A misty day before we go…

Looking up the slope to our pink house, Garrigue/front garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024

The first time we saw our house before we bought it, three and a half years ago, the front garden, which is separated from the house by a small lane, was a sight. It was a steepish slope, covered in rocks and debris, masses of bramble and bindweed, perched on the hill, overlooked from below and to the sides by other houses. To the right of the rocky slope, looking down, there was tufty grass, saplings growing everywhere, several trees that had moved in, three nutbushes that were aiming for global tree status, and two very unloved cherry trees. But it spoke to me. And as we loved the house as well, the garden, ha ha, came too.

Today was a misty day. So I took some photographs, because a garrigue garden is really hard to photograph in the sun. Too much light bleaches out the slender twigs of the plants, rubs out the soft greens of the shrubs and makes it look like a bad soup. So for the amateur, with one camera, a misty day gives you a fighting chance.

So this seemed pre-destined, to tell you the story of the Garrigue garden, and to try to describe it better than I have done before. I wrote an article for the Mediterannean Garden Society journal in 2022 which sums up in detail the approach that I took to tackling the slope and the rest. I have a link here to my own draft copy as the journal is not available online. So this is the continuation of that story, inspired by this misty day.

The top photograph looks up the slope to our house, you can’t quite see the small lane. So I planted Anisodontea capensis, which flowers all year round, a Cornus Mas which is still too small to see from below and a range of Phlomis, which I brought from Tostat as whole plants or cuttings, and they have all done brilliantly in three years. This is the moment for the Euphorbias too, and they are just beginning to self-seed so I will need to do some removal. The Phlomis are all named in the MGS article. Generally, the plants have all bulked up to fill the space, some may be, in a purist sense, too close to one another but I am not bothered at the moment. I love the undulation of the shapes and have learnt to just ignore the odd tuft of scrubby grass that pops up between.

Looking across the Garrigue/front garden to the side, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024

This is a more elegant view because it looks across to the now still tufty, but mowed occastionally, rough grass, which I think, moreorless accidentally, frames the garrigue part really well. The Agave is about a metre and a bit tall and wide, with several babies surrounding it. Despite the exposed situation, it copes really well because of the brilliant drainage of the stony slope. We took out all the saplings and extra trees and Andy has been gradually pruning the old trees to give them back the ‘a bird can fly through’ look. I have ringed one of them with plants, and as a bonus, Andy planted some of last year’s spring bulbs, which have given it a Maynards wine gums sort of look. I love that bench just there in the distance and am often to be found there with a cuppa in my hand. And Molly the dog too.

Detail of planting near the botoom of the Garrigue/front garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024

Here is the brilliance of the Achillea groundcover that I rave about. It has made the bottom of the slope a verdant pasture. Achillea crithmifolia is a star. The Stachys byzantina you can see in the foreground is ‘Big Ears’, the tripod is supporting Rosa x odorata ‘Mutabilis’, next to it is Medicargo arborea with the yellow flowers, and a nicely sturdy Grevillea rosmarinifolia is flowering red by the wall.

Towards the bottom of the slope in the Garrigue/front garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024

Unedited view into the Garrigue/front garden featuring black plastic, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024

I have used black plastic sheeting a lot to help get started, and there is one last patch that needs lifting. Not pretty but it does help although it needs one growing season to be worth it. I love Photinia serratifolia ‘Crunchy’ which you see, with the copper coloured new growth, to the side of the photo. I have three in a triangle half way down the slope, making a nice break with the garrigue.

Same view composed to remove black plastic, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024

Looking more Homes and Gardens here! To finish the story, thus far, I have lost many plants here, it’s a complex environment to work with, the differing effects of the sun on the slope, the stoniness varies, and there are always ‘hidden bombs’ of huge galet rocks deep under the surface of the ‘soil’- and there is not much ‘soil’ either. And I never water, apart from on planting in. As you move sideways to the grassier part, the soil is better and the rocks decrease, but not entirely. So, for example, an Indigofera heterantha that I planted three years ago, has died back twice, and is only this year beginning to make growth. But I love what survives!

And this is the last post before Rabat!

The power of four…or three…

Fresh from the fleece, Abutilon pictum, January 2024

Well, this is the power of ‘One’. From underneath the fleece protecting it from the last 10 days of colder nights, there emerged just one brave little flower on the Abutilon pictum. Strangely, the cold conditions seem to have affected the colouring, a much stronger paprika orange than usual and darker red veining. It was a lso a bit of a midget, but I’m not complaining, it remains something of a miracle. I have always known this plant as Abutilon pictum, ‘Thompsonii’ being the variegated version.

