Seeds…

Romneya coulteri, Thruxton Rectory, Herefordshire, June 2017

Having the much bigger garden in Tostat got me into seed. We had so much space to fill, and slowly but surely, I got a bit better at it as the years went by. I learnt to use the heat that we get to advantage, and how not to drown my chances with over-watering. I haven’t grown much from seed here in Oloron yet, but this summer I wanted to remedy rookie errors I made last year- namely starting seed too late, and the silliest of all, labelling seedlings wrongly!

I adore what I call the ‘fried egg plant’, Romneya coulteri, which I grew in a daft place in Tostat but it liked it, so there it stayed. It chooses and you obey, it’s that kind of plant. But wouldn’t you welcome these giant flowers often on 2m stems telling you what to do? It’s a plant dominatrix. It hates being moved, so don’t bother trying. The hottest, driest spot in full sun that you have will do it just fine, and it needs nothing else, except space, so don’t crowd it into a busy herbaceous border. I bought some seed this summer in Oloron and have failed utterly to achieve germination, so I will end up buying a new plant.

One of the best plants ever that you can grow from seed is any kind of Cerinthe. Unfairly sometimes called the ‘shrimp plant’ because the flowerhead kind of curls over, like a shrimp?, but anyway, cerinthe is a brilliant plant. It grows almost immediately from seed planted, and if you don’t sow straight into the ground, pot it up when it only has the first pair of leaves, because the root system grows like a train, and even at that size, you will need a good sized 9cms plus pot. I love the yellow form, see below in Tostat in spring 2019, and it will self-seed wherever you have it. You can refresh the plants a couple of years later by chucking in some more seed. This year I have grown Cerinthe retorta from seed that I bought in 2020 from the amazing Liberto Dario and had kept in the fridge. Retorta has a cream and violet flower, so I have high hopes for some great plants in the Spring.

Yellow Cerinthe, Tostat, April 2019

Back in 2011, I fell in love with Dianthus cruentus after seeing it sprinkled all over Cleve West’s Chelsea garden. Read my back story on this here. I grew it from seed, thank you the wonderful Special Plants, but stupidly didn’t take plants with me when we moved. So, last summer, I ordered some seed and managed to germinate them and develop the teeny plants that this special Dianthus starts out as. Or so I thought….

Dianthus cruentus, Tostat, May 2016

I had also bought some seed of Lavandula viridis, which I had seen in the another superb nursery in the Languedoc, le Jardin Champetre. The back story of this visit is here. Lavander has always escaped me- what do I do wrong? But after years trying, I tried again with Lavandula viridis. To cut a long story short, I wrongly labelled 2 batches of seedlings, and instead of Dianthus cruentus, I ended up with Lavandula viridis. So damn, but wey hey, I grew some Lavandula from seed- at last. The strange thing to also confess is that I have been randomly checking on these small plants for weeks, noticing that they were really enjoying our very hot weather, but it was only today that the penny dropped. Durr. And to cap it all, the other wrongly labelled seedlings turned out to be Dianthus carthusianorum. Ah well.

Lavandula viridis with Cephelaria gigantea at the back, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2022

The only other plant that I started out last year from seed was Kniphofia citrina. The thing about growing bulbous plants from seed is that you need to hold your nerve and allow time to pass. Two months ago, pots of what looked like feeble green strings depressed me, but, today, the transformation has begun with the hot weather we have had. Clearly identifiable young strong plants have taken the place of the feeble green strings, so next year we should be in business with proper plants. GIve it two years.

Kniphofia citrina, photo credit: Special Plants Nursery, http://www.specialplants.net

Another failure last year was sowing seed too late of this glorious plant with a very long name, Heliopsis helianthoides var. scabra ‘Bleeding Hearts’. This was a shame. But this year, I have done another sowing and have 14 good little seedlings. Jimi Blake was the inspiration for this choice. I defy you to watch his little clip and not want to plant this plant, seed available from Special Plants for those of you in the UK, but not for those of us in the EU sadly.

Heliopsis helianthoides var. scabra ‘Bleeding Hearts’ photo credit: http://www.specialplants.net

And lastly, in this run of hits and failures, here is a new plant that is doing really well. I adore it’s rather strong, even I can smell it, sort of camphor and nutmeg smell, and the adorable tiny white flowers. I am not 100% sure that this is ‘Lillian Pottinger’ but it is a good guess.

