January frosts…

Salix gracilistyla ‘Mt Aso’, January 2022, Oloron Sainte Marie

It has been a clear, sunny but very frosty period this January, repeated frost have really turned the soil as ‘hard as iron’, and expectant plants are stacking up in the courtyard waiting for the earth to warm enough. Now there’s a thing that I have discovered about the courtyard and that is, the power of the house to keep a metre distant from the walls above frost temperatures. Durr, you might say, but I wasn’t confident of that last winter (our first in the house) and this only applies to the south-facing wall, double durr. But this year I crowded slightly tender salvias, the pot of Isoplexis isabelliana ‘Bella’ that I got last year and some other more fragile pot inhabitants, right up against the window and the wall, and they are doing fine. I am keeping them fairly dry, and it should work through till Spring assuming we don’ get a -10c overnight. I also stuck a glass jamjar over my only surviving original remnant of Plectranthus argentatus ‘Silver Shield’ and that seems also to have worked. Too much self-doubt around.

The Salix gracilistyla ‘Mt Aso’ was a risky purchase last Spring, mainly guided by a mad desire for those cranberry, fluffy winter buds. It had a bit of a struggle in the Barn Garden, as being a willow, it really wants plenty of water, but I watched out for it, and it made it through the hot period. So the buds have been very slow and quite small, and I did think that maybe it had been too much of a gamble. But time will tell, and it’s got to be a good sign that it’s growing in size.

Libertia ixioides ‘Goldfinger’, January 2022, Oloron Sainte Marie

This Libertia ixioides ‘Goldfinger’ was a purchase years ago which had self-seeded all around in Tostat. Another last minute grab before the move has given me 4 tiny plants, which although toiling at times, have come through splendidly this Spring. It is such a lovely thing backlit, and for a smallish plant in height, is easily seen from afar, in a good way. It does produce sprays of small, white flowers in early summer, so there’s an all season bonus.

Schefflera taiwaniana, January 2022, Oloron Sainte Marie

I am really pleased with this Schefflera taiwaniana, bought small last Spring. Although a little decked by the frost, it is sturdily growing away and is almost 75 cms when standing properly. Sadly, though a Scheffflera alpina, supposedly the hardiest, which I planted small at the end of the summer has been felled by the frosts, life expectancy not good. I probably should have waited to plant till the Spring.

Eryngium eburneum, January 2022, Oloron Sainte Marie

Another Tostat trusty, these are four tiny Eryngium eburneum, another last minute grab, and as I know they always struggle a little when small, I wasn’t surprised to see them looking in fine, if frosted elegantly, fettle. They should make really impressive clumps this year.

Anisodontea malvastroides, January 2022, Oloron Sainte Marie

I bought this Anisodontea malvastroides for it’s bomb-proof qualities and I was really not much in love with it in Tostat. But cuttings took well, and came here to the stony, hot front garden and well, more hat being eaten by me. And I am even beginning to love it. It has flowered all the time since I planted it, got through the hot, dry period by waiting

Achillea crithmifolia, January 2022, Oloron Sainte Marie

Achillea crithmifolia is a low lying groundcover Achillea, with pleasing cream umbel flowers to about 10-15 cms high- it’s the foliage that I love, feathery, soft, ferny as well if you can be feathery and ferny, and that slightly clinical hospital scent that I actually like. It is doing a wonderful job growing around my Rosa mutabilis, and keeping all the bindwind and other undesirables at bay. It is seriously tough as old boots and will take pretty much anything the weather will throw at it. It might be considered a thug by some, but for now, I am more than happy with the imperial tendencies. There are no proper links to nurseries selling this plane in the UK, but it is appreciated here in France as a suppressant ground cover, but one piece grown on will give you endless supplies of plants over a season, so it is really worth it to give it a go, on your hottest, dryest, stoniest ground.

Ruminations on ‘Light, shade, water and earth’…

Kiftsgate Court, The Water Garden, Gloucestershire, June 2017, and reflected detail below…

Water and earth. I started this theme before Christmas, ah well, so now to pick up on the ‘water and earth’ part.

My remaining ruminations…these feature images that have stuck in my mind and still catch my eye, some many years later. Kiftsgate Court Gardens may be overshadowed by the celebrity powerhouse garden which is a close neighbour, Hidcote. But in my view, it beats Hidcote to the ground with sheer heart and exuberance, and what’s more, it is the work of three incredible generations of women gardeners, and I would revisit in a heartbeat. ‘Kiftsgate Court Gardens: Three Generations of Women Gardeners’ by Vanessa Berridge celebrates the details of their accomplishments, it’s on my next present ideas list, that’s for sure.

This stunning water garden with bronze leaves floating in the wind is a miraculous re-using of an old tennis court and holds its own with the older parts of the garden really well.

Bryan’s Ground, near Presteigne, is one of my all-time favourites, full of excitement, fun and clever design. I love the long, thin, still water capturing the reflection of the noble hound sculpture and the fluffy green of the surrounding trees. Very simple but really effective. To my horror, I saw that Bryan’s Ground was up for sale in 2021 during lockdown. I really hope it survives and prospers.

Bryan’s Ground, Presteigne, June 2017

On a giant scale, the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, Bretton Hall, near Wakefield, uses an immense landscape of rolling grass, water and formal gardens with real verve. I am pretty sure that this sculpture will have been changed since I took the photograph in June 2019, but the image has stuck in my head.

