A misty day before we go…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this is the last post before Rabat!

We all need Phlomis in our lives…

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

I am trying out a brave and maybe foolhardy experiment in the sloping, stony and hitherto uncultivated front garden. Given that it is stony and pretty unforgiving, as well as being in full sun almost all day, I had already thought that it could offer a great opportunity to grow cuttings of many of my dry garden plants from the old garden in Tostat. So, I had originally imagined that I would tip much more gravel on top of the stony ground and plant through that, having pulled or dug out as much as I could see that I didn’t want, too many dandelions and way too much bindweed and bramble for example. But….it wasn’t possible to buy any gravel in lockdown, and so, watching the early spring passing by, I went for the Big Gamble.

What if I just planted my small plants anyway? Waiting wasn’t a good option. Firstly, plants like this get impatient in pots generally having massed fibrous root systems or tap roots, both of which want to be in the ground when young. Secondly, I thought that, as long as I didn’t let the bindweed and bramble get too boisterous, with any luck my plants would begin to bulk up this year and be in really good shape next year to dominate any existing plants without me having to wage war on their behalf.

So, in they all went, probably more than 50 small plants grown as cuttings and some new plants bought small, as well as various others kindly given to the new garden. Most were planted by pickaxe as huge numbers of river boulders, probably from surrounding walls that had fallen down, were everywhere. One plant took more than an hour to get into the ground, as 4 or 5 massive 5kg boulders had to be hand extracted by pickaxe. There was a lot of sweat and much swearing.

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, Tostat, April 2020

And 4 months later, I am quietly confident that the Big Gamble has paid off. To be completely fair, I still have quite a bit of bramble and bindweed, and a sprinkling of very mixed existing plants, such as self-sown Nigella and some flowering weeds. But I am not very bothered by them. The idea was to make a planting of plants that would respond well to the conditions, and let them manage the landscape, accepting those existing plants, whatever they are, that can co-exist. The new plants are slowly taking their place and beginning to be visible through the mix, which means that next year, the space will look very different. Some things have failed, particularly one or two of the bought plants- but my homegrown plants are gaining traction, particularly the Phlomis.

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, which flowered last Spring in Tostat, later unluckily (it is very small) was strimmed to the ground by Andy, so what came here was a seriously pygmy ‘Pygmy’. But the photo at the top of this post shows you the plant today- looking very good and seriously grown-up to the fullish height of 0.25m.

Phlomis x termessii, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

The golden Phlomis, x termessii is really looking at home. It has had a bit of a heat problem during our very dry patch of six weeks or so in Spring, but the new growth looks really great so I am looking forward to it tripling in size and flowering in April next year. Like everything else on the slope, I have only spot-watered when a plant looked to be in serious trouble, so I am ok with plants struggling a bit as this will stimulate better and deeper root growth for the future.

Phlomis boveii subsp. maroccana, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

I am really looking forward to this Phlomis boveii, it has tall, pale pink flowers in the late Spring, and is bulking up really well. Early leaves got a bit burnt by dryness in February, but the plant has recovered well and looks set for next year.

Senecio vira-vira, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Moving to a plant that was new to me, I am surprised and delighted by this funny-looking Senecio vira-vira. It is incredibly brittle, so don’t plant it anywhere where it will be knocked or bashed. I didn’t put it in the best places, but the upside of bits breaking off is that they root in water in a bright kitchen within 10 days or so, so I have generated about half a dozen new plants already. The flowers are insignificant as the foliage is the real deal, silvery white and felted, so that it looks like very touchable marble. I really like it. I think it will make a mound in the end.

Phlomis purpurea and Greek Oregano, Tostat, April 2020

I didn’t bring Phlomis purpurea. A mistake. It is a lovely thing, so I am on the hunt for one.

Eryngium eburneum, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Eryngium eburneum has had a struggle but looking at the new growth at the base of the rosette, I reckon that it has cracked it and will be back bigger and stronger next year.

