It’s a New Year….

Hamamelis x intermedia ‘Orange Beauty’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

I love a New Year. January may not be the most appealing month weather-wise but the sense of a new start is irresistible to me, and there are just a few things happening in the garden which feed the energy even when the light is low. I had always wanted to grow a Hamamelis, and thought that the Barn Garden could work for it. I bought a baby one, ‘Orange Beauty’, and planted it in. 10 months later and I knew the experiment had hit the rocks- the Barn Garden is far drier than I had thought through too much of the summer and into the autumn, so ‘Orange Beauty’ came out and has been in a pot in the shadier part of the courtyard where human watering does take place. A fair bit of sulking went on, but 2 years later, it is motoring, throwing out long whippy branches (which means a bigger pot) which hold great promise for flowering next Spring. And meantime, on last year’s growth, the orange peel flowers look magnificent.

Below is a little oddity. I was given a tiny bit of this last summer by Bernard Lacrouts of the wonderful nursery at Sanous near old house in 65. He showed me his pretty sizeable plant in his dry border, and suggested I try it as a good bomb-proof plant for tough conditions. I agree with him. This level of glossy green, upright foliage in January is fairly wonderful, and so I recommend Teucrium chamaedrys to you for a sunny, poor soil spot. So far, it is not wandering unlike Teucrium fruticans, which I love but it loves me too much.

Teucrium chaemadrys, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

All 3 of my, believe it or not, nearly three year old seedlings of Senna artemisoides have come through a frosty period outside without a blemish. The biggest one, below, is now about 8 inches tall, and I live in hope.

Senna artemisoides, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Rosa ‘Perle d’Or’ had a difficult start in the garden, having been heavily sat upon by other bigger plants brought down in our July storms. And I wasn’t paying attention. But, in the nick of time, I rescued it and it went into a convalescent pot, from where it has thrown out new shoots and flowers with abandon. It will go back into the garden. I am going to take out the Mirabilis jalapa tubers, and replant them in the front garden next month, and this will make space for ‘Perle d’Or’, Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’, new to me but looks good, and a cutting taken from Rosa ‘La Belle Sultane’. I am trying out a lowish creeping (slowly I hope) Indigofera kirilowii as well around the roses. Always work in progress…

Rosa ‘Perle d’Or’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

And rethinking and reimagining brings a lot of energy and focus to the garden without even being in it much. So that’s how the New Year is shaping up.

July in Oloron

Leonotis leonorus, or maybe not, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023

What a surreal summer we are having here in our corner of the South West of France. Last year, the big heat had arrived by now, and we were dicing with average temperatures in the late 30s daily, lasting until nearly the end of September. This year, we have barely got out of the 20s, and have had so much rain that watering the courtyard pots has been an occasional activity rather than a bluelight daily, or twice daily, experience. For me personally, although the grey skies have been more than a little Scottish in feel, I have enjoyed sleeping properly this summer, but the volatility has been difficult for the plants- very heavy stormy rain, sometimes quite low temperatures, and only occasional sun, has left them stopping and starting.

So there are only slim pickings out there- and mountains of Olympian bindweed to carry out occasional purges on. So far, no tiger mosquitoes, but plenty of other pesky biters. I get bitten endlessly, Andy doesn’t. It’s a big bone of contention.

The best thing this week in the garden? The flowering of my mystery Leonotis. I have no memory of buying this plant. I do remember a pot with something in it that I held onto in Tostat for three years or so, and then, bam, it flowered one summer after being virtually consigned to the bin, and spending all winter outside. It is undoubtedly a Leonotis, but it defies all the rules. It has made a straggly bush of itself, with woody stems, it lives in a pot and it is still outside all year. But I look forward to the sheer guts and vibrancy of it every year. The flowers open like tiny jewels set in a crown and then flare outwards- it’s a wonderful thing. I notice that a few years back, I wondered if this plant is in fact Leonotis nepetifolia, mainly because it’s compact, bushy and woody, unlike the classic Leonorus. But I can’t be sure…

Salvia cacaliifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023

Salvia cacaliifolia, back in Tostat, September 2019

I thought that Salvia cacaliifolia was a goner. I had left it out, by mistake, over the winter and there was nothing there but dry sticks in the Spring. I even went back to the wonderful nursery not far from us in Tostat in April to see if the amazing Bernard Lacrouts had another plant, but he didn’t. Eight weeks later, a few leaves poked up from the soil. And today, the first flower sprig has broken through. The leaves don’t look as good as normal, a washed out green, rather than the glossy vibrant green of a usual summer, but both plants are alive. It is a lovely Salvia, it will almost twine if you can find a way to do that, next year, I will have a proper go at encouraging that. For now, I am just glad that I didn’t kill it. The blue is a gentian blue, that is stunning when the flower spike opens properly.

