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….

A very chilly olive…

Snowy olive, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

Winter returned good and proper at the weekend and for most of this coming week, and, rare, for Oloron, we had a good dusting of snow yesterday. The temperatures have been so volatile that I think the spring bulbs are stopped in their tracks until they have good experiential evidence of spring being on the way. But, I was really pleased to see all these baby Allium nigrums growing in amongst the clumps that I planted on the stony, ‘garrigue’ slope at the front. I think that I planted about 80 bulbs in groupings up and down the slope in the early winter of 2021, and probably 95% of them came good and flowered in May last year. After May, the slope was pretty much baked right up to October, But this seems to have really suited the Alliums.

Heavens knows why I didn’t take a photo last year, but here’s one from 2019 in Tostat. It is the simplest and, I think, the purest of all, white heads with emerging green seedheads as the flowering goes over, so though they may only be in flower for 3 weeks or so, the green heads remain until felled by weather. They are not expensive so lavish drifts are available to all! And if they reproduce as much as they seem to have this year, I will be joyfully awash with them, hooray.

Allium nigrum, Tostat, May 2019

Allium nigrum babies, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

A first timer to flowering, my pretty small Cornus Mas, now a good Im tall and wide having been planted as a stick 2 years ago, has flowered on bare stems last week. There is a scent, but my nose not being the greatest, I didn’t catch it really. The brilliant yellow flowers may be small, but they will pack a punch in years to come.

First flowers ever, Cornus mas, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

This photograph below is what inspired me to plant my one very small Cornus mas. This big planting of Cornus mas in the garden of The Pineapple, was so incredible that sunny day three years ago. I’ll have to wait a bit.

Massed Cornus mas planting in flower, the Pineapple, Scotland, February 2020

And here, whilst on the subject of Cornus mas, is the variegated form. The leaves are almost ghostly and make a fantastic effect cut through bright light. I have a suspicion too that the variegated form needs a good deal more moisture, so lusting after it is probably a dud idea. However, the regular form is actually really tough and drought tolerant, as evidenced by the fact that it is coping really well with the front slope.

Cornus mas Variegata, Greenbank Garden, Glasgow, May 2019

On the ground level of the front slope, I have many Euphorbias, but this one, Euphorbia rigida, is a real favourite. It needs the sharpest drainage possible and then it creeps along the ground and will eventually start sitting up more to form a small bush. Yellow is the colour.

Euphorbia rigida, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

I am really pleased with my two Medicargo arborea, each now standing a good metre high and beginning to fill out. They have what I would call a firm presence in the’garrigue’ garden because they remain green and upright regardless of the heat and drought. And I am a bit surprised that they have each produced one or two bright custard-coloured flowers despite the cold. I think the bit of rain that we finally had last week probably kicked them into action. It’s a pea relative as you can see.

First flowers on Medicargo arborea, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

One of the saddest things I did when we moved was to fail to properly protect my Plectranthus ‘Erma’ which I had grown from seed. I have never yet been able to find seed again, though I routinely look for it throughout Europe online. Last summer, though, I bought cuttings of Plectranthus zuluensis from an Etsy seller in Hungary, which amazingly rooted and filled out a terracotta trough. This winter, I brought it into the house and it is cheerfully flowering away in the sitting room window. The buds are brilliant, like a multi-headed arrow, and the soft blue flowers are small but quite lovely.

Plectranthus zuluensis bud, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

Plectranthus zuluensis flower, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

Sometimes the light is just right and I am there with the camera. So, below, from left to right is, a pruned down Caryopteris ‘Hint of Gold‘, a clump of spikey Dianella ‘Little Rev’, a couple of Helleborus sternii, Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Black Beauty’, Mahonia eurybracteata ‘Soft Caress’, and more Dianella ‘Little Rev’.

Barn Garden in the winter light, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

Kitchen crocus

Kitchen crocus, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2023

Ok. Buckle up. We now have a new climatic phenomenon, winter drought. I am not complaining, especially as Venice has drying out canals. But just realising that there is a new experience to integrate into what and how we garden. Newly planted shrubs in the Barn Garden are crying out for water, and I did crack this morning and give a can or two even though, for the first time in more than 30 days, some rain is expected this week. But, unless it is slow and unrelenting, and continues for days and days, it will not restore the water table and we will go into the Spring with a big deficit. I would never have thought, being so close to the Pyrenees that I would need a water butt. But I do. And will be installing one very soon.

So, in the garden things are looking very sorry for themselves and not really very early Spring-like at all, whereas we already have had sunlit evenings lasting until 7pm. A spot more plant removal has been going on this week. Four clumps of hellebores that are seriously struggling with the drought and the unexpected sunshine have been lifted and are being convalesced prior to finding a spot in the Barn Garden, where at least I can guarantee some shade, if not damp. That might be enough to restore their fortunes.

