How Does Your Garden Grow? With Ramona Jones - in celebration of their new book Growing.

There are some voices you quietly follow for years, feeling as though you know them by the way they see the world. I’ve followed Ramona Jones on their instagram @monologue for nearly a decade, drawn in by their dreamy captures of the English countryside and beautiful gardens. I’ve watched with such joy as they began their own gardening journey and follow along fanatically with their gorgeous, ever-changing garden filled with sweet ducks, home-grown vegetables, and flowers. I have always loved Ramona’s ability to find magic and meaning in all the corners of every season.

In their new book Growing, Ramona invites us deeper into that world, weaving together reflections on gardening, identity, and belonging. It’s a gentle, thoughtful guide that feels as much like a companion as it does a gardening book.

We were so grateful to have the chance to ask Ramona a few questions about the journey behind Growing; from letting go of perfection in the garden, to the deep comfort of plants during times of change, and the small, sensory moments that root us in the present. Whether you garden on a large plot, a balcony, or in your imagination, we hope you’ll find something grounding and generous in their words.

Your book beautifully explores the relationship between gardening and identity. How has your understanding of yourself evolved alongside your journey as a gardener?

I would say I owe a lot to gardens, and the process of gardening—perhaps to the point where I wouldn’t know myself without them. As a child, I was often described as being in my own little world. I didn’t speak much and preferred to sit quietly and get lost in my imagination. School trained these traits out of me, at the expense of my wellbeing. It wasn’t until I spent time in gardens as a young adult that I felt able to reconnect with those quiet, imaginative parts of myself, without any judgment from others.

You describe public gardens as places of refuge and resilience throughout your life. Do you have a particular garden- either public or personal, that has had the most profound impact on you?

One of my local gardens, Iford Manor in Wiltshire, gave me such a sense of awe when I first visited as a young person. Both for the gardens themselves and the wider landscape of the valley that houses them. Being nestled within a valley, there is a feeling that Iford Manor itself is tucked away from modern life and all of the stressors that come with it. And then the gardens themselves are incredibly generous—Harold Peto’s Edwardian landscaping as a foundation, layers of colourful blossom trees and wisteria, and a soft underplanting of herbaceous plants and bulbs. It is such a treat.

 Gardening is often portrayed as a controlled and curated process, but you embrace the unexpected and even the ‘messy’ parts of it. What have been some of the most rewarding mistakes you’ve made in the garden?

I went into my garden journey without any formal training, and so many of the things I’ve learned have come from mistakes—thankfully, nothing too huge. In a literal sense, I’m glad I went into gardening without knowing traditional lawn care, because I have learned that I very much adore a mossy lawn for its limey green colour, spongey texture, ease of maintenance, and for its soft backdrop when naturalising bulbs. There are a number of similar mistakes around my garden, and as I’ve been confronted with their supposed unacceptability, I’ve been able to interrogate the social structures we’ve imposed on gardening—and wider life too. It’s left me with a strong foundation of acceptance for imperfections, and even a beauty within them. Interesting and meaningful things often emerge through chaos and experimentation.

Your autism diagnosis and your journey into gardening happened around the same time. Do you feel that gardening has helped you navigate your diagnosis, and if so, in what ways?

The garden, and the act of gardening, both supported me through the process of realising I was autistic, and developing a longer-term accommodation plan post-diagnosis. I felt that there were stages to a late autism diagnosis—not too dissimilar to those of grief—including reflection, anger, denial, and eventually acceptance. The garden, being a place where I felt relaxed and regulated, was a kind companion while I was navigating those feelings. It also gave me something more concrete through the wealth of factual information, which felt both exciting and reassuring alongside the unknown.

Your writing captures the sensory beauty of gardening so vividly, from the scent of tomato leaves to the crunch of terracotta underfoot. What are some of your favorite sensory experiences in the garden today?

The sensory experiences of the garden are intense in both positive and negative directions for me. I try to curate these to lean into the good. I always wear gloves because I can’t stand the feeling of soil on my hands, and when I’m feeling particularly overwhelmed, I tend to cover my ears too. I love the soft light of golden hour, and if I notice a particularly nice morning or evening, I try to peel myself away from any non-garden activities and put myself out there with a cup of tea. I love the way the light shines through semi-translucent petals and illuminates the colour. It’s something you can never quite do justice to through art or photography, no matter how much you want to preserve it. Water helps me feel relaxed too, so I try to sit by my wildlife pond and observe some of its life from the surface.

You write about the pressure to maintain a ‘tidy’ garden and how you’ve found freedom in letting go of traditional expectations. What advice would you give to someone who feels overwhelmed by the idea of ‘keeping up’ with gardening rules?

I think it’s important to be realistic in our comparisons, and remember that much of the aspirational gardens we visit or see on our screens are curated by teams of people. They are truly incredible spaces, but most of us don’t have access to that level of resource in terms of finances, space, or manpower—and that is OK. I think social media can be a great tool for sharing a more honest plot, and the trials, tribulations, and joys that come with this. Beyond this acceptance, it’s good to be really intentional with who we follow and what we allow into our sphere of attention.

If you could give your younger self, the one carefully curating lists of gardens to visit, one piece of advice about gardening and life, what would it be?

I’d like to pat her on the back and say that everything will work out in the end. I’d like to tell her that I’m proud that she tried to find ways of following her own interests and finding joy, even if those things didn’t feel in line with what everyone else was doing (or pretending to do). As you learn to express your authenticity, the right people will be drawn to you (and you to them). If you don’t feel welcome at their table, find a new one and invite people to join you. Things will be alright.

Growing is out now