Grow Your Own Forest: A Childhood Legacy, Still Time to Start Yours

Back in the late '70s, when my folks constructed the home where I'm currently living, there wasn’t a forest around. Instead, the land was an abandoned cow pasture overgrown with scraggly grass and wild weeds. Before breaking ground for their building project, my parents started planting saplings, which have since flourished under care spanning four decades plus seven years. This transformation turned what once seemed like just another patch of scrubland into a thriving woodland. As a kid, this growing expanse went by the name "the garden," suggesting something cultivated and orderly—a space distinctly influenced by human hands. Over time though, as nature took hold more strongly, we came to refer to it simply as "the forest." It became less about cultivation and more about letting natural processes take precedence; one that required occasional intervention from us—trimming branches here, clearing fallen leaves there—but mostly left alone except when encroachments threatened our real dwelling nearby.

• Subscribe to receive our top picks each week via email.

The initial plan for the house placed emphasis on the garden as its principal element. It featured individual wooden sections arranged alongside an exposed pathway where plants thrived in the middle. Now, nearly fifty years later, this dwelling lies enveloped within a dense woodland. Our existence unfolds beneath the foliage, well below the treetops. Antlers of stags and elk, coupled with various mosses and lichens, decorate the bark of these towering trees; meanwhile, bromeliads proliferate without end. Amongst us stands timber reaching heights exceeding forty-five meters—trees appearing venerable despite their relatively young age of less than five decades. Although my folks initiated this plantation, it exudes timelessness akin to eternity. Their foresight at inception likely fell short of envisioning the grandeur, splendour, or intricate connections each sapling nurtured would eventually achieve.

Related: A grove: a space where you attempt to domesticate trees – a gesture of optimism | Helen Sullivan

Taking care of a wooden home nestled within a subtropical rainforest can often seem like an around-the-clock task. There was one instance where we found out that a leaky pipe under our kitchen sink had soaked through the entire chipboard shelfing. At first glance, opening the cabinet underneath the sink seemed fine, yet upon closer inspection, it felt unsettlingly soft when touched. This meant every single piece of shelving needed replacement.

We watched with keen anticipation as our handyman cleared out several wheelbarrows full of roots and composted earth from under our sink. It turned out our kitchen cabinet was teeming with life! Tree roots from outside had infiltrated the space between the concrete slab and the wall, overtaking the moisture-damaged chipboard. Our woodland had intruded into the home’s interior. Ever since then, we've kept a close eye on things. To monitor root growth, we excavated trenches around the slabs. Just recently, while in bed, I noticed a robust vine of philodendron coiling within an exposed closet. For how long had it been present? And when exactly did it manage to push through?

Gardening can be seen as an ongoing struggle for dominance over nature? A reshaping of natural elements. Visitors often comment, "If this were my property, I'd remove a few of those trees." With the underlying implication being, This has gone too far. In the main, they are correct. We have yielded to the woods. A few years ago, we waved the white flag.

In modern times, we meticulously maintain the house itself, yet have no control over the trees. As a child, the trees were young saplings as well, growing alongside us into maturity—from insignificance to significance. They are like family; they aren’t just decorative—they are living entities with intertwined destinies. We strive for coexistence. Still, cleaning out the gutters can be an entire day’s task, and leaves continue to fall endlessly, making this a concession to ensuring the safety and cleanliness of the home. Occasionally, a branch droops so low and thick that it obstructs entry to my room. With care, I trim it back. It requires giving up some space, gaining others’—that is life’s way.

How do we predict, once we sow those seeds, what incredible trees they could grow into?

What about fallen trees? Indeed, we've experienced those. Our home has proven robust enough to remain stable under their mass, although one tree took out our brick chimney as it descended. The sound it produced was terrifying—but the world is teeming with frightful elements.

Parts of our property have turned genuinely wild. During my youth, beyond a gurgling brook, lay an immaculate Japanese garden complete with a pond and a petite pergola. This area featured colossal rocks strategically placed and meticulously maintained paths. However, the woodland has reclaimed this space; preservation proved impossible as nature enveloped it entirely. Perhaps considered a whimsical addition in its prime, we reminisce about it warmly—the shimmering golden carp in the pond and the mottled bark of the crape myrtle trees. For roughly ten years, what seemed like a dream became reality before fading away into cherished memories alone. Some things ultimately slip through one’s grasp.

I never imagined I'd dedicate my life to a forest created by my parents, yet sometimes you must remain steadfast to witness outcomes blossom. Trees can survive for centuries; their longevity stretches beyond our comprehension. Who could predict, as we sow the seeds, what incredible forms these trees may take?

In a single lifetime, you have the power to cultivate an extensive woodland. This creation might surpass all expectations and prove far more resilient than anticipated. Those who visit your property could find themselves marveling at this transformation. However, things might spiral beyond control. Yet, it’s never too late to initiate anew. There’s still time for aspirations. Consider planting a sapling; care for it diligently. Though the course of tomorrow remains uncertain, these plants understand their destiny—to form a verdant expanse—and shall endure long after our departure.

• Jessie Cole is the author of four books, which include the memoirs 'Staying' and 'Desire: A Reckoning'