Salvia chameleagnea, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023

And another strangely behaving Salvia. This dry garden Salvia chameleagnea is not enjoying the weather. It has angular, almost spiky leaves with a good, thick cuticle, and flowers very occasionally for me, always at the end of a sprig. It has pale white flowers with a blue lip, hardly blue at all this year. The perfume from the leaves though is very pungent, and is reminiscent of a dry pine forest, a very health giving smell. I love it for the smell alone.

Another plant not doing quite so well in these wet conditions, but still smelling amazing is the tiny but powerful Pelargonium abrotanifolium. I cannot now remember where I got this plant, but it is really worth having, for the powerful smell from brushing against the tiny, divided leaves, which brings to mind a dry Provençal garrigue, and for the minute white flower with a purple throat. The flowers are little fingernail sized, but who needs big? It goes woody as it ages, but has a lovely open structure to it, I just snip bits off that look like they have had it. It’s kind of like a summer flowering, smelly Erodium, and such a good plant.

Pelargonium abrotanifolium, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023

Comebacks and juniors….

Disporum longistylum ‘Night Heron’, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

This is such a strange and fabulous plant. Disporum longistylum ‘Night Heron’ was collected by the great plantsman, Dan Hinkley, in China in 1996. So recently discovered! I discovered it from an online catalogue, not quite the same thing as China, and then very nearly lost it last year in the great heat, despite the shade. So it has lost a year of real growth. But, now in a pot, taking shade from the gingers in the summer and getting regular watering, it has flowered for the first time. It is bamboo like in the sense that single stems rise up from the ground, but the flowers are unlike anything else, very muted, elegant and draping beautifully. I wondered about the name ‘Night Heron’, but this photograph kind of explains it, as a wide, dark wingspan is formed by the leaves. I am so looking forward to it really settling in.

Disporum longistylum ‘Green Giant’, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

This is the big cousin of ‘Night Heron’. ‘Green Giant’ is a much beefier plant, and if anything, the flowers drape even more from the firm stems. ‘Green Giant’ took the heat a little better, but had to be moved all the same. Both patients are doing well.

Cestrum elegans, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

Poor old Cestrum elegans has had a rough time of it. The drought last summer and the heat put it under a lot of strain and it attracted cestrum-eating predators and, for a while, it was just leafless stalks. I thought about lifting it, but then decided to see what would happen as the heat decreased. It enjoyed winter, though it was a fairly dry one, but maybe the stress it was under set up this plethora of small flowers, which have covered the stems. I gave it a clipping to take out the dead wood, and once it has flowered, I will try pruning it back to a good re-starter shape. It would be nice to see it back in 2019 shape, fingers crossed.

Cestrum elegans, Tostat, January 2019

When you plant in difficult conditions, you have to allow for slow growth and time for a root structure to form that will support the plant in those conditions. So, for the ‘garrigue’ garden at the front, I now count two years at least before a plant really looks ready to take off. ‘Juniperina’ is reckoned to be the hardiest of the Grevilleas, but even so, these plants have needed all the time to settle in. It’s the same pink-red tone as the Cestrum, but the intricacy of the flower structure is enchanting, I think. Over 15 years in Tostat, my Grevilleas grew to 3-4m high and wide, so I am really hoping for that effect in the future. By contrast, another Australian plant that I love, Callistemon’Widdecombe Gem’ is still looking moody, I hope for the best.

Grevillea juniperina, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

I couldn’t remember when I bought the seed for these Kniphofia rooferi, so I trawled back through my emails to find out. Back in the auumn of 2021 I bought and sowed the seed, so here we are, nearly 2 years later, and six junior plants are installed in a pot, looking young but ready. I am looking forward to the day when these juniors have made big clumps that I can dot about in the Barn Garden for splashes of red. Another gardening task that requires patience and time.