Euphorbia pithyusa ‘Ponte Leccia’, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Euphorbia pithyusa ‘Ponte Leccia’ is a beautiful, elegant and refined euphorbia. It develops into a finely wafting mound which offers the same movement as a grass, with soft green fronds that blend in really well even if planted closely to other plants.

I went for broke and also wanted to try out planting Achillea crithmifolia as a protective barrier around my new acquired Rosa mutabilis. I have been reading a little about allelopathic plants, and thought that this would be an interesting experiment in miniature. So far so good, not much has got through, just a twig of bindweed which might be too butch for the Achillea to manage. We will see.

Rosa mutabilis and Achillea crithmifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2021

Planting with a pick-axe: part two

View of our sloping, stony garden, early February 2021 with the first fence posts, Oloron Sainte Marie

I have grown to love stony, poor soil since leaving Scotland. Just as well, you might say, on looking at the front garden space. We are on the brow of a little hill, which creates the slope, and over the years, giant rocky pieces and massive river galets from drystone walls that have tumbled down have contributed to make our front area, just across a small lane from our gate, a not very inspiring start for a garden. But if you think ‘garrigue’, a mix of sub-shrubs, trees and grasses common in Provence and the Languedoc, it all begins to look very promising. These plants all need sharp drainage, poor soil, sun, and rock and stone to accompany them. This week, planting with a pick axe took on a whole new dimension of effort- more later.

On the other side of the stony slope, we have a woodland area with shade and more moisture in the soil as you can see in the photograph below. This is also where the dreaded bamboo incursion has taken place, wrecking the old stone wall and advancing towards us. But we are going to win, even if it takes us five years. We have the municipality on our side, who are planning to revive the old chemin (which the bamboo has crossed to get to us), and this will mean, cross fingers, that with their heavy gear, they will rip the bamboo out, probably finish off the remains of our wall but that’s ok, and restore the chemin. This will leave us to tackle the bamboo escaping in our direction, and to rebuild the wall if we can afford it, or fence.

View of the woodland side at the front, worker at rest, March 2021, Oloron Sainte Marie

Reason why worker is resting, the Bamboo Battle, March 2021, Oloron Sainte Marie

So, the front garden is a tale of two halves, but both are exciting, and exhausting. After 4 mornings of massive rock extraction and pick-axe planting, I have rediscovered arm muscles I had forgotten I had. But, aside from the flatter section at the bottom, the slope has been planted. These garrigue plants needed, I thought, very little around them other than the stones that exist naturally. So this is going to be a sort of bare planting, a path, sort of, naturally developing where we haven’t planted, and gravel pockets for each plant to preserve moisture. There are dandelions by the millions, some of which I have dug out, but the rest will stay, with us controlling them lightly with strimming. There is also some bramble, but not too much, so again, I will just keep yanking it out when I see it- a small amount of bindweed is also there and the same applies. A few years of vigilance will do the trick. Of course, just removing rocks and digging plants in will have shaken the undesirable populations into action, but we will be on it.

Meanwhile, on the sunny, stony side, pick-axe planting includes Cornus mas, Teucrium fruticans, Phlomis termessii, Cistus monspeliensis, March 2021, Oloron Sainte Marie

And a grouping of Juniperus scopulorum ‘Blue Arrow‘ and Phillyrea angustifolia, March 2021, Oloron Sainte Marie

A view up the slope, showing Juniperus scopulorum ‘Blue Arrow’ with a ribbon of Dianella caerulea ‘Cassa Blue‘ above them, and an Agave brought from Tostat, March 2021, Oloron Sainte Marie

In the photograph above, you can also see the fencing we have put up and the small gate that Tony made for us.

And in another view, the Stipa tenuissima shines in the sun, as does a favourite Eryngium eburneum, and from Beth Chatto’s nursery years ago, a delicate little Euphorbia seguieriana, in the foreground, March 2021, Oloron Sainte Marie

And from last year, a photograph I took of Eryngium eburneum flowerheads, rising to 1.3 metres above the plant this time last year. The planted ones will take a while to get going, but I am looking forward to it.

