Lorraine’s Garden

This is a story about a woman, a pair of hands and a sense of faith in what is to come. It began in 1979 when a pregnant Lorraine, her husband and two lively boys moved into their very first home in the hills of Maleny, on the Sunshine Coast. It was a small fibro house set on a 698 m2 block. It had no back fence, a mandarin tree, a tank stand covered in wisteria and four sturdy white azalea trees that grew out the front, like four formidable soldiers. They were the first to go; detached from the ground by the family’s green Land cruiser, loosening and preparing the soil for what she hoped was to come.

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As her family quickly became seven, she found herself a busy working mother. She dedicated herself to raising her five children and even minded her friend’s children, made pottery to sell at the local arts and crafts and found herself sewing to make ends meet. As her days filled, her work also grew to include milking cows at a range of hinterland dairies, and her time dissipated, forcing her unruly garden into a jungle. While her heart sighed over what it had become, it was to her children, their very delight.

The backyard was overrun with little feet that ran and played, plucking guavas from branches, bouncing on trampolines and digging in sandpits. A chook pen was erected in the far back corner, where mean roosters would pace the fence line daring children to enter. Skateboards ruled the driveway and fingers were pricked by her increasing cacti collection. Her ever growing bush house was the perfect space for hide and seek and a burial grounds for many a matchbox car. Although it provided endless adventure and stimulation for her children, Lorraine envisioned a garden that would bloom and fill her tiny space. She needed patience and thankfully she had plenty.

As her children grew, the sandpit and trampoline disappeared, the chook pen was uprooted and replaced with a combination of leafy palms, where one can now walk serenely through. Two fishponds were dug and filled, with a leopard tree that spans above one, protecting its inhabitants below with spotted arms. There are archways swamped in flowering vines that lead to spaces bursting in colours and textures and places to get lost. For Lorraine, the vision of her garden and the constant work of chasing and bringing it to fruition, was the greatest gift to herself she could have given.

Plunging her hands in dirt, planting a seed, building a landscape design or pulling weeds gives her a sense of freedom. The soil is her retreat, a quiet time, a solitude in the chaos. And it hasn’t just been a place for her to partake in, it’s opened itself to special birthday celebrations, baby showers, family parties and even her only daughter’s wedding. “The yard blossomed as a garden when the children left,” she smiles. Now her eleven grandchildren race across its lawn and forage among the ferns and flowers like pirates privy to a special treasure.

For visitors to the hinterland, being able to experience Lorraine’s garden is also a sweetener. It has been featured in “Gardening on the Edge” and the “Festival of Colour” three times, with locals and visitors lucky enough to wander in and out of her design. “It’s always a pretty nervous time,” she says. There’s something about opening oneself creatively to the scrutiny of others, that has the potential to make even the most confident of us squirm. “In fact,” she laughs, “my youngest son often said during the “Festival of Colour” he never had a mother. I think it was an exaggeration but I guess I became a little consumed at the time.”

Audrey Hepburn once said, “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow” and Lorraine has never stopped believing. “I only have a small space,” she says, “but I have a lot of ideas and I want people to know that this is achievable for anyone. It isn’t so much about the flowers as it is about the reward of seeing an idea take shape”. In fact, Lorraine’s impressive garden isn’t the result of excessive expense. It’s stemmed from friends supplying her with cuttings, plants being given as presents and taking her own cuttings from her mother’s garden. In this way it has given her a far greater satisfaction than if it were a large opulent landscape. Rather, hers tells a story, a tale of a space that has taken shape from a single desire and a faith in what she’s doing. The story of her garden isn’t finished just yet and like all good authors, there’s most certainly a sequel brewing in the recesses of her mind. All it needs is a pair of hands, some watering and a little faith.