Pelargonium ‘Lilian Pottinger’ maybe, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2022

Flowering at last is another complicatedly named plant, Salvia chamelaeagnea, which requires care when typing. A solid small shrubby Salvia, with short, stubby leaves, and then these, by comparison, big blue flowers with a very arched throat. Dry, stony soil, not too much water and it grows slowly but firmly. Slow but firm, the motto for my garden? I think so.

Salvia chamelaeagnea, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2022

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.

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.

Le Jardin Champêtre…à visiter

Looking towards the pine trees, le Jardin Champêtre, Caunes-Minervois, May 2021

The very first time I came across Imogen Checketts and Kate Dumbleton, I was very nearly struck by lightening. Nothing to do with Imogen and Kate, but everything to do with a sudden mad storm which hit Caunes-Minervois in the summer of 2016. There was a huge crack and a blinding flash shot to the ground a metre in front of me. Thanking my lucky stars I carried on to Gill Pound’s open day in her garden, sheltering from rain in her barn. Next door, two women had a stall of plants which was the beginning, I guess, of le Jardin Champêtre, and the two women later turned out to be Imogen and Kate. The following Spring we visited, and the rest is history.

They have built and developed a remarkable garden space, design business and nursery since then, and the land is transformed- as well as the gardens of local clients who have warmed to their style of gardening. They work with the conditions, using poor soil, rocks, gradients, and existing ingredients to make purposeful gardens that grow into the landscape rather than exist on top.

Imogen Checketts and Kate Dumbleton, the first visit, February 2017

In lockdown, I caught a free video from Garden Masterclass, in which Imogen and Kate talk about their journey to Caunes-Minervois and what inspires their approach to gardening in a tough climate. The link takes you to the main Gardening Masterclass page featuring their video and there is a youtube link you can click on. I really recommend it. Imogen and Kate talk simply and effectively about what they do, and I really enjoy the clarity of their approach and words. My own 2017 blog article about them can be found here.

Early days, looking towards the pine trees, February 2017, le Jardin Champetre, Caunes-Minervois, France

This photograph isn’t exactly taken to show the differences between 2017 and 2021, but it does give you a very good feel for how the garden space has developed in the 4 years. The photographs speak for themselves, I hope, but for me the exciting features of how they work include positioning plants so that they mirror each other, pinpoints of colour and contrast, and clever choices of shrubs and trees, assisted by strategic pruning. Below, the multi-stemmed small tree has had the canopy lifted just enough to expose the mirroring stems of the big Kniphofia just behind it.

Beautiful large Miscanthus grass clumps, and smaller Stipa tenuissima dots are lit up by small but very effective Allium and native Gladiolus byzantinus plantings.

Below, more huge clumps of Kniphofia are given the space to take their place, uncrowded by other plants or features.

Big big shrubs like the giant Genista, I think, below are paired with a trio of pencil conifers, and other small ground-hugging shrubs and perennials fill in beautifully.

Now is the time for alliums, and nothing could be finer than the deep purple heads, spotted through the garden. The simple white Allium nigrum flowers were nearly over, but I was reminded that Allium nigrum was the only Allium I managed to grow in Tostat, and I must buy some for next year

Now here is another example of simple being gorgeous. Strapping aloe flowers, backed by probably Miscanthus ‘Adagio’, nothing more nothing less.

And a favourite of mine that afternoon as we strolled in the Languedoc drizzle, was this Lavandula viridis, with the tufty top of a French style lavender with a fresh greeny-yellow point. Very pretty.

Lavandula viridis, le Jardin Champetre, May 2021

And lastly, I was really taken by this delicate pink hooded white Phlomis, which I can’t identify, but will ask about. Visit the nursery and garden if you can- this year or next. It will only get better and better. Thanks for letting us wander there, Imogen and Kate.

Lovely pink hooded white Phlomis, le Jardin Champetre, May 2017

Of pineapples and Cornus Mas…

It’s almost botanical, the fine detail of ‘The Pineapple’, Airth, Scotland, February 2020

The whole ‘Pineapple’, Airth, Scotland, February 2020

It has been a while coming, this blog post. I have had 3 months off from the blog. Getting the house in Tostat sold, packing up and moving ourselves over 7 gruelling days at the end of November pretty much wiped out all but survival energy. But we did it, during confinement here in France, and are now, though don’t count the boxes that are still unopened, very happily installed in our house on the edge of Oloron Sainte Marie. Leaving the garden behind was a wrench, but I had been taking cuttings, growing small plants on, taking plants out ready to go, for months. So, strangely, the process of leaving became very mundane, and although we took two whole vanloads of just plant and pots, by the time we actually left I felt as if the garden was with me, not back in Tostat.