Eryngium eburneum, the fabulous flowerheads, March 2019, Tostat

The delicate Euphorbia seguieriana just planted, March 2021, Oloron Sainte Marie

The one plant that I didn’t take a cutting of, was Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’. I should have, as my huge specimen went in a bonfire in Tostat most likely. But I have just bought a good looking one to plant out- and this afternoon, right at the back of all the plants that I brought with me, I found a rose cutting that I had forgotten about. So, there is a good chance that I have a ‘Mutabilis’ cutting, it’s lost it’s label, so I need to wait and see- but that would be a good end to that story, wouldn’t it?

Rosa chinensis Mutabilis, August 2015, Tostat

The grand tour…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking towards the new pond, Tostat, April 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visiting Sombrun

One of the lovely old wrought iron fences and gates, with (?) Clematis Dr Ruppel getting going, Sombrun, May 2017

I love visiting gardens.  Old friends, new friends, places that I have never been and old favourites are all alike in that I just love seeing gardens, other people’s ways of using their space, and inhabiting their world for a short time.  And when you meet people who have tackled, and are still tackling, an impressive amount of space, with open areas, courtyards, woodlands and open meadows- it is quite humbling.  In Sombrun, a village about 30 minutes from us, a couple have done just that.  These are not flowery people or the gardener who might have a trough of alpines on display- this couple wanted a ‘green garden’ and so have set about their big space with the eyes of landscape designers rather than gardeners.

Using the woodland but adding the definition of the clipped stairway alongside the actual steps, Sombrun, May 2017

With mature woodland on almost three sides, they have chosen to melt the garden into the borrowed landscape in all sorts of clever ways.  I loved this faux hedging staircase alongside the actual steps, which shows so well that just a little formality can bring a disparate woodland scene together.

The angular, zigzagged hedge snakes up the hill away from the rear courtyard, Sombrun, May 2017

But there are areas where the dense privacy of a really good hedge was needed.  And so, working its way up the hill is a long, zigzagged hedge of beech, which embraces the newer tree planting in the angles of the zigzag.

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ in another crook of the opposite beech hedge, Sombrun, May 2017

And now and then, there is a flash of colour, like the Mutabilis rose snuggled into a crook of the beech hedge.   Another bold choice was to create tiered sweeps of hedging taking you away from the courtyard to the start of the hill, I love Eleagnus x ebbingei for its silvery look and slightly stiff shaping, and it was a great choice to make this statement.

Eleagnus ebbingei tiered hedging looking very silvery, Sombrun, May 2017

To soften the hedging emphasis, the grass is allowed to be longer, to support buttercups and other wild flowers, with mown areas where a passageway is needed.  This made for a relaxed feel in amongst the big formal strokes.  And green it is- I loved the faux crowns of Phormium sprouting through the spreading conifers.

A hedging archway, with spreading groups of conifer crowned by the upright Phormiums, Sombrun, May 2017

One mixed border runs close by the side of the house, where clipped shapes and big, spreading shrubs are supported by perennials- this area used to be a woodland, but the removal of the trees opened up light and air for the house- you can still see the tree stumps through the grass.

A mixed border close to the house, Sombrun, May 2017

Pencil cypresses draw the eye up and out of the rear courtyard, past the pretty cart- as if the farmer had just pulled up there.  The swimming pool can just be seen because of the cover, with a large cream Cistus flowering at the far side.

The rear courtyard, Sombrun, May 2017

I was running round the garden as a big, cold storm piled in- so my last stop was to get closer to the pink clematis twisting through the old iron fencing at the front of the house. There were lots of photographs that never got taken!

The bright pink of Clematis ‘Dr Ruppel’ (?), Sombrun, May 2017

Such strange times….

Cistus x purpureus, Tostat, April 2017

Never mind the politics on either side of the Channel, at the moment, we have hurtled from mid-Spring to high summer with barely a heartbeat between.  The last 3 weeks have been so warm and sunny that everything in the garden is straining at the leash, but, at the same time, short and depleted as we have had no rain to combat the sudden warmth.  I have never had to seriously water tulips in pots before.   So bizarre and a bit worrying, all out of joint somehow.  But, on the positive side, it is rather wonderful to see almost all the roses in the garden out together, rather than the Banksiae rose being a solo turn for at least a month.