Tom Lovelace sculpture in the Upper Lake, Yorkshire Sculpture Park, June 2019

The pristine still water against a blue sky, surrounded by the earthen ochre walls of Taroudant in Morocco is the work of La Maison Anglaise eco-lodge. Specially chosen tiles protect the quality of the water and the planting is xeric, but irrigated from waste grey water refined naturally in a tank beneath a fountain in the front courtyard, so no new water is used for the garden. The long, thin shape of the pool is an echo of the traditional courtyard pool in Mudecar design- a nineteenth century version of which can be seen in the gardens of Carmen de los Martires in Granada.

La Maison Anglaise, Taroudant, Morocco, October 2021
Carmen de los Martires, Granada, October 2021

I think that these are my favourite-ever water spouts, part of the QVC garden at Chelsea Flower Show in 2009 and designed by Adam Frost. I love the rolled shape, like a flowerbud opening, and I remember that the sound of the water could be heard clearly over the buzz of the crowds, a good, but not too loud, splashing.

Beautiful water spouts, the QVC Garden at Chelsea 2009 designed by Adam Frost, May 2009

I really got into earth, as in, mostly nothing but earth, in Australia. I would never have imagined that I could love such arid spaces, but the colours of the earth and the rocks were mesmerising at different times of the day, and it was a landscape that really got under my skin. Lost traces of human habitation, places where no human had lived, maybe for thousands of years, and, in the Australian spring, the sight of tens of golden flowering wattles in the middle of nothing, was intensely moving somehow.

Remains of a walled garden, Apppealina, Flinders Ranges, Australia, October 2018
Sunset at Rawnsley Park Station, Flinders Ranges, Australia, October 2018
Ground cover grasses, Brachina, Australia, October 2018
Flowering wattles en masse, Flinders Ranges, Australia, October 2018

By complete contrast, the Water Gardens at Beth Chatto’s Nursery in East Anglia, were more squelchy than even my wellies could handle when I visited with a friend, Shelagh, in May 2012. Look at the prehistoric upward growth of the Gunnera and the Skunk Cabbage….

Yellow skunk cabbage, Beth Chatto Nursery, May 2012

New Year 2022…

The one and only flower, Dietes grandiflora, hunkering down from the cold, Oloron Sainte Marie, New Years Day 2022

New Years Day saw me emerging from a week of isolation to prevent the family from getting Covid. We succeeded in that mission, and on venturing outside, I was thrilled to find the one and only flower of my pot of Dietes grandiflora hanging on in the cold. Maybe it mistook the Northern Hemisphere for the Southern, but whatever, I was really glad to see it. I saw many different varieties of Dietes in Australia in 2019, and wanted to try them for hardiness in a pot permanently outside. The leaves do a good job on their own, strong, slim and spikey, I like them in a pot. So, maybe next year, the plants will have sorted themselves out to flower earlier than December- but they have been absolutely fine outside, although we have had only small frosts, if at all, so far this winter.

Salvia spathacea, who would have thought it?, Oloron Sainte Marie, New Years Day 2022

I grew this ‘Salvia spathacea’ from seed several years ago. It is a Californian native from dry woodlands , and, whilst handling full sun pretty well, I can say that semi-shade is what it really likes, and it has romped rhizomatously in the Barn Garden since planting it out last Spring. Already, it’s heading skywards so I hope it makes it, as the tiered flower spikes are spectacular when they happen. Cold doesn’t appear to bother it especially if it can get a little protection from shrub canopy or taller plants.

Mahonia eurybractea ‘Sweet Winter’, Oloron Sainte Marie, New Years Day 2022

A slightly odd angle to this photo, but I liked the stray bit of mistletoe that popped into the picture. Mahonia eurybractea ‘Sweet Winter’ is one of the two main, non-prickly, dwarf mahonias available. The other is ‘Soft Caress’ if you are interested. These are great shrubs, fanned, cut leaves make for a dramatic, tropical look, and they don’t get much bigger than Im all round, so can easily slot into any planting to give a jungly green look all year round. The winter flowers are bright yellow and softly scented, not as perfumed as the bigger Mahonias. I have grown to love these shrubs, especially as they took a lot of punishment in our old garden in bakingly dry shade. They like the Barn Garden better and have fattened out a bit, so looking much happier here. A new semi-dwarf variety, blooming from late summer, has appeared this year called ‘Volcano’ with spectacular orange hands of flowersprays, which I am seriously coveting, but isn’t yet widely available in France…..

Mahonia ‘Volcano’…..oh yes. Photo credit http://www.crocus.co.uk

Hamamelis ‘Orange Beauty’, Oloron Sainte Marie, New Years Day 2022

I bought this Hamamelis ‘Orange Beauty’ especially for the Barn Garden last year as a a small plant, and it has not grown much this year, but is flowering well for a small one, and so it is an investment for the future. There’s a lot to be said for growing babies on in my view- you really get to know them well, which I love. It really does look like someone has artfully draped orange peel on bare sticks, such a good colour in the winter.

Rosa ‘Mrs Oakley Fisher’, Oloron Sainte Marie, New Years Day 2022

Another plant with weird timing… this rose, ‘Mrs Oakley Fisher’ was covered in 6-8 blooms, a bit washed out with the rain, so I thought the seedhead looked the more interesting of the two. A very happy looking bush I thought, thinking to the future….And just before Covid struck, I madly bought a bare root rose I didn’t know on the strength of an Isabel Bannerman photograph in Gardens Illustrated. ‘La Belle Sultane’ is a beauty and I couldn’t resist, she also survived 2 weeks in the post for various reasons, but is sprouting away in a large pot and seems fine.

