This week, my focus has been on the burgeoning life in my garden and the subtle greening happening in my community. It’s a community that faces a stark reality: a mere 3% canopy cover. This leaves our terraced streets vulnerable to sweltering heat in the summer, the concrete and lack of shade creating a desert-like feel. When the wind whips off the docks, it barrels down the streets, unchecked, often scattering rubbish from overflowing bins. Yesterday, it was a particularly grim scene.
But we’re not resigned to this. We’re actively working to change it. Just this week, our efforts were featured in The Guardian, highlighting our tree planting and green space development – central to our commitment to making the East Marsh a greener, healthier place.
I’ve spent a lot of time in the park this week, walking Loki and observing the 30 trees we planted, now showing signs of budding. The Pocket Park, despite its controversial fencing within a historically gifted public space, is a testament to what’s possible. It’s a thriving ecosystem, full of young trees and planted beds. Over at the church, our team is tending a wild planting bed, nurturing new trees, and an edible garden for the community. Little gardeners join the adults, caring for their small piece of nature.
A visit to the Oasis Community Garden was also on the cards, where I picked up a day lily, rudbeckia, ragged robin, and a bay tree for a modest £1.80. The Oasis garden is a place of beauty and dedication, producing affordable plants and offering valuable gardening knowledge.
Back home, I’ve added primroses to the tubs by my front door, a splash of colour. These tubs have been targeted before, but I refuse to be deterred. I repair, replace, and replant. It’s disheartening when they’re damaged, but the joy they bring outweighs the risk. They serve as an example, showing that plants can thrive here.
My back garden is coming to life. The snowdrops are in full bloom, the trees are budding, and the spring flowers – daffodils, hyacinths, crocus, and tulips – are pushing through. This year, the garden is getting a facelift: a new shed, greenhouse, raised beds, and a summer house. We’re retiring tired plants to the compost and making way for new life. Soft fruits, salad crops, beans, and peas will be grown, not just for me, but to share with my neighbours.
My mum often speaks of my Great Uncle Tom, whose garden and allotment fed family and neighbours during World War Two. His tomatoes were legendary. I remember Uncle Tom and Auntie Lizzie, living next door to my Grandma and Auntie Helen, a close-knit community that held people together during difficult times. Much of that has been lost, but echoes remain in stories and memories. We can use these to rebuild our broken communities.
We face broken streets, poverty, alienation, and a sense of hopelessness. But we also have each other, ideas, and dreams we can put into action. I’ve been nesting, creating a sanctuary amidst the concrete, broken glass, and overflowing bins. Our houses, built in the 1850s, need love and to be lived in properly. I make my home welcoming, filled with flowers, houseplants, and cushions. I open my door and feel enveloped by its warmth.
Everyone deserves a safe home, a harbour of safety and love. It seems radical to think this way, given the scale of our problems. But if we don’t imagine it, we’ll never build it. And build it we must.
https://eastmarshunited.org/2025/02/20/our-community-deserves-beauty-emu-in-the-guardian/
Josie Moon 