Libertia ixioides ‘Goldfinger’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Three years ago I bought three twiglet sized cuttings of this fabulous Libertia ixioides ‘Goldfinger’ to Oloron when we moved, and now, albeit slowly, they are gently beginning to run under the old cherry tree in the front garden. This is their season when the low sunlight brings the gold colouring to life. Such a good and obliging plant, it never disturbs another plant, it just sort of glides by, and the baby plants are easy to gently dig out and put them where you want them.

Well, this is the power of three or it will be, in the summer. Last year I potted up six small Kniphofia rooperi plants that I had grown from seed sown 3 years ago. I had hoped they might flower last summer, but no. Reading one or two blogs about Kniphofia, several writers suggested moving them, that the stimulus of being disturbed might egg them on to flower. So this morning, they were duly removed, split and replanted in the hummocky grass slope above the vines in the front garden. It’s stony, so I hoiked out (a good Scots word for ‘digging’) the big stones, leaving the little ones for drainage and planted them in threes, about 0.5 m apart from one another as I am going for a ‘clump’. We’ll see if this recipe will work…

Newly planted Kniphofia rooperi, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Back in Tostat, I was a bit of a ‘one plant’ queen. Which is fine, but planting in threes or fours creates a companionable proximity for the plants and scientists now acknowledge that plants like to be together. Threes or fours means you’re heading towards a clump, which is exactly what my brain likes nowadays. Patterns, rhythms, connections and contrasts really work for me now, they didn’t so much when I was younger.

Euonymus japonicus ‘Benkomasaki’ and Agave americana, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

This is a contrast that I love, and whilst this photograph shows only one plant of my top favourite sculptural evergreens, Euonymus japonicus ‘Benkomasaki‘, this is one of a trio planted at the edge of the Agave americana zone. I have had this Euonymus for, mmm, maybe 7 years, and I absolutely love it. It is so tough and so verdant all year round, with tight, cuticled, glossy deep green leaves and it makes a great silhouette in the garden. I bought mine very small, maybe only 10cms high, and they are now maybe 75 cms, so they don’t grow fast, but because of that, to buy them at 75 cms is an expensive business. So I would recommend buying them small and being patient. 

In the intervening years I have taken several cuttings too, which means that very slowly and surely, you will have more. They take months to root, so best to put them outside in a semi shady spot, water now and then and look at them a year later. There are new varieties, variously called ‘Green Spire’, ‘Green Tower’ and others, but I am not sure if it is the same plant with the same growth habit. It is a wonderful contrast with the glaucous blue-green of the Agave.

Anisodontea ‘El Rayo’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Jimi Blake of the famous Hunting Brook Gardens in Ireland raved about ‘El Rayo’ and that was enough for me to buy two plants. Many UK sites talk about rich soil conditions for Anisodontea- don’t do that! They really love poor, stony soil in full sun and need no extra watering at all. The downside of this preference is that they are shallow-rooted and so get a good bashing in our summer storms. But with a bit of spring pruning, they bounce back and are not that big that a 45 degree tilt is a massive problem. They flower like trains, sometimes having a few weeks off from flowering in hot summers, but even in the winter, they are dotted with these deep pink flowers. 

Anisodontea capensis, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

This is the species plant, Anisodontea capensis, which is also really really good. It has smaller shell pink flowers but the same prodigious flowering almost all year round as ‘El Rayo’. I have two of each in the garrigue style garden in the front, and did I mention that cuttings take so quickly that you need never fear being without one.

Lomandra longifolia ‘Tanika’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

I had tried another variety of Lomandra in Tostat, and really liked it for it’s spikey stubborness. But this plant has found the garrigue garden hard going, and so, even after nearly 3 years, it only looks good in the spring. So, it maybe I will give it another year, and if it hasn’t finally got going, it may be found a better home in the Barn Garden.

Ophiopogon japonicus, Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

However, this robust little Mondo grass, Ophiopogon japonicus, is going to be a real ‘do-er’, I can tell. I bought 4 plants, and when they arrived, they were busting out of their pots. Sometimes at this time of year, nurseries sell plants that are desperate to be re-potted but haven’t been- so lucky me, I got 12 good sized chunks out of the 4 rumbunctiuous plants I received, and they are in the ground and looking great. This is the green version of the black Japanese grass that is often seen on gardening programmes. I will eat my hat if these don’t come good.

