Alan Titchmarsh: Patience is in short supply today, but learning when to crack on and when to leave well alone will do your garden wonders

'Patience,’ said granny, ‘is a virtue.’ The trouble is that such a virtue is in short supply in today’s world of instant gratification, even in the garden. Observe the look on the face of that soul to whom you explained that it will be three years before they can cut asparagus from those newly planted crowns. Or the crestfallen expression of the garden designer’s client who is assured that a tree no taller than they are will establish itself much faster — and more happily — than one which is 10ft or 20ft tall. As for sowing seeds…

A gardening friend who is the same age as me (mid seventies) has been described by those who know him as ‘a man in a hurry’. Having just taken on a new 1½-acre garden myself, I understand that feeling, but I want to do things properly. We moved in during early December — leaves had fallen, trees and shrubs and perennials (if there are any) are dormant. I am, as yet, not fully aware of the potential of my new charges, although keen to get cracking.

This is rhododendron country and my acre of woodland, dense with hybrids that were planted in the first half of the 20th century, is overgrown and overshadowed. Scots pines, oaks and tall, spindly birch trees tower over 15ft-high pieris and 10ft camellias. There are several arbutus trees languishing in the shade cast by the oaks and pine — their branches 20ft tall, but sinuous, thinly clad in foliage and questing high and wide into the air like the tentacles of a distressed octopus. They could be cut back, but that will not improve their overall habit. Should I keep one or two and fell the rest to allow room for youngsters?

Many of the rhododendrons have turned into trees — bare at the base with a scant and lofty canopy competing with other overgrown shrubs (thorny berberis are definitely for the chop) — but, until spring comes, I have no idea if many of them are capable of flowering.

Some will have to go, but which? Others could simply be cut back. I need to make space for new varieties, which fills me with excitement, having gardened on chalk for the past 40-odd years. You see my problem; the anticipation is palpable, but wholesale clearance would deprive me of some potentially beautiful and reinvigorated specimens. Selective culling is the answer, but, until April, May and June, I will not get a feel for which plants have the potential to rejuvenate when some of the geriatric birches are felled and the crowns of the oaks are lifted a little to allow in more light. Therein lies the conundrum: when to crack on and when to leave well alone — for just a little longer.

Mercifully, there are areas where I can get stuck in — making new beds around the terracing at the rear of the house. Oh, the joy of pushing a spade into sandy earth when I have been used to chalk, clay and flint. Ground that would once have taken me two hours to turn over can be cultivated in a fraction of that time, although I am conscious of the need for masses of organic soil enrichment to hang on to moisture come the warmer, drier weather.

New gardens possess so many challenges. I am monitoring the path of the sun — at its lowest at this time of year — so that plants which require sun or shade can be catered for. I have found the best place for a greenhouse and acquired the planning permission I need in this conservation area. (Living in terrain that is designated a National Landscape has to be a plus, but it brings with it a number of planning restrictions, which I know are in everybody’s interests).

The style of garden here — around a modern, long, low dwelling with white-rendered walls and black-framed windows and doors — requires a different approach to that surrounding the mellow brick Georgian farmhouse we left behind. It would be churlish (and rather unadventurous) to re-create the garden I planted there over the space of 23 years in this new setting. My elaborate terracotta urns and pots are less suited to this scenario, but my lead tubs pick up the colour of the slate on the roof and look sleek and in tune with the pale ceramic terracing.

Wish me luck in my new venture. I’ll try to be patient — and I’ll keep you posted.

Chatsworth: The gardens and the people who made them by Alan Titchmarsh (Ebury, £35) is out now.

This feature originally appeared in the April 30, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.