My connection with Nigel began four years ago, when I moved to my current home. The garden was a blank slate. In my previous house, I had made a classic mistake. I planted first and planned later, then spent years regretting it. I did not want to repeat that pattern.

So I bought his book Naturalistic Planting Design: The Essential Guide. I remember sitting with it at the kitchen table, a cup of tea going cold beside me, as I turned page after page. This was not a traditional gardening manual. It described gardens that breathe, plants that work together, landscapes that feel wild while receiving subtle guidance.

Through that book, I learned about the Barbican gardens. I learned about the Olympic Park. These were not showpieces for design professionals. They were case studies in how to make a city feel more alive.

Then came the Naturalistic Design Planting Course run by Noel Kingsbury and the Garden Masterclass team. I had a brief online exchange with Nigel during that course. A small moment, easily overlooked. But for me, it made him real. He was no longer just a name on a book spine. He was someone who showed up, answered questions, and shared his knowledge generously with strangers on the internet. That matters.

Something shifted in me after reading that book and taking that course. Slowly, like a seed germinating in its own time.

I began to redevelop my own garden with small, thoughtful decisions rather than grand gestures. Which plants would support each other. Which so-called weeds to welcome. How to create layers, edges, microclimates. I will attach pictures to this post so you can see what grew from those first pages.

More recently, I embarked on a career transition. I made room for gardening in my life as something closer to a calling than a hobby. That path has led me to volunteer at Orleans House Gallery Woodland and Gardens, National Trust’s Ham House and Gardens, and Richmond Parks’ Isabella Plantation. I kneel in the soil alongside other volunteers, clearing streams, planting bulbs, learning from the land. It is unglamorous work. It is also the most grounded I have ever felt.

None of that would have happened without Nigel. He never told me to do any of it. He simply showed me what was possible. The rest was the garden calling me home.

Frustration creeps in sometimes. The changes I want to see in the gardens I tend do not happen quickly enough. A project stalls. A plant fails. A decision takes longer than it should.

Then, I hear Nigel’s voice in the back of my head. I remember him talking about how it took over two years of public consultation to develop the Barbican gardens. Two years of talking, listening, persuading, waiting. No planting happened in that time. Just relationship building.

That knowledge comforts me now, even though he is no longer with us. Good work takes time. Patience is a form of action.

Some of Nigel’s seeds are still in the ground. I am looking forward to seeing the opening of the rooftop garden at King’s College Hospital Intensive Care Unit. Patients will be able to be taken outside, feel the sun on their faces, breathe fresh air. That garden is not open yet. It will be. When it is, I will think of him.

If death is a destiny and life is the journey, what a journey Nigel had! His legacy will live on. In the books on our shelves. In the case studies we teach. In the gardens we visit and tend. In the rooftops that are yet to open. In the seeds that have not germinated yet.

May we all have such a beautiful life. One that impacts others positively. One that leaves the planet a little greener, a little wilder, a little more welcoming. Knowing that the seeds we plant today may bloom after we are gone.

Thank you, Nigel. Rest in peace.