Paulownia tomentosa, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

By contrast, Paulownia tomentosa will become a 30m tree if you let it. I grew two of these from seed that a friend gave me, and this is their 2nd year of being chopped almost to the ground late autumn/early winter. Last year they grew back to over 3m, so I am guessing they will be looking over the garden wall this year, with massive plate-shaped leaves. Ok, no pretty purple flowers grown this way, but the leaves are very dramatic and utterly unstoppable. The latter is true, because the giant stems that we cut down and are now using to protect the potato plants from the cats, are actually budding! Given half a chance, we would have a Paulownia forest if we upended the sticks and stuck them in soil. Kind of sc-fi-ish really.

Scilla peruviana, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

A Tostat friend gave me 6 small bulbs of Scilla peruviana, which I planted out in the dry ‘garrigue’ garden in early Spring. Only one has flowered so far, and it is a starter flower, so quite modest. I think that they will like it there, so a shot of blue would be lovely next year.

Rosa chinenesis ‘Mutabilis’, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

‘Mutabilis’ at home in the ‘garrigue’ garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, April 2023

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ has become Rosa x odorata ‘Mutabilis’ in the UK. It is a fabulous rose, tough, undemanding and flowers for months on end, with the beautiful colour changes it is famous for. It can be a bit of a toughie, so this plant, only 2 years old, has been given a bit of a perch to sit on in the ‘garrigue’ garden, which also means we can see it a bit better from up the hill. And look how well the Achillea crithmifolia has worked as a ground cover underneath it, it has taken a year or so but has really done the job, and I like the feathery foliage and the small cream flowers as a bonus.

Salvia cacaliifolia, Tostat, June 2019

Thought I had lost this fabulous blue Salvia cacaliifolia. I bought it several years ago from the best nursery in SWest France in my humble opinion. Bernard Lacrouts is not only an expert plantsman but a very helpful source of advice and counsel, and his nursery is always worth a visit. I was there last week hoping to find another plant of this Salvia, but he has stopped growing it commercially, so instead I bought some other Salvias, of which more later. But, two days later, with some of our first warm sunshine this month, I could see it re-growing in the 2 pots I had been about to replant. Phew! It is an unusual Salvia, the gentian-blue flowers are gorgeous, but so is the almost twining foliage, which you could probably persuade to climb a little with some support. I will do that.

Tostat and Winchcombe…

Rain sparkling on Eucomis ‘Sparkling Burgundy’ this morning, Tostat, July 2017

The mega-lightening and thunder show last night over Tostat finally brought to an end our 4th or 5th mini-canicule or heatwave that we have had since early May- and at long last, a decent downpour has revived the garden which has been hanging on by it’s fingernails.  The ground is well soaked, though, honestly, it will not have penetrated that far considering the general overall super-dryness, but I am not complaining at all.  The green levels in the garden have been refreshed, and everything looks as if it has been through a carwash.

I am waiting for my book delivery before I review the summer-dryness situation properly.  I need some inspiration to break the thinking habits I reckon.

But today is grey and overcast, which actually means that the garden gets a chance to absorb the rain and use it, as opposed to sticking it’s tin hat on again against the beating sun.  And we had a quite a few days like this in England in June, after we had survived the two blisteringly hot days.  Wandering around Gloucestershire and Winchcombe with our friends, some lovely little moments were to be had.

Winchcombe, Paeonia ‘Bowl of Beauty’, June 2017

Helping Jill to water a friend’s garden, was a delight rather than a chore.  A real plantsperson, the garden-maker had a stack of treats to see, for example, this stunning Paeonia ‘Bowl of Beauty’ that I have read about but never actually seen before.

Beautiful ‘borrowed landscape’ enlarges this small, but lovely, garden, Winchcombe, June 2017

An enchantingly delicate, double white Geranium pratense, which I think is ‘Double Jewel’, also grew there, not a shouty plant at all, but very pretty.  Unlikely to do well with me, but I can admire it all the same.

Geranium ‘Double Jewel’, Winchcombe, June 2017

And it wasn’t all about rarity.  This lovely combination below is achievable easily with very ordinary plants which work beautifully together- a spot of rigorous pulling out now and then needed for the lychnis probably, but that’s all.

Opium poppies, an abundant white dahlia and good old Lychnis coronaria- simple but very effective, Winchcombe, June 2017

I had forgotten how good hollyhocks are.  Gloucestershire seemed to be full to bursting with them in all colours, but I really loved this vibrant red just outside the church in Winchcombe, which is really worth a visit by the way if you are passing.