Rosa ‘La Belle Sultane’ photographed by Isabel Bannerman, photo credit http://www.gardensillustrated.com

Happy New Year to everyone, gardeners and gardens!

Ruminations on ‘Light, shade, water, soil’….

Man sitting in the Botanical Garden, Granada, Spain, October 2021

There has been a longish radio silence on this blog. Various reasons, a long walking holiday in Spain, finding it hard to get re-started, and the return of one-armed gardening. The ‘getting re-started’ block was challenged by a new reader, a friend in the Languedoc, thank you Mags! And the one-armed gardening was all my fault, and dates back to mid August when I shifted some very heavy pots on my own. You would have thought I would know better, as I did the same to my right arm 3 years ago, but wisdom did not prevail this summer!

So, having managed, one-armedly, to plant up pots with narcissus and tulips, and bashed in 80 plus aliiums into the dry front garden, I was feeling quite pleased and decided, with prompting from Mags, to get going again on the blog.

Over the summer, I really enjoyed the Netflix cookery programme by Samin Nosrat called ‘Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat’ and thought to myself, given the endless rain and storms we have had, that I would ruminate gently on a garden version of her title for this and a following post.

Light and shade.

In a Northern European garden, as mine was in Scotland, light and shade are pretty much taken for granted, light is essential but sunlight is rarely scorching, and shade is less loved perhaps, and many beautiful gardens contain shady areas that allow us to make moments of great atmosphere such as at The Pant Garden in Herefordshire, where a simple wooden frame is positioned in a woodland opening.

Framing the shade, The Pant Garden, Herefordshire, June 2017

But in the heat of Spain and Morocco, the significance of light and shade changes intensely and becomes vital. Light brings heat which kills as well as illuminates, and shade is deeply prized by most life forms as bringing coolness and respite. Many plants, if not people, are brilliantly adapted to flourish in these harsh conditions. The giant rare Roystonea regia palm is one, with a young stem that is emerald green. It needs the fierce sun but also plentiful water, seen below in the gardens of the Palais Claudio Bravo in Southern Morocco, framed against the hazy outline of the Atlas mountains. A fabulous Euphorbia, Euphorbia dregeana (I think), found twirling around a palm tree below, demands the heat of Morocco to survive and prosper.

Roystonea regia, centre and far right, the gardens of Palais Claudio Bravo, Taroudant, Morocco, November 2021
Euphorbia dregeana, Dar el Hossoun, Taroudant, Morocco, October 2021

Protection from the power of the sun is a dominant feature of Moorish architecture until the Renaissance. Exterior spaces contained both areas protected from the sun and open space, often with some use of water in a fountain to calm the senses and deflect from the power of the light with sound and movement.

Pools and reflections in the Alhambra, Granada, November 2021

Windows, arches, cut-out shades and walls were all ways to allow light in but keep heat out. Buildings and gardens used the same principles to tame the heat and make the exterior tolerable to plants and humans.

Arches play with and expand the shade, the Alhambra, Granada, October 2021
The pergola in Le Jardin Secret, Marrakesh, Morocco, November 2021
Mashrabiya or cut-out latticework window, the Alhambra, Granada, October 2021

Garden spaces were designed in courtyards, often with covered areas which heightened the creation of shade, and plants could be used to soften the stone and tiling of the courtyard. At the same time, the courtyard could be viewed from inside the shade of the house through latticework (mashrabiya) or through arches and doorways.

Courtyard in the Alhambra, Granada, Spain, October 2021

Doorway to a courtyard, Palais Claudio Bravo, Taroudant, Morocco, November 2021

In the heat of Spain and Morocco, the use of light and shade is itself a major, and dramatic part of later Mudejar architecture and landscape design. At Carmen de los Martires, in Granada, a sixteenth century aquaduct transports spring water from the Generalife to the garden. The aquaduct itself brings vivid contrast created by the shade of the aquaduct shape as well as carrying water.

The aquaduct, Carmen de los Martires, Granada, Spain, October 2021

The Huerta de San Vicente, the summer home of the Lorca family, where the poet and playwright Federico Lorca spent so much time and wrote many of his best works, is a beautiful and moving musuem to visit. It contains so many personal items and mementoes of the family and has been preserved as it was in the 1930’s. Positioned to catch the morning sun and then be in shade, the family used trees and climbing plants to restrict the impact of the sun and increase the dappled quality of the shade. This was a summer house, and so had to be a bearable space in the heat of mid-summer.

The shaded terrace courtyard at Huerta de San Vicente, Granada, Spain, October 2021

Lastly, in the 1950’s and 60’s, the work of the Mexican landscape architect and designer Luis Barragan, with his bold use of colour and natural materials, as well as his dramatic use of shape and size, brought new ‘hot’ influences to architecture and landscape.

The roof terrace, Palais Claudio Bravo, Taroudant, Morocco, October 2021
Planted pot, Palais Claudio Bravo, Taroundant, Morocco, November 2021

And lastly, like me, a tortoise heading for the shade he needs…

La Maison Anglaise, Taroudant, Morocco, November 2021

Water and soil next.