And here, we are starting from ground zero. One of the trees that I am really keen to grow here, and although it is only a minnow at the moment, I think it will really enjoy the sunny, sloping ground at the front of the house, across a small lane. And it will bring back memories of the only trip we made last year. We were in Scotland for 10 days at the end of February, and on a glorious, crisp, blazing day of sunshine, we visited The Pineapple at Airth, and then walked around the small mediaeval town of Culross in Fife.

And there was Cornus mas- in all it’s bright, lemony, glory.

A flurry of Cornus mas blossom

The so-yellow flowers close-up

Orchard underplanting with snow drops, The Pineapple, Airth, Scotland, February 2020

Where have I been all these years in February that I have never before seen this beautiful small tree at the right time? The golden colour is almost shocking, way before any daffodils get going, and like Daphne, it flowers on bare stems, which somehow makes the exoticism of the flowers even more marked. Simply planted in a grid, with an underplanting of snowdrops, and mingled with other rows of nut and fruit trees, the Cornus mas had free rein to be the star of the show.

In Culross, the same afternoon, another glorious Cornus was growing in the back garden of Culross Palace almost luminous in the afternoon gloaming. That tree lodged itself in my mind. It seems to be tough enough to take all that might be thrown at it here, and I can’t wait. Waiting, however, is the order of the day for now. The ground is still frozen and we need to work out how to go about doing what we want do.

Whilst waiting, I caught a really great hour of interview and story telling from Imogen Checketts and Kate Dumbleton, two passionate and intrepid gardeners who have built a great nursery and garden ‘Le Jardin Champêtre in Caunes Minervois. This is available through the ‘Garden Masterclass’ Youtube channel– as are lots of other interesting people, gardens and talks. If you are in the UK, I would really consider joining as a ‘Friend’. You can read my post about Imogen and Kate’s nursery from 2017 here.

The gold of the Cornus complimenting the golden wash of the Palace, Culross, Scotland, February 2020

And ‘The Pineapple’ and the town of Culross make a fascinating double-act for a day out. Highly recommended.

It’s good to be back. Happy New Year, here’s hoping that 2021 is a kinder year for us all.

Early May…

Natrix maura in our pond, Tostat, early May 2020

No, not the Loch Ness monster- but maybe almost as exciting for the new pond. A native watersnake, non-venomous, has moved in. Our water snake, is actually only about 8cms long and it required David Attenborough-levels of patience to take these two photographs. It swims like the Loch Ness monster, though, doesn’t it?

Our dog Molly in lockdown has taken to barking at all birds in the garden, on the wing, on the ground, big and small. So the Hoopoe has only flown by, but it did drop in for a poke about in HG’s garden and he managed to get a great photo of it. The hoopoe is a theatrical costumier’s delight, see the black pompoms on the crest. A short appearance for a couple of weeks until next year.

The hoopoe in the our friend’s garden, Tostat, early May 2020
photo credit: HG, Tostat

The flowers are all out on ‘Tiny Wine’. I have often raved about this gallant shrub and the flowers are just as lovely as the rest of it. Some people might draw the line at a crimson bronze shrub, but I am not one of those.

Physocarpus opulifolius ‘Tiny Wine’, Tostat, early May 2020

In Spring, the Aristea begin to look lively. I have left both Aristea major and Aristea ecklonii out in the open this year, though given the shelter of the thickly-growing wisteria on the pergola. They look all the better for it, though I would have rushed in with fleece if needed. This is a true, strong sky-blue embellished with golden stamens. This Ecklonii sprig is leaning against the big brother, Aristea major.

Aristea ecklonii, Tostat, early May 2020

For my money, this is the best-ever Cistus. Cistus x cyprius var.ellipticus ‘Elma’ wins no prizes for the length of the botanical name, but it is quite the best flowerer in my view. The foliage is a strong green, glossy and slightly sticky with a highly pungent fragrance, and the flowers are big, bold and the whitest of white with deep golden stamens. Not rain-proof sadly, though. This weekend will have given it a good smashing- lucky that the foliage is really bright and healthy all year round. One of the plants I bought several years ago at the dry garden specialist, Pepiniere Filippi.