Group of Ophiopogon japonicus newly planted, Barn Garden, January 2024

And here they are- in a group of four.

The magic of research… and chance…

Agave americana, Tostat, July 2018

I probably spend more time looking at and researching plants than I do buying them, planting, propagating them or gardening with them- if I am honest. I was reminded of this on reading the latest instalment of Dan Pearson’s blog about creating his new sand garden at his home. Some gardeners who write have a very florid style, maybe in my own small way I do! But Dan Pearson is a thoughtful, honest and very straightforward blog writer, whose intention, it seems to me, is to convey the whole truth about the way that he gardens and why. I love the calmness of it, and the acceptance that knowledge is no guarantee of perfection. Once a plant is taken into our world, we can’t know exactly how it will react or behave. We take knowlege on trust, but there is always chance- and risk, not neccessarily in balance either.

But it is still worth developing knowledge and learning from experience and the stories of other gardeners. Very much so. What helps me is watching what happens and deciding if intervention is needed – or not. Sometimes time is all that’s needed. Take my Agave americana in the front garden, on the stony, garrigue-inspired slope. It is a baby of my original Agave in Tostat, given by a friend in the Languedoc. So, I planted it only 3 years ago, and already it is more than 1.5m tall and wide, with several offspring plants nestling nearby. It clearly likes it. I have done nothing except watch and wait.

Daughter Agave and daughters, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

It’s the same story with my groundcover planting of Achillea crithmifolia. Three years ago, planting out my still baby Koelreuteria paniculata ‘Coral Sun’ and not far away, a new baby Rosa x odorata ‘Mutabilis’, I wanted to protect them from the miles of marauding bramble and bindweed that we were attacking with vigour. Reading about the use of allelopathic plants, those that secrete substances that deter other competing plants, I picked Achillea crithmifolia as low growing, aromatic, feathery foliage plant that does brilliantly in tough conditions. I had tried it out in Tostat in a limited area,a nd had been impressed, as well as liking the Achillea as a plant in its own right. I think I started off with eight plants in a ring round the rose and the tree. Three years later, you can see how well it has gently carpetted the area, giving the tree and the rose room to grow.

Achillea crithmifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

It also has spread considerably, which I am really enjoying, though that might be a drawback to consider if you have limited space. The Achillea doesn’t seem to bother the lovely floppy velvety leaves of Stachys byzantina ‘Big Ears’ either. It is not widely available in the UK, but is really worth a try. Dan Pearson is doing the same with it in his new garden, see the blog article above.

Stachys byzantina ‘Big Ears’ and Achillea crithmifolia cohabiting nicely, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

Some plants love where they have been planted so miuch that they really go mad. This would be true of what I bought as a charming, small leaved Phlomis, Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’. The clue was in the name, I thought, and so it was for the first 2 years, a very sweet little hummock of Phlomis. It is still very sweet, but is breaking the 1m barrier in every direction and shows no sign of slowing down.

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, not so much a pygmy, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

Our conditions can be quite harsh, hot sun, little rain for long periods and damp, even wet winters into Spring. I had taken three small cuttings of Hydrangea quercifolia from the Tostat garden, and they have been slow to get going, with not much happening for the first two years. But they are clearly well rooted in now to our stony soil, and this year looks to be the making of them. I love them even more for the effort.

Hydrangea quercifolia, 3 yr old cutting from Tostat, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

In the Barn Garden, another plant that I have watched and waited for is Fatsia polycarpa ‘Green Fingers’. It was a newish introduction so there wasn’t a lot of information about it three years ago. And it did struggle getting into the shady, poor soil spot that I had put it in. But, three years on, this has been the year when it has turbo charged itself, and is now taller than the companion Mahonia with very cumbersome name, Mahonia eurybracteata subsp. ganpinensis ‘Soft Caress’ next to it. It has a wonderful form, with tiers of arching, jazz hands leaves in a good green.

Fatsia polycarpa ‘Green Fingers’ and Mahonia ‘Soft Caress’, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

I tried to buy another ‘Green Fingers’ last year but couldn’t find one, so went for the more usual variety, ‘Spider’s Web’. This is in a worse spot soil-wise, but a better spot light-wise, and seems to have gone for the big spread look in one year only. I quite like that it’s not too creamy at the edges.