Knockout hollyhocks just growing in a pavement crack, Winchcombe, June 2017

This black Centaurea montana ‘Black Sprite’ was to be seen in various gardens, including Kiftsgate Court.  It is a newish variety, but is absolutely gorgeous, with healthy and vigorous foliage and these stunning spidery flowers- and looks as if it should be easy as anything.  I am searching for seed as we speak, there is more available in the US, so it may have to be bought there.  Just discovered that our local perennials nursery has it- good for Bernard Lacrouts!

Fabulous Centaurea montana ‘Black Sprite’, Kiftsgate Court, June 2017

Also gorgeous was the statuesque Cephalaria gigantea, which was a frequent player in Gloucestershire gardens.  It’s height, nearly 2m, and go-with-anything cream pincushion flowers, also the airy structure which on the whole seemed to take wind and rain in it’s stride, all these factors make it a lovely plant to try.  I have already bought seed from Chiltern Seeds.

Cephalaria gigantea, Kiftsgate Court, June 2017

Rosa ‘Graham Thomas’, Bourton House Garden, June 2017 photo credit: Colin Massey

Rosa ‘Graham Thomas’ seemed to be the go-to yellow rose for many gardeners.  Who can blame them?  It is a cheerful, buoyant rose that seems to be pretty trouble-free, and, according to David Austin, it has been voted the world’s favourite rose.

A complex Dahlia this one, which I think is ‘Night Butterfly’, so it isn’t usually what I would go for, but mixing in with the Monarda ‘Cambridge Scarlet’ and offset by the creamy-yellow Thalictrum flavum ssp. glaucum ( I think!) I thought the combination was lovely, bringing vividness to a shadier spot.

Dahlia ‘Night Butterfly’, Winchcombe, June 2017

I was so thrilled last week when I found, goodness knows how I hadn’t noticed it before, a surprise gladiolus growing in the very newest bit of border that I started this year.  I am not a huge gladdie fan, but the colour of this one looked very promising and I couldn’t have chosen it better, if I had chosen it!  But this morning, decapitated by the rain ( so you see, the obvious staking had not happened), it is reclining in a jug in the kitchen- ah well.

My surprise gladiolus, beheaded by the rain, Tostat, July 2017

 

 

Tangerine dreaming…waiting for the rain

Papaver rupifragum, Tostat, April 2016

We have had a warm week with lots of sun, great for growing, washing and drying clothes, walking the dog, pottering.  But not so good for weeding or jobs that mean getting into the earth.  Our soil dries out so fast, and then sets hard, so there is no point in weeding beasties like dandelions or newly emerging bindweed.  It has to wait for the soil to be loose and moist.  So, today, serious amounts of rain has been promised since mid-morning, but no show yet, and so I am waiting.  So, pots can be topdressed and refreshed, tick, and tidying up done, never my favourite job, some seedlings transplanted into small pots, and so on- whilst I can also dream a bit.

I have written about this little tangerine poppy before.  Papaver rupifragum is a delight, but such a brief one, and knowing that the rain will finish it off, I took this photograph this morning, after the slender flower had already been decked by Dave the Dog on one of his rampages after wildlife.  But the colour is so bright and pure,  that you can spot it from yards away, and so that was me in my pyjamas kneeling down to look down on it.

And a few metres away, my clumps of Geum ‘Totally Tangerine’ are really throwing up flowerspikes with abandon. If you’ve never thought of buying plants from the far North of Scotland, let me recommend  Tranquility Cottage Nursery on Orkney.  Their plants are first-rate, decent-sized, a good price and the delivery isn’t sky-high.  I bought 3 of these Geums from them 2 years ago, and they are in great shape, despite the heat of last summer and being in a far hotter place.  I wouldn’t put them in all-day sun with us, that would be too much, but in a spot that is more moist than most, with late afternoon sun and dappled sunshine earlier in the day, they have done fine.  I am also trying out another tangerine geum, Geum ‘Alabama Slammer’ which I bought at my great local nursery at Sanous.

Geum ‘Totally Tangerine’, Tostat, April 2016

Geum ‘Alabama Slammer’, Tostat, May 2015

Only in the early part of their second year with me, they are not so well advanced as ‘Totally Tangerine’, but I have a good vibe about them.  Similar colouring, but more ruffled, and with golden hints to them, they will get going a bit later, which helps to spread the flowering.

