Jackie French | The paths to happiness in gardening

They only just stop short of saying "improve your sex life" and "help recession-proof your household budget". Although, our grocery budget and those of our gardening friends suggests that a well-stocked vege garden and half a dozen fruit trees can make a major difference to weekly expenditure.

But what about gardening's bad effects? Gardening will not help your finances if you have a passion for orchids, or rare and expensive bulbs, though they will certainly improve your quality of life.

How about the hay fever, the sinus, the sunburn, the winkles from sun and wind exposure, the possible sun cancers, or the mosquito bites that might give you Barmah River virus or Murray Valley encephalitis if you garden at dawn and dusk to avoid sunburn, winkles and sun cancers instead of wearing long sleeves and a big hat?

Why are there no studies about the effects of looking daggy in long sleeves and a big hat to keep off the mozzies or always having slightly grubby fingernails even if you wear gardening gloves, plus the rise in blood pressure when you have a sneaking fear a spider might have crawled up a finger of your gardening gloves?

How come those articles never mention the five kilos you put on eating large amounts of cherries, apricots and paradisaical, chilled, homegrown mini-melons over the summer holidays?

Though they may be counteracted by the baked pumpkin, kumara and parsnip soup you will eat for lunch in winter, the homegrown borsht rich in garlic, the French onion soup that is best with homegrown onions, or the three weeks inadvertent "asparagus diet" in spring when you lose four kilos because you substitute fresh tender asparagus tips instead of every other calorie-rich treat?

I am all for a balanced look at both sides of the "gardening is good for you" proposition.

On the other hand, somewhere, deep below rationality, every fibre of my being agrees with medieval Abbess, doctor and musician Dame Hildegard of Bingen, who believed in a green growth force that helped humans heal and be healthy when surrounded by it. I'm happy when I walk among trees, look out onto treed hills, see finches swarm in great chirping crowds as they rise from the grass seeds. I am happy when I garden.

I even lose weight (sometimes) when I mow a large amounts of thick grass, mostly because I'm too bushed to eat anything afterward, just grab a glass of water and put my feet up. Weeding doesn't do it, especially when weeding strawberries, raspberries, fresh peas or potatoes - somehow a bucket full of tiny, sweet, new potatoes always come up with the weeds and it's a crime not to eat them that night, lightly boiled and finished in a little salted butter.

But what if you don't have anywhere left in your backyard to plant anything? Or are already up to date with weeding, mowing and planting (you annoyingly organised person)?

Put in a path.

I love garden paths. I also don't have one. Instead we have steep rough stones steps put in by a friend. When I was seven months pregnant I woke one morning to find he had arrived at 4am and had been placing carefully gathered, almost smooth-topped boulders along the steep wombat track I'd been clambering up for the past year.

"I'm not having a pregnant lady slipping down a slope like that," he declared when I invited him in for tea and toast. His wife was at much the same stage of pregnancy as I was, and he had already made sure there was nowhere to trip on their own garden path. I remember that act of stunning and laboriously and strategically planned kindness every time I climb up and down the stairs.

Otherwise the area around our house is paved. The only advice I offer to home pavers is to always set the pavers in concrete, even if it's just a mortar mix with a little water added to make it crumbly, swept into the crevices with a straw broom. I have spent forty years removing weeds from between the pavers, or preferably encouraging others to do it. Forty years of enjoying white alyssum and a few tiny primulas growing in the crevices does not make up for the weeding.

The only real paths we have were made by the wombats, i.e. suitable for someone no more than 45 cm tall, and usually decorated with questing leeches waiting for the next passerby.

I am, however, a path connoisseur.

Lesson 1: Don't waste space laying down a plain, white concrete path. Instead, while the concrete is still soft, press shells or pieces of old pottery or metal into it, making sure all sharp edges are buried and no bits poke up or are hollow and will crack. The world's most boring garden feature will become one of the most fascinating and beautiful.

Lesson 2: Curve paths if possible, but remember that most humans will almost always take the most direct path. If human, dog or wombat feet have worn a path in the grass, a path is evidently meant to be there. Install one.

Lesson 3: Mossy paths are beautiful. They are also slippery. You can kill the moss by spraying with one part methylated spirits and one part vinegar. Leave for 15 minutes, spray again, leave till dry and rake or sweep off the residue

Lesson 4: Remove rust stains if some dingbat has left an old bit of iron on your path with a mix of one part citric acid (found in the cooking section of the supermarket) and one part cream of tartar. (Ditto). Use an old wet toothbrush to scrub the mixture into the stains. Leave overnight, wash off and repeat until stain is faded.

Lesson 5: Buy one of those spiky wheels on a pole to push along the edge of the path to stop the grass invading it and make the edges look neat. You get a great effect for little work, nor do you need to bend down. Sweep the path afterwards.

A decade or so ago, I dreamed of having a path like the one I'd seen in an artist's garden, so full of interesting items you could study it for hours. I never realised how attractive the base of a beer bottle could be if its sharp edges were firmly and deeply embedded and the light was shining on it, or how old teapots and china cups could transform a stretch of concrete.

These days I dream of having train tracks instead, and a small steam train that is somehow also automatic to carry me, and/or the groceries from the front gate - a fair way away - up to the front door.

The fact that neither path nor train tracks would fit our garden terrain is irrelevant.

Homemade paths are possible, and even simple, as long as you consult a book or video on how to do and keep it propped up for easy reference. And I suspect any work in a garden gives all the benefits of actually getting your fingers in the soil.