Fatsia japonica ‘Spiders Web’, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

Now this is a vital stone. Last winter I noticed that a low branch of Mahonia ‘Soft Caress’ was brushing the ground, so just thought I would have a go at getting that branch to root by weighing it down with a stone. Nine months later, the Assistant Gardener went home with a rooted cutting which should make a bonny plant in a few more months. So I am having another go with the vital stone.

Time, chance and a bit of knowledge combined.

The vital stone….

The Piasecki pond…

Step 1: Thinks “Too much liner…”

Step 2: ” Maybe not, after all…”

Step 3: ” It’s quite big, going to be sat here with a hose for hours..”

Step 4: “Your turn, come on…”

Step 5: ” Still here…”

Step 6: Large stones and small ones to make a rim and a beach…rustic bench rustled up

Step 7: Planting added…and Agave americana placed

It was a great labour! Early April, liner and plants arrived despite lockdown and so it became The Weekend of the Pond. The longest part?… filling the pond with our spring water and finding/carrying all the big river stones, all hand dug from the garden over years, to make the rim and the riverbed beach through the edge of the New Garden. So, the planting round the pond is a mixture of home-grown babies and purchases, the aquatic/marginal plants will feature in the blog later as they get big enough to be photographed.

This Agave americana is the biggest of about 10 babies that have been produced, one a year practically, since a friend gave us a small Agave from their garden in the Languedoc. It is a vicious plant if you have small children and probably to be avoided in those circumstances, but the soft greeny blue of the architectural leaves is a lovely match for the eucalyptus on the other side. It does not want to be waterlogged, but in my experience, it will take down to -10C, even for a fortnight, if it is not wet at the base.

Justicia dicliptera
Photo credit: http://www.mesarbustes.fr

Justicia dicliptera, also known as Jacobinia suberecta dicliptera, is newish to me. I bought three at the end of last summer, took cuttings from two, and overwintered them outside- a risk, but so far, so good. The cuttings have done well, just in the shelter of the open barn, and the plants have regrown from the base. It makes a greeny velvety mound, about 0.5 m high and wide, with tubular orangey-red flowers in the high summer. I have the five plants in the gravel area to the right of the pond.

Yucca ‘Gold Sword’ in another part of the garden, Tostat, April 2020

Yucca Gold Sword– I love this plant. I bought a couple about 12 years ago and now have many of them as accent plants all over the garden. Tough and reliable, they handle most conditions I have, except the wettest. They will sulk for a while, with their leaves flat on the ground when moved, but given some water or rain for a few days, they will soon pick up to make a spikey presence about 1m tall and wide. I have four of them, of various sizes, planted in the stones to the right of the pond.

First flower on Anisodontea malvastroides, Tostat, April 2020

Anisodontea malvastroides is a tough, shrubby dry conditions shrub, which I hope will flower nonstop next to the pig shed, to the side of the pond. It should make a good size rapidly, to about 1.5-2m all round. The delicate pastel tones of the flowers should soothe near the water.

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, Tostat, April 2020

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’ has all of the attributes of the bigger Phlomis cousins, exceptional drought tolerance, whorled flowers and grey-green leaves, but it is really tiny. I couldn’t resist it. Maximum size will be about 50cms all round. Aww….It is planted near the Agave for a ‘Little and Large’ moment.

Achillea crithmifolia, Tostat, April 2020

Achillea crithmifolia will make a short blanket of soft, frilly foliage and umbel flowers- like your normal Achillea but much shorter. I hope it will spread amongst the stony planting between the pond and the pigshed, and I will help it by ripping out the pesky sunflower relatives that plague me.

Leucophyllum frutescens ‘Green Cloud’
Photo credit: http://www.txsmartscape.com

Leucophyllum frutescens ‘Green Cloud’ is a Texan plant, and ideally suited to our hot, dry, stony terrain, I hope. It should make a good mound of about 1m all round, and be covered in these violet-purple flowers for much of the summer. I really want to see how this does with us, as it and other Texan plants with some cold tolerance could be a really good choice for us in the future.

On a good note for the garden- it’s still gently raining….

The grand tour…

Looking east towards the Mix and the green seat, Tostat, April 2020

I started this post last week. But life and death intervened. A friend died of Motor Neurone Disease in Paris, fortunately at home with her partner, and so she was with loved ones at the end. That stopped me in my tracks really. A very sad moment, especially as I watched her funeral ceremony by the internet from her flat led by her loving partner and son. So, this post is dedicated to Martine and Proinsias, in memory of some very happy times in the garden.