At the back door, not yet venturing out, maybe at the end of the month, is my small orange tree, which doesn’t fruit, but has fabulous, richly-scented waxy flowers at this time of year.  Some years, it looks a bit sad by now, but actually, this year, it is looking pretty good for having spent the winter in a cold hall next to the glass of the back door. Twining it’s way round it, is a desert climber that I grew from seed last year, Maurandya antirhiniflora, or the Snapdragon Vine.  It hasn’t flowered for me yet, but I hope it will this year.  Much though I would like the trumpet-shaped flowers to be of the magenta variety, judging from what Las Pilitas says, you can start with either magenta or blue, and then the plant will change it’s mind.  Ah well.  Whatever colour it is, is ok with me.

Maurandya antirhiniflora twining into the orange tree, Tostat, April 2016

And back to yesterday, and my ambition to show more of the garden, here is the Pigshed View.  The pigshed, which is empty, and holds wood for chopping can be seen, but more importantly, as the rain is still promised, the blossom on the quince trees front and back in the view, and the beginning of cherry blossom in the middle, is really lovely right now.

Pigshed View, Tostat, April 2016

Not an impatient project…

Looking west over the first new planting area, Tostat, March 2016

This new project is, unusually for me, not the product of impatience.  I am creating a sweeping extension to the gravel area which will swoop round in to an existing path and then back out again to make a matching peninsular, around the olive tree, to link up with the original peninsular that I dug out four years ago. Sounds complicated? Never mind.  It’s the planting that’s the thing, and, truthfully, I have never drawn a single plan for my own garden, using instead the trusty hosepipe method and my eyes- and a lot of walking around, scratching the chin.

I had planned to do this maybe last year, but our huge summer fete kicked that into touch as I realised I needed all the grass space for tables and dancing.  But last year, I did start off a lot of seed.  So, outside, braving the wind and rain are some things that replace dwindling stocks, and others that are new to me, such as Patrinia scabiosifolia, Agastache ‘Tango’, Monarda fistula and Eriogonum grande var. Rubescens.  And, as a group of friends clubbed together to give me a plant fund, I lashed out at our local, and very good, nursery, Bernard Lacrouts at Sanous, and bought some good looking plants last autumn.

Practicality in the garden, Tostat, March 2016

And now you can see where idealism meets practicality.  Clearly to be seen on the other side from the first photo, is our winter washing drier.  It is there because that spot gets the most sunshine in the winter, almost 6 hours if you are lucky, and so, actually, it will stay. Shock, horror, how can this be?  Well, drying clothes is a vital winter activity, and also when we are out in the garden least. So, it does make sense to leave the drier there, and then when the summer washing lines are back in action in another part of the garden, I can close up the winter drier and maybe even lift it out of it’s socket altogether.

The new area gives me some new extensions of planting conditions too.  It will have a bone dry, stony, very free draining, full sun patch near where the olive tree  is.  There will also be a heavier soil area, with more water retention and some dappled shade from the cherry tree, and quite a bit that will offer more gentle conditions that bridge the very dry and the heavier soil.  So this gives lots of room for variable planting.

So, for the bone dry, stony area, I am planning a sweep of Perovskia atriplicifola ‘Lacey Blue’ which I bought as small plants last autumn.   This is new to me, a compact form of Russian lavender, with a long flowering season and good grey-green foliage.  Together with this, I am going to try some Anchusa italica ‘Dropmore’, which I bought as seed from the totally excellent Seedaholic site.   Anchusa likes Mediterranean conditions so this should work well, and I have six good looking small plantlets grown from seed last summer waiting in the open barn.  The deeper blue of the Anchusa should really spice up the lavender blue of the Perovskia.

Perovskia atriplicifolia ‘Lacey Blue’, Tostat, September 2015

And then, because I love yellow and blue together, I might mix in some Coreopsis ‘Crème Brûlée’, also bought as a small plant last autumn, now much bigger, so I can split it and have two for the price of one. The Coreopsis will want to be in a slightly moister place than the Perovskia and the Anchusa, so can come further over towards the cherry tree but still in full sun.

Coreopsis ‘Crème Brûlée’, Tostat, September 2015

And last autumn, I was beguiled by the dusky charms of Salvia x jamensis ‘Nachtvlinder’.  This tough, bushy Salvia will love being planted at the hot edge of the gravel area, and, with it’s dark purple/blue flowers and bright green, glossy foliage, it will enjoy the dry, hot conditions.