Rosa banksiae lutea, Tostat, April 2017

The downside is that the normally tall and wafty Thalictrum aquilegifolium (usually 1.5-2m high) is under a metre high, still, from a photography point of view, it is amazing to be so close to the powderpuff flowers, and on a sunny day against the dark stream bank, it looks almost spectral.

Thalictrum aquilegifolium, Tostat, April 2017

It isn’t possible to do any weeding at all as the soil has baked dry, and so the weed friends are having a great, if slightly dwarf, experience, and there are parts of the garden that I haven’t made it round to yet.  The penalties of being away, having lovely friends to stay and the weather- never mind.  I am currently enjoying, though she can be quite tart (!), ‘The Deckchair Gardener’ by Anne Wareham, which reassures my dutiful-daughter persona that nothing will be lost by weeding later or not at all!

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’, Tostat, April 2017

Sticking with the roses briefly, here they are, looking the best that they have for years. For them, I suspect, the drought is not too problematic as they are really well-established, but the warmth has been accompanied by cool, refreshing nights and so this may be really suiting them down to ground.

Rosa ‘Crepuscule’, I think, Tostat, April 2017

I adore this blousy old rose, which I think is ‘Crepuscule’.  It has gorgeous, warm, coppery colouring which fades to a creamy yellow and apricot- and a sweet, deep scent.  It doesn’t produce many flowers but they are all worth the wait.

Rosa ‘Jacqueline du Pré’, Tostat, April 2017

 

‘Jacqueline du Pré’ is a rose that I once attempted to smuggle back from the UK in hand luggage, but gave it up as a bad idea.  It now lives happily in Shropshire with my friend, Jane.  But last year, it appeared in France and so that was the green light.  It is only an infant but even now, has four beautiful flowers, which are probably going to be smashed by the heavy rain that we are finally promised this afternoon. So I dashed out to take it’s portrait whilst intact.

Rosa ‘Pierre Ronsard’, Tostat, April 2017

‘Pierre Ronsard’ opens to a dark pink, tightly furled centre, with pale outer petals and then settles into domesticity as above, looking, well, pink.  But it is a lovely shape and I adore the tightness of the furled petals.  Useless for insects unless they had mining equipment, but lovely all the same.

Rosa ‘Madame Alfred Carrière’, Tostat, April 2017

MAC is curently flowering amongst the euphorbias, and other remnants of Spring, in a dry and sandy location- but it is looking fabulous, hurling itself over a wall and shooting up in the air.  What an extraordinary athlete this rose is.  I can’t recommend it enough as totally trouble-free rose- and it flowers off and on all summer in spates.

Rosa ‘Zephérine Drouhin’, Tostat, April 2017

Looking for a thornless, trouble-free climbing rose that needs a little support, but after that, will dig in forever- ‘Zephérine Drouhin’ is the one for you.  Lipstick pink is matched with bright green foliage and she now measures about 4m x 3m with me, and is still going up, draping herself very nicely over the end of the house and the covered barn. She is a showstopper when in full flow, which is expected to be next week once the rain passes over.

And at the other end of the scale,  Begonia grandis evansiana is making a start in a massive pot.  By the middle of June, the pot will be filled by it, reaching 1.5m high and wide, and it is such a good doer that I forgive it for being a begonia.  Waiting now for the rain…

Begonia grandis evansiana, Tostat, April 2017

All change. The blog, the climate and me…

End of the afternoon sunlight, Tostat, November 2016

It’s been almost two months since the last post. And, it is almost the end of the second year of this blog, which started out as an experiment in not boring myself, and trying out what has become a real conversation with not just me, but with readers whose responses I really enjoy and look forward to.

So, a month travelling in Ethiopia, a couple of weeks working on and running a weekend retreat here in English and French, preparing for and having our interviews for French citizenship, and having young people, ill and well, for a week or so- all that filled time and took time.  And allowed me to think about what I am doing here in this blog.

