Burnout…or not quite

Looking again…Yucca with Bupleurum fruticosum, Miscanthus strictus, looking across to Hydrangea Annabelle, Tostat, July 2017

The last two weeks of June were a flurry of gardens, visiting friends and reprogramming my eyes to a different kind of English luxuriousness and verdant views.  More of all of this in time.  But coming back home on Saturday evening to 11C and pelting rain, we lit the woodburner to warm ourselves and our frozen housesitters.  Venturing out early on Sunday morning, with eyes still working to English levels of greenness,  I was aghast.  The garden looked as if it had had a blowtorch taken to it.  More than a week of temperatures in the high 30Cs and not a drop of rain, not to mention hot winds had really taken its toll, despite the care and attention of the housesitters.

But.  As my eyes adjusted back to my own garden, I actually had a lot of cause for celebration which I came to see as I went round looking in detail.  First of all, not much had actually died.  I may have lost one Rhamnus frangula ‘Fine Line’, but the other one is recovering even now, and so maybe it will too.  Burnt edges could be seen everywhere, but not much actual death.  And, this early July period is a bit of a ‘Potter’s Wheel’.  It’s always the time where the earlier summer flowering has gone over and the mid to late summer plants haven’t yet hit their stride, and really I should know this by now.

So major redesign panic over.   And a few days later, with sight fully restored to normal settings, I was able to appreciate the plants that had persevered and come through.  And there were one or two real surprises in the mix.  For example, new to me this year, was Kalimeris incisa ‘Madiva’– and it has proved a real stalwart.  In a new area, which I suspect does actually have some spring activity deep down, it is blooming really well, along with clumps of my cheap-as-chips Liatris spicata and a new annual purple millet that I grew from seed, Pennistum glaucum ‘Purple Baron’.  The Kalimeris is a 0.75cms high neat clump of bright green foliage, with mauve flowers fading to white, and is very pretty.  Let’s see what happens with spread and seeding, but it looks like a really good doer to me.

Kalimeris incisa ‘Madiva’, Liatris spicata and Pennisetum glaucum ‘Purple Baron’, Tostat, July 2017

Kalimeris incisa ‘Madiva’, Tostat, July 2017

The next morning, in the dappled sunshine early on in a part of the border by the wall that is a right mess- project for early 2018, even though my teeth were slightly setting at the disarray, a timid Southern White butterfly was enjoying Echinacea ‘White Swan’.  It seemed really good to be home.

Southern White Admiral butterfly enjoying Echinacea ‘White Swan’, Tostat, July 2017

Traces of the past…

Behind our young multi-stemmed Betula Jacquemontii, you can see one of the surviving oak children from the original oak forest, Tostat, January 2017

Our house faces East at the front, whereas most village houses face South, and are at right angles to the village road.  Back in the eighteenth century, we wondered if whoever built it, was a self-aggrandiser, who wanted to make a big statement about his importance and presence in the village.  He might have been that, but, recently, we discovered that back then, the rear of the house was totally protected from the Westerlies ( our prevailing weather direction) by a forest of oak trees which extended as far as the Adour river, 2 fields away.  This morning, as an exceptional freezing fog lifted to brilliant sunshine, I was struck by the frosted silhouette of an oak tree in the field where the forest had been, adding grandeur to our garden horizon and the birch tree, so tiny when we first came nearly 13 years ago.

The freeze this winter has been unlike any other we have experienced in the house. At least half of December and all of this month, temperatures at night have hovered around -4C or down to -7C several times, and not got into double figures at all during the day.  I keep doing morning checks to see what may be in trouble in the garden, and I am actually astonished not to find corpses everywhere. I think that this is solely due to the dryness of the soil, and the fact that we have had very little rain- which may presage a wet Spring- but then, who knows anymore what is normal.  Don’t talk to me about Trump.

Today will be the last of the bitter cold, they say.

Frosted Eucalyptus gunnii ‘Azura’, Tostat, January 2017

Frosted olive, Tostat, January 2017

Frosted Miscanthus Strictus caught in the sun, Tostat, January 2017

 

 

 

Back from the Via de la Plata

November grasses, Tostat 2015

We are back from our wonderful 43 days of walking the 1000k of the Via de la Plata from Seville to Santiago de Compostela. I will write something about this journey in the blog once the impressions have settled in my head, but now is too early.  Rejoining everyday life back in the village has been a strange business- perhaps because walking every day creates such a sharp, clear focus.  Everyday life is less intense.

Meanwhile, back in Tostat, there has been a real Indian summer lasting right up to last weekend when normal end of November temperatures kicked back in.  So, coming back felt a bit like the return of Rip van Winkle- warmth and sunshine just as when we left on 20th September. Meeting the garden again has been a joy.

The clumps of Miscanthus, Silberfeder and Strictus, have become statuesque in our absence. They had just begun to flower in September as we had had such a hot, dry summer.  Note to self: one too many clumps really, in danger of becoming a forest in my opinion.  So one of them will go.

I also missed the peak of the flowering of Chysanthemum ‘Chelsea Physic Garden’, but one tiny bunch still looked fresh, so here they are.

Chysanthemum ‘Chelsea Physic Garden’, Tostat, November 2015

I am not a huge chrysanthemum fan, but this one, with burnished, tawny, orange colouring and gold tips, really appeals to me. I bought a plant about 3 years ago, and immediately split it, took cuttings and pretty much butchered it for propagation’s sake.

Last year, it should have been in really good shape, but I was lucky not to lose them with poor overwintering. I now know that it will take very low temperatures as long as it is pretty much bone-dry and nowadays I keep the plants in the open barn, which means that the only thing that they don’t get is…wet.  They seem to like this.  Cuttings take easily, and so I should be able to fill several pots this coming year.  Flowering is really late, around the end of October, even early November depending on the weather.

Unknown orange abutilon and ‘Salvia Waverly’, Tostat, November 2015

Sometimes combinations do really work- in the end. I love this. It bowled me over when I got back.  The sharpness of the orange contrasts beautifully with the pale mauve and dark purple of the Salvia. Both these plants have astonished me.  The orange abutilon was an unidentified cutting that I bought from ebay years ago.  It was something I never quite found a home for, and so languished in a pot for years, bunged behind our pergola.

But, last year, I decided to allow it full rein, and dug it in with four tiny plugs of a Salvia new to me, ‘Waverly’.  Both have really won through against the odds.  A soaking wet February after I had planted them in, followed in May and June with baking temperatures, and then prolonged dryness for the rest of the summer meant tough conditions.  There must have been some rain whilst we were away but I know there wasn’t a deluge, though the temperatures abated to the mid20s.   Salvia ‘Waverly’ is now four immense plants, easily 1.3m each both tall and wide, and has flowered like a train.  The abutilon has recovered its aplomb and done the same. What a result.  But two Salvia ‘Waverly’ will be enough, as right now the area resembles a Salvia forest. New homes for two plants next year.

Sphaeralcea munroana (or maybe not), Tostat, November 2015

Sphaeralcea munroana was a new plant to me this year.  I chose it for the driest and hottest part of the garden, and rather hoped it would become an upright and substantial presence.  Well, it has, but not in an upright way. The dainty pink flowers seem to keep coming no matter what, although they are small, and the serrated pale green leaves are suprisingly decorative.  This plant is definitely a tumbler, not a standing giant. Interestingly, the link above clearly describes some labelling and identification problems with this plant, so maybe I ended up with an imposter after all.  Never mind.  But, something will need to be done in the presence department, even if it has done a good job of filling in between other plants and thereby earned its keep.