Cistus x cyprius var. ellipticus ‘Elma’, Tostat, early May 2020

Another pretty crinkled Cistus is this one- Cistus heterophyllus, which I bought from Jardin Champetre in Caunes-Minervois about 3 years ago. It has, as ever, taken some time to settle in but it is looking really good this year. It is a lovely tumbling variety, so would look amazing hanging off a step or terrace wall.

Cistus heterophyllus, Tostat, early May 2020

Note to self- buy some more Allium nigrum bulbs for next Spring. This is the only Allium I have ever really succeeded with- and it deserves a medal for endurance. I love the architectural look it gives with the simple white/green flowerhead.

Allium nigrum and Phlomis longifolia ‘Bailanica’, Tostat, early May 2020

Rosa ‘Mrs Oakley-Fisher’ is a great love of mine. I have written about her before, and this year she is even earlier with the first of her apricot-honey coloured simple flowers.

Rosa ‘Mrs Oakley-Fisher’, Tostat, early May 2020

Lockdown makes me look even harder at the garden and the plants. So this is the first time I have ever noticed the Stipa flowering, and the light was just right making the contrast work in my favour.

Stipa gigantea, Tostat, early May 2020

Thalictrum were one of my first seed-growing successes, but now, more than seven years later, I probably need to have another bash at this one especially, as the powder puff flowers are lovely against early morning sun. Thalictrum flavum glaucum is much more of a beast and a brilliant self-seeder, but Aquilegifolium needs a bit of a boost.

Thalictrum aquilegifolium, Tostat, early May 2020

The pond settling in, Tostat, early May 2020

The pond is settling in really well, with all the plants at least visible on a photograph now. We just love sitting on the rustic bench and watching what’s going on and a new lodger has appeared-this rather chubby dragonfly with the china-blue tummy. It loves living dangerously, perching on the very sharp tip of the Agave…ouch…

Male black tailed skimmer dragonfly settling in, Tostat, early May 2020

Big and little in focus…

The first Apple blossom, Tostat, yesterday

The lockdown in France, now extended until somewhere in mid May, creates a strange state of continual tension. Forced to focus in, the mind explores small things, small changes, observes more than usual maybe in the garden. But tension exists continually with the global macro situation of countries battling, systems battling, people battling the hidden enemy. I think that I have adapted reasonably well to the changes in everyday life, but then, unexpressed distress is never that far from the surface- usually prompted by news of close family and friends or stories of loss. So, the early appearance of blossom in the garden set off tears this week, tears for earlier times when there were less big questions to address and maybe much more complacency.

Cherry blossom, Tostat, yesterday

The apple blossom in first flush is pink and embarassed to be out so early whereas the bitter cherry is self-assured, just a little early but who cares? And with the bright, sunny weather, not always warm till the afternoon, and sometimes misty in the mornings, buds are appearing

Libertia grandiflora was one of the first plants that I tried from seed, courtesy of the Hardy Plant Society. It slowly, slowly makes a stately clump of bright green strappy foliage, evergreen all year although looking tired by the New Year. And then, the fat buds hide themselves by sitting sideways on on the stem, so they are easy to miss on a quick fly-by. It will take the driest conditions and also is happy in moist conditions- a very tolerant plant.

Libertia grandiflora in bud, Tostat, March 2020

Last year, I planted five small clumps of Muscari botryoides ‘Album’ into terrible soil in full sun close to the Stumpery. Terrible in that it largely consisted of coarse sand and building rubble, mixed with old crumbling concrete. And here they are again, unbothered by their neglectful surroundings and bringing an air of pristine sophistication temporarily to a squalid little corner.

Muscari botryoides ‘Album’, Tostat, March 2020

Sometimes plants creep up on you. About 2 weeks ago, obscured by my weirdly right-angled Hedera helix ‘Erecta’, (which I must try and photograph so that you can see how odd it is), I noticed this tall, slim, strung out plant with shrubby stems- so clearly not a weed. Poking around at the bottom of it, having already decided that it closely resembled a Phlomis but with no memory of it all- I found a handwritten label from a great nursery in the Languedoc at Caunes-Minervois, ‘Le Jardin Champetre’. Phlomis cretica, it is. I might remember it when it flowers!

