Our garden has, for too long, been somewhat neglected. Not intentionally, it's a time thing, I'm sure many of you have the same problem! When we moved in five years ago the garden was all flat, dull lawn, from edge to edge, with a thick, ugly, concrete path running down the centre, like some hideous scar across the grass. The path simply stopped, two thirds of the way down the garden. It was the path to nowhere! We could never fathom the why of it.

Well, two years ago we extended our home, and the builders' vast quantities of equipment and materials were stored on the back garden. They removed the mystery path, gave us a family sized kitchen diner, an extra bedroom, an extra reception room, and solar-powered hot water. After almost five months of hard graft and large bills the builders were gone, and we looked out of our shiny, new windows at our 'garden'. Oh how we suddenly missed that boring, flat lawn and ugly path! Before us was a shattered wilderness. The tracks of the digger had worn deep grooves into the ground, the bottoms of these trenches filled with thick mud and slime. The pallets of stored bricks had created a checkerboard of dead earth and long, damp grass, which slithered over your legs like weakened fingers as you passed. Empty bags of concrete and sand were half-buried in the ground. It was a disaster. It was also winter, the ground was frozen and our first child was on the way. Far too much to do indoors to get started in the cold garden. Far too much money was needed for a cot, buggy, car seat, toys, nursery décor, clothes and the truly phenomenal amount of stuff that retailers try to convince you that you must not be without (You don't need half of it, trust me). No time or money left for a frozen waste ground, too icy and treacherous to venture out into anyway.

So the wilderness had 6 more months to thrive. After the beating it had taken from the builders, the garden fought back. Bruised and battered, the mischievous fae wanted revenge for our mistreatment and neglect of the natural space we were lucky enough to have. Nettles leapt up anywhere they could get a grip. Brambles moved in at the end of the garden and began advancing towards the house. Dandelions took over the rutted earth where the lawn once grew. And the Queen of all Thistles ruled over them all, with a prickly fist of iron. We were afraid to venture out there. Every step was fraught with peril. Long grass lay down deceptively covering ruts and holes. Nettles appeared beside you from nowhere, to sting any exposed skin they could find. Brambles twisted into hems, causing us to stumble, painfully turning ankles and wrists as we fell. Our own back garden was hostile territory, and it saw us as the enemy. We had ignored it, abandoned it, allowed it to become ugly and unwanted. We would feel its pain and hurt. So we were stung, scratched, tripped, poked, and bitten, and all the while the brambles were advancing menacingly towards the house. I had visions of Sleeping Beauty's castle, recreated in our semi in the suburbs. These prickly creatures would barricade us in.

This was a war we could not fight alone. We needed help. We needed the professionals (please hum the A-team theme tune here) So after a brief online search we found a professional gardening company. A nice young man who shall remain nameless (as he has no idea I'm writing this) arrived to quote for initial clearing followed by regular maintenance. The Fae lurked in the shadows and observed this newcomer as he walked around the garden with his tape measure and clipboard. His boots were impervious to the brambles. His trousers too thick to be bothered by nettles. He had seen all this, and much worse, before. He was un-phased by their tricks.

Within a few days I had a plan, and a price.

But what to do with those surly folk, that had made this chaos their home? Evicting them would only lead to trouble; we all know they can be a vengeful lot if you cross them. They were bad enough as it was. Also, these are beautiful, useful plants! If you bring nettles into your house they will provide protection for anyone inside. They can also be used to bestow courage, increase fertility and cure illness. Sitting under brambles can cure boils and blackheads, and if they grow around a grave it prevents the deceased from returning as a ghost. A bramble switch hung over a door will repel evil. Dandelions gathered on Midsummer's Eve can be used to ward off witches, and dandelion tea increases psychic abilities. And how do you explain this to your practical, down-to-earth gardener? Well, you begin by not letting him strim through a teasel. Faeries wash their faces in the water collected by the leaves, taking away their beauty aids would surely result in reprisals! So the teasel was transplanted to a handy flowerbed.

"It's a weed you know"

"It's a wildflower. It's only a weed if you don't want it"

The Thistle Queen had become far too mighty and powerful. Her crown towered over the 6 foot fence panel behind her. She was easily as wide as she was tall. She needed to be cut down to size. I'm afraid we decided her cruel reign must end. So, with some regret, she was... pruned.

"That'll be back, I'll have to spray it"

"No. No sprays, no pellets, no poisons anywhere in the garden. At all. Ever"

Blank look.... "You're a bit of a hippy, aren't you?"

***

We now have a lovely, smooth, green, soft lawn, like a delightful carpet for the garden. It's springy, fresh and fragrant beneath your toes. We've extended the veg patch and the recent rains have provided us (and our neighbours) with several courgettes a day. We have a wildlife pond, with frogs and a newt. We are visited daily by scores of birds and butterflies. There are apple trees. There is a patio, raised beds, and ornamental rocks, even trellis. There are flowerbeds, although our plants are few and far between at present. But the surly fae seem mollified by the attention. The few plants have attracted other members of their kind, and the birds and insects that they love. With so much life and beauty in the garden they are distracted, and so we can pass unmolested to the washing line or veg patch, or take a cup of tea to the bench by the pond without ending up with it scalding down the font of your jeans as the brambles snag you.

Next week is our daughter's first birthday, and we're having a butterfly garden party in celebration. The grandparents are all coming to stay for a few days. Many friends and family whom we haven't seen for some time are coming as well. And the flowerbeds are still mostly empty; rocks have not yet hid all the pond liner. The mischievous fae still lurk around the edges, the brambles, nettles, dandelions... and I know that bloomin' Thistle is just biding her time.

So now it's a big garden push, seven days to get it looking good for the party. I want to plant as many British, native flowers as possible, to encourage the wildlife and the folk to thrive. And I want the garden to stay a little ragged around the edges, leave a little space for the plants considered by some as weeds. The butterflies and bees love them, and I'd miss my surly little neighbours if we squeezed them out of a home. I want to get some Wood Anemone this weekend; faeries slumber beneath the petals at night. I'm trying to get hold of British bluebells, not the Spanish variety that has invaded everywhere. We're going to trail honeysuckle along the fence, it protects from evil. Primroses can give you the sight, so that you can see the good people. I'm immersing myself online in flower lore, making notes in preparation for operation Plant Buying Week!

Hopefully as we show the good people with whom we share this little plot of land that we DO care, that we are trying to tend for the garden, help it thrive and grow, then they will forgive us for the neglect and destruction it has seen these last few years. Our daughter is now walking, and I don't want the nettles and brambles ensnaring her! As our garden grows it will inspire me with beauty and magical encounters to fill my sketchbook with. As long as I can hold back the gardener and his weed killer!

By Alexandra Dawe

Tales from the Toadstools

Alexandra lives in Hampshire with her lovely husband Pete, a beautiful, impish little faery baby called Megan, and a very grumpy old cat.

She believes in faeries, talks to frogs and collects skeletons, insects and pebbles.

She occasionally gets time to paint in between emails, chores and being a new mum.

“How do I live in the Magic? Through the love and support of my family and friends.”

Alexandra has been a member of Enchanted Folk since September 2007

members.enchantedfolk.com/www.alexandradawe.co.uk