So, I have moved to my own domain platform for the blog.  You can now get to it by just typing

http://www.jardinecofriendly.com

and there will be no more irritating adverts slowing things up.  And I have tidied up the main page a wee bit, with some new photographs.

And, more importantly, I am reminding myself that what I do in my garden matters for the ecosystem as a whole, and so, my principle of using no additional water (with the possible exception of some hand-watering in hot months of the first year of growth in the case of perennials and shrubs) is uppermost in my mind as I think about climate change.  Which is really on my mind, and what is coming out of Trump Tower is very bad news indeed.  But, at almost the same time as the US elections, I watched an incredible documentary film (thank you Erica), which has both hardened my resolve and strengthened my spirit.

The film is ‘Demain’ made by the actress Melanie Laurent and colleagues- watch it, it is hard, scary and utterly fabulous.   The first time I have got beyond being simply scared about climate change- and begun to move towards really identifying what I can do myself- and with others.  Google it and you will find ways to see it.

So, what this means in terms of the garden is this:  I am even more concerned to source plants as locally as I can, to grow from seed what I can’t easily get, and to focus down on recognising that hot, dry summers and wet winters/spring are probably the pattern for the next few years.  So this means looking to research plants that thrive in areas with these conditions- notably the Mid-Western and Northern Californian areas in particular.  I recognise that I will also need to find forgiving plants that will tolerate something less drastic as well for those many inbetween days.

But meantime, there is lots to talk about from autumn trips and plans for next year, so I will step down off my plinth and simply share some photographs of what is still looking lovely in the garden, even now.

The acer colouring is simply the best it has ever been…Tostat, November 2016

Even the apple tree has joined in…Tostat, November 2016

Miscanthus on the left, Berberis ‘Helmond Pillar’ looking red in the face, and Populus deltoides ‘Purple Tower’ going buttery against the banana, Tostat, November 2016

It won’t be the last rose, Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’, Tostat, November 2016

 

 

 

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ and Le Bois des Moutiers

Sometimes, a visit to a garden introduces you to an unforgettable plant, idea or atmosphere which stays with you. Back in 1990, as a new gardener with not much under my belt, I visited Le Bois des Moutiers, an unforgettable house and garden near Varengeville-sur-Mer, in Normandy. And the plant that I saw there which became one of the first things I bought when we moved to Tostat, was Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’.

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ August 2014

It is a wonderful shrub rose. It will grow almost anywhere, is pretty much evergreen all year, requires no pruning other than dead bits, grows away to itself until, in our case, it reaches 3m x 3m, and it flowers for 8-9 months of the year in bursts. It also needs no watering or special feeding of any kind. And when it flowers, it is as if a crowd of peach, pale cream, dark pink and buttery yellow butterflies have landed on the bush. The flowers are single, and crinkle up, so that they really do resemble butterflies en masse. And the colours change as the flower ages, from buttery yellow to deep deep pink. For me, it is one of the highlights of our ‘Shitty Bank’, see my earlier blog for more details.

And I first saw it at Le Bois Des Moutiers. The link takes you to the opening page of their website, and there is a video embedded which will give you a really good idea of how beautiful it is. Still owned and run by the Mallet family, who first commissioned Edwin Lutyens and his friend and associate, Gertrude Jekyll to design the house and the garden, it is a ‘must-see’ if you are in Haute-Normandie. The house is now open for visits guided by family members, and the gardens are open as well.

When we went in late summer 1990, Rosa chinenis ‘Mutabilis’ was flowering magnificently, and I was smitten for ever. Below, are 2 photographs from 1990, which show the Rose placed to front a woodland garden area, and it can be clearly seen mid-right in the second photograph showing the broad allee running down from the house. I remember seeing the then Mme Mallet in wellies in the front garden of the house, and I asked her for the name of the rose, and also for any plant nurseries she would personally recommend. She helped me with both with real interest.

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ fronting a woodland planting (centre): Le Bois des Moutiers 1990

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ (mid right) and the allee leading back up the house: Le Bois des Moutiers 1990

Here are 2 other views of the house and garden from that visit. In the first, I can be seen bottom-left in a large flowery t-shirt walking towards the house. It is a fantastic example of an Arts and Crafts house with many original pieces of furniture still in place that were specially designed for the house and Guillaume Mallet. In the second photograph, a very young looking Andy can be seen in front of a view of the house and the enormous Lutyens pergola.