August in Oloron…

Amelanchier alnifolia ‘Obelisk’, Caryopteris clandonensis ‘Hint of Gold’, Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Black Beauty’, Plantago major rubrifolium, Eupatorium capillifolium ‘Elegant Feather, with Paulownia tomentosa behind, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2021

It has been a very Scottish summer here in Oloron so far. A few very hot days, but mainly showers and a lot of low cloud- whereas on the other side of Toulouse in the Languedoc, people and plants are being cooked. But for a garden in the first summer of cultivation, this is probably what the doctor would have ordered as it is granting time for growth to take place in a relatively unstressed situation.

The Barn Garden is partially walled and also has tree presence from next door with sun cover from some very substantial trees on the other side of the wall. On planting up and rock removal, I was aiming for a super-jungly effect with a lot of architectural shapes and good foliage form. It’s not a big space but I wanted it to make a big presence and statement. So with the help of semi-mature favourites from the old Tostat garden and some purchases, I can begin to see what I was aiming at.

In the photograph above, plants from Tostat include Amelanchier alnifolia ‘Obelisk’, a small but slim shrub/tree, with flowers, berries, autumn colour and a good shape. It had toiled a bit in a large pot, but is now so much happier in the ground although needing a little extra water in dry periods in this first year. The Caryopteris is one of three cuttings taken last summer and is really enjoying the protection of the overhead canopy. It is just about to flower, and then you have the lovely clash of quite a bright blue with the golden green foliage. I love it.

The Pennisetum is new to me this year, the Plantago came from seed last year, and has been a fantastically good ground cover in the new garden, made even better by the vertical flowerspikes in a good, firm brown. The Eupatorium had a good outing in the last post so I won’t repeat myself, and so we come to my pollarding experiment, which is all new to me this year – Paulownia tomentosa. It is only a baby, aged 21 months, and there are 3 of these big babies to take care of. The idea being to cut them to the ground in the Spring and encourage dinner plate sized leaves and maybe 2 metres of growth- but not 40, which would be the full tree size. A nice bit of Mahonia ‘Soft Caress’ can be seen on the far right, also brought from Tostat.

The big baby aged 19 months, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2021

Story so far is that I am beginning to see where I was headed, and so I try to go into the Barn Garden and stand or sit in a different place. It is so easy to see only what you have always seen and, for me, to look at individual plants rather than take a broad perspective on the whole. So I try and envisage the plants at full size that are destined to create the big shapes for the jungly feel, and overall, I think it’s doing pretty ok right now but will just need thinning out of some of the filler plants as next year goes on. It’s all fluid and I like that. Got to leave space for tinkering too…

Nearer the ground level as it were, sometimes great things happen in small ways. Salvia spathacea is a Californian sage which prefers shaded, woody areas, not what you expect. But here in the protected semi-shade, it is growing well and spreading rhizomatously, right next to the Rhamnus frangula alnifolia ‘Fine Line’ which struggled in the more exposed Tostat garden. I love it for it’s thready, feathery look and slim shape. I have also planted a ground cover sage, Salvia procurrens, which should run nicely underneath some of the bigger shrubs. It looks like a strawberry plant with bright foliage and runners, plus small blue flowers. This may prove to be an invader too far, but it’s worth a shot, we’ll see.

Salvia spathacea, Helleborus argutifolius, Rhamnus frangula alnus ‘Fine Line’, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2021

And now to some more survivors that came through me losing all the plant labels in the move. Miscanthus sinensis ‘Purple Fall’ is a slightly needy grass, but so pretty. This is the first time it has flowered in the six years since I bought it, it never settled in Tostat but it is finally at home here and told me that by flowering.

Miscanthus sinensis ‘Purple Fall’, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2021

Today’s big surprise was realising that what I thought was a pretty hopeless hollyhock is in fact Kitaibelia vitifolia. Some time last year I bought seed of this, a tall hollyhock cousin from the Balkans, because it is tough, takes sun and poor soil and flowers in the second half of the summer, which is always specially welcome. The labels disaster struck and new things grown from seed for the first time vanished into the pot muddle which lived in the courtyard till Spring this year. Then I dusted off the survivors, mistook this (not a bad guess just askew) for a hollyhock but did plant it in a good place as it happens. So, though a little stunted by the poor treatment, it is still going strong. Roll on next year.

Kitaibelia vitifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2021

My latest purchase is Salvia guaranitica ‘Black and Blue’. This is a close relative of ‘Amistad’ but apparently a tad hardier and also more compact in size. The black calyxes are fantastic, giving the blue a real shimmer of excitement, whilst the foliage is that good vibrant green of ‘Amistad’. I will find an outdoor space this winter with a little protection from winter wet and try it outdoors, with a few cuttings for insurance.

Salvia guaranitica ‘Black and Blue’, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2021

Summer hotch-potch…

Alcathaea suffrutescens ‘Parkfrieden’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

My Aberdeen granny was a true Scottish granny, in the Nina Conti sense- but with a bit more of an ‘ahem’ about her, if you know what I mean and a sizable dose of general disapproval. But she made the best fried haddock, Scottish tablet, Stovies and, of course, what she termed ‘Hotch-Potch’, a soup which would have kept an army marching for days. So, in her memory, this post is a hotch-potch, a mixture of what’s going on in the garden right now.

I don’t know if the off-on, mainly cool with rain, summer that we are having is typical as this is our first one here, but if it is, it’s a second-chance saloon for me as I may be able to grow all the plants that I loved which couldn’t handle the dry and heat of our Tostat garden.