Salvia x jamensis ‘Nachtvlinder’, Tostat, September 2015

And to weave in and out, while my small plants are bulking up, I am going to plant some  drifts of Liatris spicata.  I have this liatris elsewhere in the garden, and I love the feathery foliage and loobrush shaped flowers.  It is a very tolerant plant, growing from walnut-sized bulbs in a matter of weeks.  I wouldn’t ever bother buying it as a potted plant.  The bulbs are really cheap, and they come through to flowering in a season, and will last for several years, but probably not for ever.  I got 120 bulbs from Lidl for less than 3 euros, so even if some are duffers,  there will still be plenty to plant.  Here it is, in the gravel area in 2013.

Liatris spicata, Tostat, July 2013

It is also pretty gorgeous in white, too.  Now, I just have to wait for the very cold rain and wind to stop, so that I can get planting.  Now, this is where impatience does come into it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think I am a colour confused gardener…

Opium poppy self-seeded, Tostat, June 2015

You see, I look at this flowerhead this morning, scream with delight, fetch witnesses and the camera. and, immediately, I feel refreshed, thankful and overall delighted.  It is partly the sheer exuberance of the royal red colour, and partly the fact that the flowers have such fleeting lives, a few hours or less of wind or rain knocks them out.

It’s a self-seeded opium poppy from seed that my good friend, Jane who lives in Shropshire, gave me, and we did brilliantly with them about 3 years ago, and then hit a duff patch of soaking wet Springs which, I thought, had polished off the possibility of opium poppies in the garden.  More seed, and 2 years later, and this year, maybe the wet February and then hot 2 weeks at the end of May as a combination?, we have really enjoyed them.  Most have been pale mauve or raspberry ripple coloured, but this one is a knockout punch. Fantastic.

And then I look at the minimalist white of the only flower on my baby Gardenia jasminoides ‘Kleim’s Hardy’, which couldn’t be more simple and virginal, and all of a sudden, I love Scandinavian minimalism and dream of Ulf Nordfjell and his garden at Chelsea a few years back. Mind you, I can’t smell anything from it!  I know I don’t have the best nose, but maybe I am the only person with a non-fragrant Gardenia!

Gardenia jasminoides ‘Kleim’s Hardy’, Tostat, June 2015

Nordfjell garden, Chelsea 2009

I think that I just have to accept that with plant-aholism comes the split personality requirements of fabulous colour and cooling minimalism, and that my garden has touches of both, and probably all the combinations/variations in between. And in that sense, it is not a design achievement, in the same way as I would like to think of my client work.  It’s a personal garden, with what I love in it, from all parts of the colour spectrum and also suiting various different growing environments, for which experience I am very lucky. And maybe, you know, I would forever be changing, developing, trying new things, in other words, tinkering even if I did think that design was the most important thing.

Enough rumination. On with the practicalities…

Eupatorium capillifolium ‘Elegant Feather’, Tostat, June 2015

The thing you want to look at in the above photograph is the feathery-leaved plant, which is now in its second year in this spot. The spot is west-facing so gets a lot of heat later in the day, but is also relatively moist, as I suspect there is a spring nearby just keeping the soil on the fresh side.  We have many small springs, as we found when our plumber did some dowsing for us, the garden is peppered with them.  This plant,  which seems to really like it here, is Eupatorium capiliifolium ‘Elegant Feather’ and has a a bit of a chequered history. as often is the case, I fell in love with the ‘idea’ of the plant when I was researching planting possibilities for my design diploma, and so, when I found it at a local nursery last year, I bought first one, then another three a few months later.

The very knowledgable Bernard Lacrouts, a fantastic nursery at Sanous, just outside Vic en Bigorre, said that it wasn’t a surefire plant, often succumbing in the winter to one thing or another.  Well, two did bite the dust, and a third has been removed to a pot for hospital care till it recovers. But the original one, though slow to get going in the late Spring, is doing fine in its west-facing spot. So, a partial loss or success depending on how you look at it. But it is a very unusual and lovable plant- just these columns of vibrant green, feathery foliage, and completely upright, so it makes a good contrast with almost anything else. I daren’t move it, but I will move the planting around it and put in something more becoming next year.

Malvastrum lateritium, Tostat, June 2015

And this was such a lovely surprise. Malvastrum lateritium is an amazingly enthusiastic ground cover plant for semi-shaded areas, I bought three small plants in the Spring, and they are all romping away, covering an area of about 1.5.m x 1.5m.  It looks a bit like a ground-creeper, but then the flowers turn out to be so exotic.  Apricot coloured with a reddish flush at the centre, so pretty and should flower till the first frosts.