Young men with money used to do The Grand Tour in the 18th and 19th centuries- jollying round Europe’s ancient antiquities and cities, it was supposed to mature a young man, give him the perspective of what his wealth could bring him in the acquisition of artworks and cultural broadening. I set myself the lockdown task of trying to do my own mini Grand Tour of the garden, trying to find new ways of looking at it, looking though it and maybe discovering new ideas about how it can be and how it is. It was a dullish day, sometimes the best way to see the garden without the sparkle that sunshine brings.

So, the first picture shows the Mix, the back of the house and the small area inspired by Nicole de Vesian with the green bench and the wind-knocked pencil conifers. The Mix is still evolving and without the stately presence of the tall Miscanthus later in the year. The mauve lilac is just breaking into blossom- a good shrub that I always forget about.

Looking west towards the ruisseau and Populus deltoides ‘Purple Tower’, Tostat, April 2020

This is a view that is completely new to me! The purple poplar is one of my all-time favourites for the elegance of the shape and the dark, striking foliage in early Spring. In the foreground, Hakonechloa macra aureola is just getting going, one of the few plants we brought with us from Scotland which, playing against type, adores this hot, dry position for some reason.

Looking towards the banana plantation, Gunnera manicata and Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’, Tostat, April 2020

Looking through the lovely old broken walls, is the banana, Andy’s beloved plant which is well on the way to becoming a small plantation, and his other great love, the Gunnera. Below, just over a broken wall, you can just see the village church tower in the distance.

The foreshortening, through the walls to the church tower, Tostat, April 2020

The New Garden, the Stumpery on the right, Tostat, April 2020

The New Garden, formed from a fallen-down barn area, has been transformed by the building of the Pond, which opens up and focuses the view behind the eucalyptus. I would love to claim credit for this wizard bit of design- but, truthfully, it would never have happened if we hadn’t gone over to a biomass boiler and had the old gas tank removed.

Looking towards the new pond, Tostat, April 2020

And here is the new pond, and you can see how it has changed and developed the view to make the garden truly wrap around the house. The shrub planted in the foreground ring of stones is an unsung hero, Euonymus alata compactus, which grows here in slightly added-to shit and stony soil in full sun, with only occasional water if it is really desperate. More on the pond building later on.

The fastigiate beech baby, the transplanted palm tree, the wildflower areas, Tostat, April 2020

The little beech is just becoming fabulous. Carpinus betulus ‘Frans Fontaine’ is fastigiate and should stay almost pin thin whilst getting taller. And the transplanted palm, a bad planting mistake of mine in the first year when we brought it in a pot from Scotland, Trachycarpus fortunei is one tough customer. Funnily enough, I bought it from Ardkinglass Tree Nursery, on the shores of Loch Fyne, so it is a well-travelled palm tree.

From the pond to the house with Rosa ‘Zephirine Drouhin’ just starting, and Molly the dog rootling, Tostat, April 2020

And back we are to the front of the house, with Molly the dog and the newly planted Agave americana big baby that blocks the pond off from foot traffic. We have several agave babies all queuing up for relocation at some point. They are gorgeous but vicious.

And on a brighter evening, the path by the back door, Tostat, early April 2020

And the full circuit ends at the back door on a sunnier evening.

Patrick Blanc’s wall garden

What could a tropical plant specialist possibly come up with that would accommodate a wall 200m long and 4 stories high, which faces North and is only a stone’s throw from the River Seine- lovely in the summer but with roaring winds in the winter?  Well, I would imagine that many people asked that question of Patrick Blanc in 2005 when he began work on the vast Vertical Garden, Mur Végétal, part of the Musée du Quai Branly.  I have watched Vertical Gardens on the telly, Gardener’s World Live did one in Birmingham one year, I think, and I have been less than impressed.  Plants hanging from pockets in a jumble accompanied by over-enthusiastic voice-overs.  Ouch.

But Patrick Blanc is the real deal. Take a look at the richness and density of the planting below.

Fatsia, heuchera and the rest performing at the Musée du Quai Branly, designed by Patrick Blanc, Paris, February 2016

Now, this is February, on a cold and grey day, so just like our own gardens, it would be churlish to expect a vertical wall to look totally fabulous, so there are some bare patches, see below.

