I thought I'd say a few words about my holidays.
(Wait - don't click away yet, there's a horticultural point to this.)
It so happens that my last two trips away have been to islands - very different ones, but both with horticultural potential in this age of carbon footprints, biodiversity, local provenance and home growing.
Our trip at New Year was to Islay, southernmost of the Inner Hebrides, and famous for its whisky and birdlife, which ensure a steady year-round throughput of comfortably-off, educated visitors, staying mostly in small family-run hotels and guesthouses, or self-catering. Then there's the residents, who I suspect choose to live there for the quality of life than the material rewards (though the apparent absence of social deprivation is refreshing).
Catering to both markets, in addition to the distilleries, are a brewery and a small-scale meat industry. Thus beer is Islay beer and meat is Islay meat unless otherwise specified, and no doubt both benefit from the island's clean, wholesome image.
So why can't horticulture? There's no shortage of (mostly flat) land, the climate's Scotland's mildest - though even so the infamous polytunnel would probably have to figure somehow. A small-scale facility could not only provide a range of perhaps organic produce to local shops and restaurants (for whom they would be a selling point), but also offer an educational experience that the typical island visitor would appreciate.
It could even include a botanical displays of the native flora (the University of Bristol Botanic Gardens, which we'll cover shortly in the mag, offers a good example of how to achieve this in a limited space), and even something on the agricultural history of the island (à la Blue Diamond's new garden centre on Guernsey).
Something similar struck me about Porto Santo, the small island off Madeira where we were last week, whose chief attraction is the 9km beach that runs the length of one side of the island, coupled with a Seve Ballasteros-designed golf course.
There is already a botanic garden, but frankly it's not very good - a small random assortment of native and exotic species, minimally labelled, dotted about with birds in cramped cages and pens. Not really worth the trudge through the sprawl of holiday homes and scruffy countryside beyond to get to.
But there is an interesting story that could be told. The island has many endemic species and subspecies, and is in bloom virtually year-round. It was originally swathed in dragon trees (Dracaena draco), whose sap was harvested to provide a dye - I'd love to see a stand of those. The island then became an important source of rye and other crops, allied to its strategic role as a base for further Portuguese expansion. It must also have supported a number of smallholders, chiselling out a precarious existence on the hillside terraces whose traces are still visible - what was their tale? And what of the more recent planting, mainly of pines, on the slopes?
Fresh local produce would also benefit the island's catering sector, which frankly could do with a lift (but then mainland Iberians don't seem awfully bothered about fruit and veg either). As the native islanders have abandoned the fields for a life of soaking punters like me, it would probably take an outsider to it. But the island's Columbus Museum (housed in what is reputedly the explorer's one-time house) shows how small-scale, lively and digestible learning experiences can be achieved.
It strikes me that islands offer advantages for projects such as these, as the cost of shipping food in makes small-scale local cropping more competitive. It also happens that both Islay and Porto Santo have lost much of their original vegetation (though both have diverse habitats), and both have given up on growing things. And both attract visitors who would be happy to learn more of their surroundings, and consume its produce.
Perhaps I'm missing some glaring flaws with these ideas. But I'd be tempted to have a go at either of them myself if I wasn't already doing a fun job.