Phlomis cretica in bud, Tostat, March 2020

Our gas tank left us last month. A dramatic experience, as you can see. Our plan is to create a wildlife pond in the driest and hottest part of the garden. This may seem mad, but I think it will be fine, and anyway, what else interesting could be done with a giant hole. Getting started on it has been slow. But we are buckling down to it, and helped by the fact that nurseries are still taking and delivering online plant orders, there will be news as to progress. I have never had the chance to do this before, so it’s a whole new area of knowledge to get the head around, which does make it very worthwhile now that life is constricted.

The gas tank leaveth us, Tostat, February 2020

Back to the micro, and Westringia fruticosa ‘Wynabbie Gem’ is flowering- it is the very lightest shade of mauvey-pink so it easily looks white in bright sun. It has not been such a good plant as I had hoped, very stringy and tall, but it does cope with an exceptionally dry and hot part of the garden, so I shouldn’t be too hard on it.

Westringia fruticosa ‘Wynabbie Gem’, Tostat, March 2020

Tulipa clusiana ‘Lady Jane’, Tostat, yesterday

This little tulip, Tulipa clusiana ‘Lady Jane’ is a fleeting thing. Very fragile and slender, I think it actually looks best partially closed, as the petals which open out white are a gorgeous muted pink on the underside. My photographs have not done it justice, I will try again.

Approaching Sissinghurst part 2

Rosa ‘Meg’, Sissinghurst, June 2017

Sometimes, as with Hidcote, the National Trust marketing bods go far too overboard with trying to introduce you to ‘the person’ that they have identified as the ‘key person- attractor’ for their property.  As Robin Lane Fox rather acidly remarked in a recent article about Hidcote in the FT, this can lead to patent nonsense, such as your ticket apparently being a personal invitation from Lawrence Johnston. (I can’t link to this article because of the FT paywall, but I must have found it somewhere as I don’t subscribe.)   My understanding of Lawrence Johnston is that he was an intensely private person who would probably have undergone fingernail extraction than take part in such flummery.

However, in the case of Sissinghurst, this approach is far less ridiculous.  First of all, Vita Sackville-West was herself a columnist for ‘The Guardian’ from 1946-61, and she wrote ceaselessly of her successes and failures in her own garden- so this makes Sissinghurst almost a well-kent space for gardeners.  And secondly, the Nicolson family, including the author, Adam Nicolson, her grandson and his wife, Sarah Raven, the well-known garden and food writer, live in the property and are very connected to the ways in which the house and the garden are made available to visitors.

So, I really enjoyed the feeling of intimacy and connection with Vita as a woman, a lover, a wife, a mother, a writer and a great gardener that was opened to you as a visitor at every turn.

Another great rose, perhaps selected by Vita, was looking breathtaking when we visited.  Rosa ‘Meg’ was bred in 1954 in the UK but yet seems to hail from an earlier era. A truly gorgeous apricot rose, a climber/hybrid tea, once-flowering and thereafter the odd bloom, is really worth the space in the garden.  Set against the warm brick of the Sissinghurst walls, and it prefers the warmth of a wall behind it, it was sublime.

Rosa ‘Princess Marie’, Sissinghurst, June 2017

Right above my head, a huge swag of this very pretty ivory-pink rose, was doing its best against the rain and wind.  Rosa ‘Princess Marie’ was bred in France in 1829 by Antoine A. Jacques and climbs well, although classified as a Hybrid Sempervirens.  Apparently the rose has a strong fragrance, but was too high above me to be able to tell.   Peter Beales, see the link, does describe it as a rambler.

And, finally on the rose front, I loved this little display in the entrance arch to the garden, introducing visitors to some of the roses flowering at that moment.

Introduction to the roses in flower, Sissinghurst, June 2017

Now to other splendid plants.  There was a mouthwatering spread of absolutely beautiful opium poppies, some of which had taken a pounding in the rain the day before, but other of which had come through very well.   Somehow the rain accentuated the layers of the petals in the crimson one.