And today, another of my Alcathaea cuttings came into flower, and hallelujah, it was the variety I wanted all along, ‘Parkfrieden’. I love the cool cream of the main colouring, but then you have the sizzle of the raspberry-coloured stamens which really cuts the cream beautifully into something a bit more racey. They took a battering in a couple of super heavy rainbursts that we had this week, so this tells me that next year, I would do better to cut them down a bit more in the spring to make them bush out more rather than try for the Tower of Pisa prize.

Abutilon pictum, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Abutilon pictum is another plant that is enjoying life much more in the semi-shade of the big banana in the courtyard. Any rain is delivered fast down the banana leaves into the pot, tick, and the whole plant is looking tip top. The simmering orange flowers look mysteriously out from the foliage. I love it.

Eupatorium capillifolium ‘Elegant Feather’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

I so tried with Eupatorium capillifolium ‘Elegant Feather’ in Tostat, and with one of three plants left, I had it in the most reliably moist and protected part of the garden, but to no avail. But here in the walled shelter of the Barn Garden, it is loving it and has happily produced good looking side shoots. There is a tiny flower but the main show is this shimmering pillar of soft, feathery green which sits in amongst other plants so easily. Hooray.

Eucomis comosa ‘Sparkling Rosy’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Probably about 5 years ago, I bought 3 bulbs of Eucomis comosa ‘Sparkling Rosy’ and those bulbs have been in this large blue pot ever since. Probably I should have carefully dug them out and separated them, as I suspect that there are now more than 9 bulbs in there, and it is jampacked. So that will need to happen next year, as the flowerspikes are now tumbling over one another for space and took a bashing in the rain that we have had, so are now pretty much horizontal. Never mind, the delicate surgery can be done next Spring, and we can start all over again. To be honest, fabulous though the flowerspikes are, for me the real deal is the gorgeous beetroot coloured foliage which, coupled with the flowerspikes, gives a great 7 months return on the bulbs.

Hibiscus moscheutos, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

‘Put this near a tap’ said Bernard Lacrouts, from whom I bought this plant last month. It will grow big and is thirsty, maybe a couple of metres high and wide, so a bigger pot will be required, but for now it is content with producing these satellite dish flowers every 24 hours. They are huge, easily 6 cms across, and are unforgettable. Now that satellite dishes have come into my mind, I am a little distracted by that thought, but whatever, who wants subtlety all the time?

Pelargonium quercifolium, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Now this plant has subtlety, though not in the scent department, with a strong, foxy smell from these lovely, crinkled oak-like leaves with a maroon spodge on them. The foliage is upright and strong, and the flowers are really charming, with coral stamens. I was so lucky with this cutting. I had forgotten about this plant until literally the morning we left, when I dashed out and cut a piece, which amazingly took and is a sturdy plant now. I will bring it under cover, though still outside, as it can take a bit of cold but not winter wet.

Salvia chamelaeagnea, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

This Salvia chamelaeagnea is new to me, bought from le Jardin de Champêtre, in Caunes-Minervois. It has tight, bushy leaves in a bright green, and so is quite unSalvia-like to look at. Again, it has a strong woody smell when you crush the leaves, and the bi-coloured flowers in soft blue and yellow are a lovely surprise. It doesn’t look hardy but it is. So here goes.

Salvia coccinea ‘Summer Jewels Pink’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

And this lovely coral and cream Salvia coccinea ‘Summer Jewels Pink’, which is easy to grow from seed, though I bought these from a lovely lady selling bio produce in the market, has been flowering like a train for the past three weeks. Vast amounts of seed seem to be produced, so I’ll try with my own seed before maybe buying any. And this is a terrific annual plant to grow.

Jazz hands in the garden…

Phygelius aequalis ‘Yellow Trumpet’ with the pink Scabiosa columbaria peeping through, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Cuttings from one garden to another is such a good and friendly way to build a garden. Here, in Oloron, I have a lovely neighbour with whom I am sharing cuttings and offshoots, and I am really enjoying her choice of plants, quite a few of whom, like Melianthus major, I failed with in Tostat as winters were sometimes both too cold and too damp.

Phygelius aequalis ‘Yellow Trumpet’ was both a seed grown plant and a cutting from me to me. I love the robustness of this plant, glossy bright green foliage whatever the conditions and these elegant cool yellow trumpets that go on for months. It is really pretty and bombproof. As it gets more substantial and clumps, it will make an almost shrub-like presence and it may well spread through running roots if it really likes you. No problem I reckon, just more plant material for friendly sharing and swapping.

Another gift to myself were some small cuttings of Monarda fistulosa. This is the only Monarda I can grow that doesn’t succumb to any mildew at all. With us, even ‘Gardenview Scarlet’ reputed to be mildew-free, is just as riddled with mildew, and this opinion comes from Bernard Lacrouts, the best plant nurseryman for miles around. I love this plant and it seems to be really enjoying the slightly shaded position, out of the hot afternoon sun, here in Oloron. Easy as pie from seed.

Monarda fistulosa, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Fancy another tall, floriferous and elegant plant that flowers like a train in July and August? I give you Alcathaea x suffrutescens ‘Parkrondell’. I took my cuttings from a village planting last summer, and now my cuttings are taller than me, and bushing out really well, and will next year be a beefy but elegant shrub. This plant is not well known at all, and it should be. Easy, undemanding, hardy and tolerating even dry conditions, it brings a ruffled elegance to the garden. I had hoped I had taken cuttings of the sister, ‘Parkfrieden’, which has cream and very pale pink flowers, but I will have to wait and see what happens with the other two plants to be sure. There is a third sister plant, ‘Parkallee’ which is entirely cream coloured. There is a bit of the hollyhock about them, but they absolutely merit being better known and grown more.