My Derry Watkins Helleborus sternii, February 2023, Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie

About 5 years ago, I had a go at growing Helleborus sternii from seed bought from Derry Watkins‘ fantastic Special Plants. She has a seed list to die for. I grew five little plants successfully, gave one away to the Eldest Daughter, and kept four in the Barn Garden. Ironically, the one that is doing the best is actually the one almost in some winter sunlight. The others are nearby, but underplanting a Mahonia eurybracteata ‘Soft Caress’. The snag is that the Mahonia, grown young in semi-shade, is a spot contorted and has provided almost too much cover for the Hellebores, which have responded by flowering almost along the ground. Never mind, some corrections to be made later on.

Helleborus sternii is not a blingy plant, it has tough, spiked, deep green leaves, and almond shaped buds that open to a soft green flower, with prominent stamens. I really love it. Two of the other plants have gone the bruised look- a strongish purply crimson colouring in the green of the leaves, and flowers that look as if they’ve been in a boxing ring- losing. But they are also very beautiful in a discreet kind of a way.

Helleborus sternii- losing the bout, Barn Garden, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

Mysterious cerinthe, Barn Garden, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

Only 5 or 6 years ago, I used to grow Cerinthe from seed in the Autumn, plant them out before Christmas and would know, for sure, that they would be bushy plants by March. This I did last year, and now I am looking at spriglet plants trying their best, but essentially only a few leaves bigger than when I planted them out. This is a bit sad. But they are flowering, and they are not just yellow but also have these inky bottoms to the flowers. I can’t remember if I bought a special variety- but on the whole I do like the yellow form although the ubiquitous blue is also good. Easy peasy, bu they do need rain.

Loropetalum chinensis ‘Fire Dance’, Barn Garden, February 2023, Oloron Sainte Marie

I wouldn’t want to oversell this. I bought this Loropetalum because I have lifted all the wayward growing Eucomis bulbs, of which more another time, and replanted the big pot with this early flowering shrub. I do love the pinky crimson finger shape of the flowers and am really looking forward to this becoming a very handsome addition to the Garden. But this is it’s first winter, and probably because it flowers on old wood, all the flowers in this first year are underneath the leaves. Still, this will change. The foliage is a lovely dark purple and so looks great even in the winter. I really wanted a darker red variety, but this is a newish shrub to France and there wasn’t much choice. No big regrets so far.

Back on the kitchen table, I briefly adored the bright yellow crocus flowers with brown striations, which our lovely bio lady at the market had sweetly potted up with her own moss. Gone now, but they were fabulous as a precursor to the bulbs in containers outside. This is the frustrating part of early Spring when waiting for plants to get going seems to slow down. Let’s pray for rain.

August in Oloron…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kitaibelia vitifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2021

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

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

Rain…

Glistening raindrops on Muhlenbergia capillaris with Andropogon gerardii ‘Rain Dance’ in the background, Tostat, November 201

Sizeable amounts of fine and persistent rain have fallen finally.  And now the River Adour looks like a river, not just a large puddle.  Not normally a gratifying experience, rain, but I have been quite enthralled by it, as has the garden.  Although it is becoming very chilly at nights, plants are still growing, and many have made a remarkable come-back from the arid conditions of the summer and autumn.  I have been wandering about, as well as doing more practical jobs, mainly noticing how much has in fact recovered.  One or two plants have gone beyond recovery and have actually mistaken all of this for Spring.  Both the Rosa banksiae, the yellow and the cream coloured one, have sporadically flowered.

Rosa banksiae lutea, Tostat, November 2017

The cooling temperatures, and a couple of frosts, more predicted for tonight, have brought out the colours in some plants- something which I had thought we might miss out on owing to the dryness.  Euonymus alatus ‘Compactus’ is rightly one of those Autumn starlets, and the cold and wet, have given the leaves an almost glossy finish.

Rain-soaked colouring on Euonymus elatus ‘Compactus’, Tostat, November 2017

The unknown orange Abutilon which I love very much for the endless supply of soft orange chinese lantern-type flowers, is still going, but the Berberis, with the very long name, has abandoned itself to scarlet, scarlet drop-shaped berries and the leaves.

Berberis thunbergii f. atropurpurea ‘Helmond Pillar’, Tostat, November 2017

Having looked very sorry for itself most of the last few months, my small and experimental Stumpery is enjoying the cool and the wet.  The Persicaria is turning buttery, but the two ferns at the front, Dryopteris atrata, are growing back, and the blue-green fronds of the new Mahonia, well, new this year to me, Mahonia eurybracteata ‘Soft Caress’ have handled the year well and are looking fresh.  This is a slow spot for growth, shady but often dry, and tough, tough stony, poor soil, but like everywhere else, I am just trying to see what will work, and grow, even in less than ideal conditions.

The Stumpery, Tostat, November 2017

Today, one of the Salvia confertiflora flowers finally began to open, with small, cream-lipped orange-red flowers pushing through the red velvet bracts.  Now there’s something you don’t often see- even if it is inside in our cold, but not freezing hall.

Salvia confertiflora, Tostat, November 2017