Allium cernuum, Sissinghurst, June 2017

I loved the nodding heads of this little allium, it is commonly called ‘nodding onions’- a very pretty mauve-blue with such spirit and delicacy.  It wants full sun, well-drained soil but otherwise is not fussy it would seem, and is a good spreader, bulbs are available via Sarah Raven.

Clematis ‘Hagley Hybrid’, Sissinghurst, June 2017 fresh as a daisy

Staying with the mauve theme, a clematis that would struggle with us, was looking fresh as a daisy.  Clematis ‘Hagley Hybrid’ was growing strongly in a corner of the White Garden if I recall correctly.  The International Clematis Society recommends HH as a star for a shady corner, so that’s quite a recommendation.

Viburnum erubescens, Sissinghurst, June 2017

I was struck by the shining red berries on Viburnum erubescens, but we had missed the apparently gorgeous snowball-white flowers that adorn this small tree in May.  If you have the space, and a moist, semi-shady position, this would be a really attractive small tree/shrub to go for. The berries are only the second act, I would love to have seen the first.

And lastly, a plant that I had not realised I had grown, Digitalis ferruginea.  You know the way it is, a pot that loses the marker, a rosette of green, and a chance identification at le Jardin Champêtre. And then an ‘aha’…I did buy that seed once.  Such a strange and mysterious plant, I can quite see why Vita might well have chosen it, blooming out of time with other foxgloves, rusty brown flowers that have creamy centres, and a good rosette of leaves.  Easy from seed, as long as you remember you planted it!

Digitalis ferruginea, Sissinghurst, June 2017

Le Jardin Champêtre…great nursery, great story…

Tulipa ‘Little Beauty’ backstaged by Berkheya purpurea ‘Zulu Warrior’ and fronted by Dorycnium ‘Frejorgues’, Le Jardin Champêtre, Caunes-Minervois, late March 2017 Photo credit and thanks: Le Jardin Champêtre

Iris unguicularis ‘Mary Barnard’ nestling in amongst the grasses, Le Jardin Champêtre, Caunes-Minervois, February 2017

Tulipa clusiana ‘Cynthia’, Le Jardin Champêtre, Caunes-Minervois, late March 2017  Photo credit and thanks: Le Jardin Champêtre

If you are over in Minervois, this nursery should be on your list of places to visit.  I visited accidently last summer just as the nursery was opening for business, and since then, have been back again for a growingly-beautiful demonstration garden and evolving space with, this year, a new potager and more to come.  As well as that, Imogen Checketts and Kate Dumbleton, are developing a growing range of beautiful and tough perennials, grasses and shrubs for people and wildlife in a Mediterranean climate. All in all, good reasons for heading over to Caunes-Minervois and finding out more.

I was very intrigued by what I saw- not only from a plant selection point of view, but also, in the year of Brexit, I was curious as to why two young Englishwomen would choose to make a life in South West France right now, and to find out more about their experience of setting up a business here.

The taller spires of Miscanthus ‘Adagio’ glow, even on a dull day in February. Le Jardin Champêtre, Caunes-Minervois, February 2017

Imogen and Kate are both professional horticulturalists with strong connections to France, but their journey to Caunes-Minervois has been one of happy accident and serendipity.  Kate says,

‘I studied French and used to work in Paris but hadn’t planned to live in France again. Imogen had always wanted to live in France, having visited Normandy at age 11 and loved everything French; no-one in the Midlands was wearing white trainers, skinny jeans and scarves, or having cous-cous parties! ‘

France drew them both to it.

‘We initially came to France on a sabbatical year. Imogen was Head Gardener at Pensthorpe in North Norfolk, quite a dry, bright climate, and wanted to learn more about Mediterranean plants. I had recently retrained in horticulture and wanted to expand my plant and gardening knowledge. Our first garden was just minutes from the Roscoff ferry, the Jardin exotique de Roscoff, but most of the year was spent going West to East along the South of France and just into Italy to work at the Hanbury Botanical Gardens.’

Travelling through France West to East led to them discovering Caunes-Minervois, and the garden and nursery, ‘La Petite Pepiniere’ which was established and run by Gill Pound.  Imogen and Kate had the chance to take over the specialist nursery business from Gill, who still lives next door, and they both decided not to return to the UK, but to commit to a life in Caunes-Minervois.  Planting up for the first time onsite in the Spring of 2016 was the beginning of ‘Le Jardin Champêtre’.