Alcathaea suffrutescens ‘Parkrondell’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Rosa ‘Woollerton Old Hall’ was a rose I gave to a good friend, who did the perfect friend-thing and grew a cutting on for me as a present for my birthday last year. I was really touched by that, and so the rose has a good position in the new barn garden, and with a slightly shaky start, has really picked up and got going. This rose has all the full beauty of an old rose, but with a slightly open centre, so that it does work for pollinators even though the flowers qre loosely double. The scent, and ok, I am not the best nose on the planet, has a warm clove type body to it, almost savoury rather than sweet, and very unusual- not ‘rosy’ in tone. The cream and butter colouring is lovely, almost apricot towards the centre. A treat.

Rosa ‘Woollerton Old Hall’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

And now to some survivors of the winter and being largely abandoned in their pots…Pelargonium sidoides is a fighter of a plant, albeit on the tiny side. It has come back from being reduced to tiny sprigs by the end of winter, and is flowering hard. The flowers are strange. They are definitely pink- no two ways about it. But they should be a very dark maroon, almost black. What’s going on? In every other respect, it is sidoides….not just the fact that the seed came from a reputable source, but the foliage is dead right. Ah well.

Pelargonium sidoides, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021…..and curly foliage below….
Salvia cacaliifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Salvia cacaliifolia is a stunner. Not only do you get spires and spires of gentian-blue flowers, but the triangular shaped leaves twine and curl, and if you wish, with a few bits of twiggy support, you almost have a climbing salvia on your hands. It does need winter protection, mea culpa there, but this need only be a roofed over area or a cold frame as it doesn’t need warmth as much as dry conditions. Cuttings are easy in the autumn from sideshoots, and I would have lost mine altogether if I hadn’t at least taken a cutting.

And for a strong whiff of a Moroccan desert in full sun, try the tiny but indomitable Pelargonium abrotanifolium, which is a bit of a mouthful and not the easiest name to remember. Again, dry cover in the winter is needed, but brush against these delicate, filigree leaves in the palest green, and the scent is released. It’s like a fix for the holiday you haven’t had. On top, these tiny, but memorable flowers with dark purple throats appear all summer. Could be grown anywhere in a pot as long as it has full sun, as it doesn’t grow big. Doesn’t want to be swamped by big-boy plants I reckon- another good reason for a pot.

Pelargonium abrotanifolium, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Talk about jazz hands… the Cardinal Vine has both fabulous foliage and glowing red hot flowers which flower non stop for one day only. What a show. Full sun, some moisture and a little bit of feeding to keep it powered up. I bought this in Oloron market and have twined it through a pair of metal Moroccan window shades which the previous owner kindly left us. Just for a bit of drama, you know.

Ipomoea guamoclit or Cardinal Vine, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

We all need Phlomis in our lives…

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

I am trying out a brave and maybe foolhardy experiment in the sloping, stony and hitherto uncultivated front garden. Given that it is stony and pretty unforgiving, as well as being in full sun almost all day, I had already thought that it could offer a great opportunity to grow cuttings of many of my dry garden plants from the old garden in Tostat. So, I had originally imagined that I would tip much more gravel on top of the stony ground and plant through that, having pulled or dug out as much as I could see that I didn’t want, too many dandelions and way too much bindweed and bramble for example. But….it wasn’t possible to buy any gravel in lockdown, and so, watching the early spring passing by, I went for the Big Gamble.

What if I just planted my small plants anyway? Waiting wasn’t a good option. Firstly, plants like this get impatient in pots generally having massed fibrous root systems or tap roots, both of which want to be in the ground when young. Secondly, I thought that, as long as I didn’t let the bindweed and bramble get too boisterous, with any luck my plants would begin to bulk up this year and be in really good shape next year to dominate any existing plants without me having to wage war on their behalf.

So, in they all went, probably more than 50 small plants grown as cuttings and some new plants bought small, as well as various others kindly given to the new garden. Most were planted by pickaxe as huge numbers of river boulders, probably from surrounding walls that had fallen down, were everywhere. One plant took more than an hour to get into the ground, as 4 or 5 massive 5kg boulders had to be hand extracted by pickaxe. There was a lot of sweat and much swearing.

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, Tostat, April 2020

And 4 months later, I am quietly confident that the Big Gamble has paid off. To be completely fair, I still have quite a bit of bramble and bindweed, and a sprinkling of very mixed existing plants, such as self-sown Nigella and some flowering weeds. But I am not very bothered by them. The idea was to make a planting of plants that would respond well to the conditions, and let them manage the landscape, accepting those existing plants, whatever they are, that can co-exist. The new plants are slowly taking their place and beginning to be visible through the mix, which means that next year, the space will look very different. Some things have failed, particularly one or two of the bought plants- but my homegrown plants are gaining traction, particularly the Phlomis.

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, which flowered last Spring in Tostat, later unluckily (it is very small) was strimmed to the ground by Andy, so what came here was a seriously pygmy ‘Pygmy’. But the photo at the top of this post shows you the plant today- looking very good and seriously grown-up to the fullish height of 0.25m.

