive to it. We used to get 1/2 p for each snail we collected. It was the way we communicated, doing something practical in the garden, not saying much. A garden is an amazing place to teach kids things. Mine are a bit small yet; what they mostly like to do is collect earth and scatter it where it isn’t supposed to be – and pick flowers. It is quite fraught trying to do the garden with them around. They like feeding the birds – we have an amazing variety. Steph, my partner, is a barrister and works full-time; she buys the plants and I put them in and tend to them. She’s quite opinionated. I am more interested in the overall shape and how the light falls.

Rosie Thomas, 57, novelist; penthouse balcony garden in Islington, North London

I’d made some money from my novels and we bought a house and had it “done” by interior designers. It was a large house, which had to be managed in a certain way, and I felt the garden had to match up. I did enjoy it at first – it was extending the realm of comfort and protection, lining the nest for the family. I joined a cuttings club, had a greenhouse, borders, hanging baskets, window boxes, pots. It was quite a regime of maintenance and there never seemed to be a time when I wasn’t oppressed by something needing doing. Once my husband had left me, it became joyless – maintaining something that no longer had any purpose. Then I bought a contemporary flat, with deep balconies, in a converted industrial building. I wanted to look out on something architectural that didn’t need the amounts of TLC from me so I bought agaves and palms. The plants are growing well: they are tough and spiky, like me. I could imagine coming back to gardening at some point – definitely, and doing it for pleasure again. n

Tim Wilmot’s garden is open under the National Gardens Scheme (www.beechwell.com). The Abbey House Gardens are open from March to October (www.abbeyhousegardens.co.uk)

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