Le Bois des Moutiers 1990: Me in a flowery t-shirt and the front of the house

Le Bois des Moutiers 1990: a young looking Andy in front of the house and the Lutyens pergola

And whilst you are there, you can see the stunning Braque stained glass windows in the little church and chapel at Varengeville, and if you are in the mood for another garden, the late Princess Greta Sturdza‘s garden (which is on my list) can be seen at Le Vasterival. If you want to make a visit, the website includes all the information about the various ways of organising a visit but all are by appointment, so need to be arranged in advance. Princess Sturdza was a breeder of hydrangea, amongst other things, and I have just bought Hydrangea paniculata ‘Great Star’ which was discovered and bred by her. Got to make a trip to Normandy….

When Shitty Bank isn’t so shitty….

The site of Shitty Bank 2003

This is the site of Shitty Bank when we first saw it in 2003.  There is no bank, and it’s not that…bad! Dried out as a result of a huge heatwave that hit France for a month in August 2003, but otherwise fine.  This is was where we decided to put the swimming pool that we built 3 years later, mainly because it was flat, a bit screened by a big hedge from our really nice neighbours, and it was a sun-trap.  So in it went, and with it came a massive heap of spoil, rubbish soil with huge river stones in it, and not much else.

What to do? Well, I had recently read Beth Chatto’s great book about gravel gardening…a new subject to me having previously gardened in Scotland. And so, emboldened by her experiment in gardening with what she’d got, an old carpark space, I decided to do the same with our bank of spoil. An old friend came to visit, laughed, and promptly christened it ‘Shitty Bank’. The name stuck.

Lessons learnt:

– if, like me, your ground is poor and stoney, it will take a couple of years for plants to get their feet down and really take off. So patience really is a virtue.

– don’t bother with ‘small and interesting’ plants…go for rough, tough stuff that will see off all the bindweed and other weeds, or at least sit on them. The ‘small and interesting’ things just get lost in the bigger things and don’t make it. I love Nepeta tuberosa, and did have a good clump which I grew from seed, but rain and other plants pushed it out, and now I have it in a kinder place.

– do plant beautiful and tolerant plants. Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ loves it. She started as a one-foot weakling and is now 3m high x 4m spread.  A few years ago, we had quite a wet summer and the bindweed was growing to serious strangulation point.  So, in the winter, we crawled underneath and anchored black tarpaulin material as tightly as we could around the underneath of the rose.  This has been quite effective and reduced the bindweed by about 80%. With us, this rose is in bloom for easily 10 months of the year.

Rosa chinensis ‘Mutabilis’ changes from yellow to peach to deep pink as the flowers age..

– another toughie, which is now a small tree, is Vitex agnus castus, which has fabulous purple blossom in late summer.

Vitex agnus castus flowering amongst Eryngium agavifolium

– and I wouldn’t be without, though it doesn’t last long, I love the way the colour in the flowers fills up like a cartoon blush, and it does happily colonise everywhere….Echinops sphaerocephalus ‘Arctic Glow’.

Echinops sphaerocephalus ‘Arctic Glow’

And, although like everything else in the garden, there is constant change as plants, and me, change our minds about each other, and each year brings new weather challenges, Shitty Bank does a good job and I have learnt that it survives pretty well now with one really good tidy-up of bramble, bindweed and their pals each year. And now, the plants are big enough to fend for themselves.

Small footnote: I grew my Nepeta tuberosa from seed from Derry Watkins at Special Plants, near Bath, back in 2005.  She is a fount of wisdom, and her brochure is a torture to read- you could choose everything.  Her seed is always good.  If she was down the road from me, I would be penniless.

Early Shitty Bank: Rosa sanguinea, Armeria maritima Dusseldorf Pride  (pink), Stachys byzantina, yellow Asphodeline lute, Euphorbia characias wulfenii