Phlomis x termessii, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

The golden Phlomis, x termessii is really looking at home. It has had a bit of a heat problem during our very dry patch of six weeks or so in Spring, but the new growth looks really great so I am looking forward to it tripling in size and flowering in April next year. Like everything else on the slope, I have only spot-watered when a plant looked to be in serious trouble, so I am ok with plants struggling a bit as this will stimulate better and deeper root growth for the future.

Phlomis boveii subsp. maroccana, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

I am really looking forward to this Phlomis boveii, it has tall, pale pink flowers in the late Spring, and is bulking up really well. Early leaves got a bit burnt by dryness in February, but the plant has recovered well and looks set for next year.

Senecio vira-vira, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Moving to a plant that was new to me, I am surprised and delighted by this funny-looking Senecio vira-vira. It is incredibly brittle, so don’t plant it anywhere where it will be knocked or bashed. I didn’t put it in the best places, but the upside of bits breaking off is that they root in water in a bright kitchen within 10 days or so, so I have generated about half a dozen new plants already. The flowers are insignificant as the foliage is the real deal, silvery white and felted, so that it looks like very touchable marble. I really like it. I think it will make a mound in the end.

Phlomis purpurea and Greek Oregano, Tostat, April 2020

I didn’t bring Phlomis purpurea. A mistake. It is a lovely thing, so I am on the hunt for one.

Eryngium eburneum, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Eryngium eburneum has had a struggle but looking at the new growth at the base of the rosette, I reckon that it has cracked it and will be back bigger and stronger next year.

Euphorbia pithyusa ‘Ponte Leccia’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Euphorbia pithyusa ‘Ponte Leccia’ is a beautiful, elegant and refined euphorbia. It develops into a finely wafting mound which offers the same movement as a grass, with soft green fronds that blend in really well even if planted closely to other plants.

I went for broke and also wanted to try out planting Achillea crithmifolia as a protective barrier around my new acquired Rosa mutabilis. I have been reading a little about allelopathic plants, and thought that this would be an interesting experiment in miniature. So far so good, not much has got through, just a twig of bindweed which might be too butch for the Achillea to manage. We will see.

Rosa mutabilis and Achillea crithmifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

The merry month of June…

Aristea major, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

June started with the only flowerspike of Aristea major opening up to give us the shot of blue that always surprises, and giving the hoverflies a good morning snack. It can’t speak to me, but I know that the Aristea found the move unpleasant, and the wet January was not to it’s taste either. So, weekly liquid seaweed feeds seem to be cheering it up and normal growth of new leaves is resuming. It was a five year wait from sowing seed to the first flower, so I am really invested in it’s recovery.

I split this lovely yellowy-green Hakonechloa macra Naomi into five plants, which had orginally been two plants in a pot. This is a very obliging and beautiful Japanese grass, which is altogether more tolerant of sun and dryness than many sites would suggest. I think that what it needs to be super tough is to really develop the root mass to support the leaf growth, so if you have either planted it or split it, expect to keep it watered regularly for the first few months, but it will probably need very little extra water thereafter. I grew the golden variety in full sun with dry soil very successfully and one plant gradually spread to easily cover a metre over 10 years. So, of the original two plants, I now have four growing in the Barn Garden and the last piece in this lovely cracked pot.

Hakonechloa macra ‘Naomi’, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021
Isoplexis canariensis, Oloron Sainte Marie, May 2021

I have seriously sinned against this plant, Isoplexis canariensis, and despite my letting it freeze outside in the pot, it has valiantly clung on this Spring, and in the walled protection of the Barn Garden, I am risking it and have planted it out into the ground. I do, however, adore the colouring- the burnt orange of the flowers, and when happy, the slightly glossy dark green foliage is quite lovely. But I saw the near cousin, Isoplexis isabelliana ‘Bella’, offered this Spring and so have one in a pot in the courtyard. So far, so good, it came as a teeny plant and is now bushing up nicely and starting to flower with the same burnt orange colouring as the shrub. ‘Bella’ looks as though she will be shorter, just over a metre, and bushier than the Canariensis, which can get leggy, and it will need some help to get through a damp winter. But for orange lovers like me, it is otherwise not at all demanding.

Andy Sturgeon used Canariensis to really good effect in his Chelsea garden of 2016- his website has some great photos of the garden.

Isoplexis isabelliana ‘Bella’, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

This is a really lovely Penstemon that I grew for the first time last summer, Penstemon ‘Russian River’. It starts off as a misty dark grape colour almost frosted with a light patina, then romps into full-on juicy dark blue/purple as the flowers open out. Unlike some, this Penstemon stands tall and erect from the off, even before flowering. Cuttings virtually take themselves, so buy one and then propagate to have sturdy young plants for next year.

Penstemon ‘Russian River’, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

And in theory, I should love Digiplexis. But, I have come to the conclusion that they are probably more trouble than they are worth. They don’t reliably over-winter and can be quite moody till quite late in the year, so despite the fact that the colours are really good, and the plant is bushy rather than being a very tall single spike, I won’t be rushing to find any more. Graham Rice is pretty cutting about the name alone, never mind the actual plant.

Digiplexis ‘Berry Canary’, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021
Digiplexis ‘Illumination Raspberry’, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

I am very proud of my seed-grown Paulownia tomentosa though. For a start, a good friend now no longer with us, gave me the seed, and then 2 years later, here we are with thriving young plants. I am going to do the coppicing-thing, as no way can I handle a full-size tree, but 2m tall and dinner plate sized leaves sounds good to me. Next to it, is one of the divided ‘Naomi’ plants, which is looking a little uncertain in it’s new position, but it will come through this phase. I am confident.