Ok, some bare patches, but I love the travelling iris (?) which recurs in other photos, Paris, February 2016

and here, a plant that you would not expect,

And a euphorbia doing just fine, with a good lean, Paris, February 2016

Bergenia hanging on in there, waiting for Spring, Paris, February 2016

There are many more brilliant photos on his own site which give much more detail than I could achieve.  But I can tell you that we stood outside, walking up and down on the little traffic island in the centre of 4 lanes of traffic, looking at it, talking about it, photographing it, identifying plants or trying to, for about 20 minutes.  He is very clear about his technique for planting, and, in case you want to give it a go, I have quoted it here…

“…On a load-bearing wall or structure is placed a metal frame that supports a PVC plate 10 millimetres (0.39 in) thick, on which are stapled two layers of polyamide felt each 3 millimetres (0.12 in) thick. These layers mimic cliff-growing mosses and support the roots of many plants. A network of pipes controlled by valves provides a nutrient solution containing dissolved minerals needed for plant growth. The felt is soaked by capillary action with this nutrient solution, which flows down the wall by gravity. The roots of the plants take up the nutrients they need, and excess water is collected at the bottom of the wall by a gutter, before being re-injected into the network of pipes: the system works in a closed circuit. Plants are chosen for their ability to grow on this type of environment and depending on available light…”

It is top-notch technical as you can see, and nothing is left to chance except for the effects of the elements in the case of an outside wall.

But, here in Tostat, and I really wasn’t sure about this, Andy took 4 baby agaves and posted them into the wall of our New Garden.  No closed system technology for us, just some compost and the experience of someone who said that they had tried it.  After the driest summer we have had in 11 years, they are still there, battered but unbowed.  Here they are as they were in late Spring last year.  The theory is that they are facing South for warmth, tick, and they will absorb humidity through the leaves without needing water at the roots, though we did water occasionally last year.  So, when they make it through this soaking wet weather we are having, I will be eating hats.

Baby Agave Americana posted into our wall, Tostat, May 2015

And another one….Tostat, May 2015

Going out with a bang…the century plant that doesn’t live up to it’s name

Agave americana, Fuente de Cantos, Extremadura, Spain, October 2015

One of the most astonishing natural sights on the Via de la Plata. Arriving, hot and tired from the walk that day, we sat on a bar terrace with a couple of nice, cold glasses, and there it was. So tall that I almost missed the top of it with the camera.  Agave americana, sometimes called the century plant, reaches an impressive height when flowering. The link to the Eden Project page above gives 9m as the likely maximum flowering height, and I would say that the one we saw was in that ballpark.  As you can see, it had been clipped and trimmed to maximise the impression of height and protect customers from the very sharp leaf spikes.  That night there was a massive storm, but it was still standing in the morning.

Flowerheads, Agave americana, October 2015

The flowerheads, when they are at their best, are bright yellow and striking- in my photograph, you can see that they have almost gone over.  The whole plant dies after flowering, having consumed vast amounts of energy to produce the inflorescence. It was once thought that the Agave americana flowered only once a century, hence the name, but we now know that a more likely lifespan is around 30 years.  It grows slowly and is mainly propagated by rhizomatous offsets that congregate around the parent plant as it grows.

Agave americana, El Real de la Jara, Andalucia, Spain, September 2015

The agave’s favourite landscape. Hilly, rough, stony and poor, the agave will rapidly colonise an area if allowed to.  The sap of the plant can be harvested to form agave syrup, the heart of the plant can also be eaten and baked- it is a member of the asparagus family. There are numerous medical uses for the plant, stored as dried material in Central America. The link above takes you to the ‘Plants for a Future’ website, one of my favourites, covering ecology, sustainability and plant use knowledge.

Agave americana, rhizomatous offsets clustering by the dead parent plant, September 2015

And now for something completely different.

Campsis radicans, Merida, October 2015

On a rest day in the incredible, and unknown to us, city of Merida, we visited the outstanding Roman amphitheatre site- one of many superb and surprising Roman ruins in the city. There, twined around a Roman pillar, was the eye-catching Campsis radicans or Trumpet Vine. It is a thing of beauty. And growing in the hot dust of Merida, perhaps it is unlikely to indulge it’s thuggish tendencies to muscle in and go for world domination. The Merida plant had wonderful flame striations of orange cutting through the red, which really took my eye.

Campsis radicans, Merida, October 2015.

In Tostat, I have planted a close relative, Campsis x tagliabuana ‘Madame Galen’, and for a while, I thought I should give up gardening as it seemed to grow like a weed for anyone else in Tostat except me. But now, some years later, it is doing fine, though obstinately flowering on the road-side of the wall rather than our side.  Stubbornness seems to be a feature of Trumpet Vine!

Campsis x tagliabuana ‘Madame Galen’, Tostat, June 2015