Even in February, plants are shooting up, Le Jardin Champêtre, February 2017

And greening up only 5 weeks later, Le Jardin Champêtre, Caunes-Minervois, late March 2017 Photo credit and thanks: Le Jardin Champêtre

As Kate says,

‘The style of our garden is sort of Dutch new wave mixed with Mediterranean garrigue. The movement of grasses is key to the feel of the garden, which consists of layers of planting: low ground-covers, bulbs, medium height shrubs, tall perennials and trees. The taller grasses and other plants provide shade during the heat of summer, and we’ve dug out basins to capture rain water and watering, which allows us to grow a wider variety of plants. ‘

The demonstration garden and potager will continue to evolve, and they have already scheduled a range of events throughout the year, to introduce people to their style of gardening and their approach to gardening naturally without chemicals.   More about their approach and their passion for gardens as spaces for beauty, relaxation and the environment in a second part to this post.

Here they are: get down there and meet them….

19 bis avenue de la Montagne noire, 11160, Caunes-Minervois, France.Tel. 0780433262 (France) or email: lejardinchampetre@gmail.com

By appointment *all year* & every Saturday 10-5 from March to October.

 

Imogen in action and Kate lifting Melianthus, Le Jardin Champêtre, Caunes-Minervois, February 2017

 

 

Small things do you good…

Tostat looking South to the Pyrenees, February 2017

Like coming back across the fields with Molly the dog late this afternoon, and noticing the light on the snow in the distance, and hints of green appearing in the fields if not yet in the trees.  Also, looking down the river Adour this afternoon, which is replenished by the recent rain, and not just a pebble-run as it has been most of the winter, I thought to myself how very lucky I am to live here- I am often prone to thinking this when I contemplate a visit to a city!  Not that I don’t really enjoy the hustle and bustle, but it can be too strong a contrast sometimes.

The river Adour this afternoon, February 2017

Back in the woods around Tostat, we have some wonderful swathes of snowdrops, they seem really glorious this year, maybe because they made us wait till about 3 weeks ago to put in an appearance.

Tostat woods, Februar7 2017

Back in the garden, continuing the big attack on my congested border by the wall, Andy was hacking away at a long-past-best Phlomis fruticosa, more dratted wisteria adopting guerilla tactics behind it, and some Kerria japonica, which is also getting the order of the boot.  I love the yellow pompoms but that is all it does- not enough for me to continue to love it.  It has been a neglected spot, and one of those parts of the garden I have been avoiding- not any more.  The soil is actually quite good as there is some spring activity which keeps it from being bone-dry,  and although technically North-facing and with our boundary wall behind it, it actually gets a lot of sun in the morning catching it coming in from the East and then again in the mid to later afternoon.  So, it will be a good place, I think, for plants that don’t need it to be boiling and bone-dry.

So, I am going to thread some grasses through it, beginning with Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Red Head’ and then moving on to a new-to-me Miscanthus sinensis ‘Adagio’.  In some ways, I need more Miscanthus like a hole in the head, but this variety is so gorgeous, golden and upright and not tall, maybe just over a metre, and so I will man up for the seedlings.  More about this grass when I get a chance to blog more about ‘Le Jardin Champêtre’ in Caunes-Minervois, which was where I saw it for the first time a couple of weeks back.  Yes, I have got it so bad that an order went in pretty much immediately.

Then I have a lovely rose that survived my attempt to over-test its drought tolerance, Rosa ‘Alissar Princess of Phoenicia’, which spent last summer recuperating and is now back on song.  And in amongst that will be a new perennial for me, Kalimeris incisa ‘Madiva’.  This should have masses of light lilac daisies all summer and should not behave like sprinting Asters, which have almost been eradicated from the garden.  I am also going to try out my Abutilon megapotamicum drifting in arches over the heads of these plants, as I think I will be able to persuade it to do that with a bit of judicious plant support here and there.

Rosa Allissar, Princess of Phoenicia, Tostat, August 2016

Kalimeris incisa ‘Madiva’ photo credit: http://www.promessedefleurs.com

Chinese lanterns of Abutilon megapotamicum, Gill Pound’s garden, Caune-Minervois, June 2016

So we will see.  And the last delight?  Seedlings coming up of Colutea x media upstairs.  It was on ‘last strike or out’ stage after I have lost two previous small plants.  But these seedlings look really strong, so maybe they will make it.