Paulonia tomentosa, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

Another remarkable survivor is Rosa ‘Lawrence Johnston’. Saved last year from a very poor choice of planting spot, this tough rose is making a great come-back, although I do wonder about the naming, as my rose looks very different from others photographed on sites. It is also pale apricot rather than yellow really, and more double than semi, but, sigh, I love it anyway.

Rosa ‘Lawrence Johnston’, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021
Nierembergia scoparia, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

Nierembergia scoparia is a strange, loose, wiry plant which I grow in a pot in amongst other plants, so that the flowers emerge as if by magic through the undergrowth- well, that’s the theory. But the flowers are really pretty and it is far tougher than it looks, so it may go in the ground next year in a sunny, sheltered spot.

So this will be the ‘pond’- a rather grand old bassin for watering cattle will get a new life. It may need a liner as there is a slight fissure seeping water high on the side, but we are experimenting to see if this is really required. This time, a submerged pump will gently agitate the water, no Versailles effects for us, and I am thinking papyrus, and other tall stuff at one end, with a small lily, Nymphaea ‘Paul Hariot’ providing coverage and flowers.

Soon to be a small pond, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

And here’s a surprise- to me at least, a small scale Alchemilla epipsila, which will hopefully be as pretty and long lived as the bigger Mollis, but less invasive in a small garden. It is the most adorable thing when droplets of dew or rain sparkle on the serrated edges of the leaves.

Alchemilla epipsila, Oloron Sainte Marie, June 2021

Late Spring in the Languedoc…

Looking into the garden from the house in the evening sun, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

Not that we have seen anyone much for the past year, but it is curious that two couples, who have been great mates for us for more than 40 years, live only a few hours drive away from us, in the same country. Our friends in the Languedoc beat us to it and have been living in a small village in the hills near Lezignan for more than 30 years. The hills rise up from the vine-filled hot plain and, from their house nestled into the rise of the hills, you can see the dark mass of the Montagnes Noire, and the Pyrennees in the far distance if it’s clear. It is a big view and weather commands the senses. The land is seriously tough terrain, peppered with paths worn by animals over the years, strewn with rocks and outcrops, and as dry as a bone. It lends a whole new strength to the word ‘dry’.

Spring poppies fill the island area, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021
Looking across the plain to the Montagnes Noires, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

So the story of this garden, so close to wilderness, is one of gentle progress over the years, to find a way of creating a garden that lives with what it is, is therefore unconventional, and which makes a beautiful and sustainable space to enjoy. Making a garden here is about developing humility as well as knowledge, rolling with the punches when plants fail, and reviewing realistically what is possible. I realise that I may have majored on the pain in the previous sentences, so to counterbalance that, here is what makes this space so addictive. There is rise and fall with paths and rocks, for those who might remember Dan Pearson’s beautiful recreation of rocky Derbyshire at Chelsea in 2015, there is something of that big landscape feel in this garden. It has panoramic views, and although not huge in size, it is of a piece with the natural surroundings.

Dan Pearson for Laurent Perrier, Chelsea 2015
Dan Pearson for Laurent Perrier, Chelsea 2015

In the last few years, Derek and Cherrie have worked with Imogen Checketts and Kate Dumbleton from Le Jardin Champêtre in Caunes-Minervois. This collaboration has helped them to follow their instincts, using the clues of the landscape to creata paths and planting areas, and finding, with plenty of trial and error, the plants that will bring the best out of what they already have.

These didn’t need to be shipped in….
The garden cabin looks very happy there….

When green, silver and grey are the predominant foliage colours, form and punctuation points of concentrated colour bring the planting alive. A tiny, but indomitable delospermum (I think) begins to trail over a rocky outcrop, you may not be especially aware that it is there, but it will draw your eye.

Probably a delospermum growing to the light, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

Two olive trees are picked out by two or three judiciously placed pencil conifers, and under the canopy of mature trees and shrubs, smaller perennials get that little bit of protection from the sun. To garden here means to accept that summer brings dieback and stasis, till the temperatures drop back and some rain comes- so spring is to be really celebrated for colour, and form and foliage need to hold the fort till the autumn.

Some individual plants caught my eye, some being the result of happy accidents, like the very pretty native pink Cistus self-seeding on the higher banks, and growing on the slopes themselves, this pale pink Allium looked far too delicate but clearly isn’t. I think it may be Allium lusitanicum.

Probably Allium lusitanicum, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

Still with pink, I took a clump of this pretty small convolvulus home- it is everywhere on the hillsides of the Languedoc, but for all that, I am trying it on my hot, dry slope. It must be tough, so here’s hoping.

Probably Convolulus oleifolius, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

From the nursery of Le Jardin Champêtre, I suspect, is this very pretty pale yellowy-cream Salvia with dark stems.

Probably Salvia x jamensis ‘La Luna’, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

And trying hard to be a gentian, Salvia farinacea with astonishing blue stems, it almost looks painted on. This is quite tender I think, so although I love it, it’s not for me.

Salvia farinacea, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

I have always associated Silene with damp, but I am pretty sure that this is the wild form, almost finished but not quite.

Probably Silene vulgaris, Beaufort, Languedoc, May 2021

And the weekend was over, too quickly.