Thoughts on planting and weeding…

Verbena bonarienisis with Daucus carota, Tostat, July 2019

Forced inside by the massive heat last week, I took to reading about gardens rather than gardening. Also, I am in a reflective state about the garden at the moment as I am noticing the changes from having less ‘arm’ to do maintenance, and I am curious about how this will shape up over the summer. So, picking up Noel Kingsbury’s article about planting density, which I would ordinarily have saved for a rainy day, set me thinking. I won’t recount all the detail as you can pick this up via the link, but working backwards from his reasons as to why more dense planting makes sense made great sense to me. He posits three main reasons for dense planting:

1. Denser planting reduces the need for weeding
2. It increases biodiversity, providing more cover and food opportunities for essential garden wildlife
3. More plants mean more biological activity which supports an effective ecosystem

So, possibly post-hoc rationalisation, but here is what I think is going on in ‘The Mix’ my perennials/grasses/shrub combination underneath the cherry tree at the back. A spot of analysis follows…

The Mix, Tostat, May 2019

This May photograph is a little late to qualify as Spring, but it will do. You can see the massive importance of the wafty Stipa tenuissima, the tall Allium nigrum coming through, and the pink of the Oenethora all work well together.

Just now, early July, those Alliums are still there as seedheads, but the whole look has gone up a gear in height and variation. Crocosmia ‘Lucifer’ is sparking red through the planting, and an annual tall daisy, with many small, white flowers, which self-seeded itself last year, and has really romped this year, has taken the eye up further, whilst the Phlomis longifolia var.bailanica is giving stature with seedheads, and the grey-silver of the Helichrysum rosmarinifolius ‘Silver Jubilee’ (now also seen as Ozothamnus) planted 2 years ago is poking through nicely.

The Mix, Tostat, early July 2019

In mid July, the whole scene will change as Monarda fistulosa, which has just begun to open, will ripple through the scene with warm pink long-lasting flowerheads and will compete as the daisy goes over to take over as the main theme. Later, Patrinia scabiosifolia will come in at early August with electric-yellow umbels shooting through leading to Solidago rugosa ‘Fireworks’ in September.

The first flower, Monarda fistulosa, Tostat, early July 2019

All that I have done is chosen some plants and threaded them between one another fairly closely, allowed a little room for self-seeders, and other than removing the odd dandelion or plantain, I have left it to sort itself out. What I have realised is that between me and it, we have built up a flow of plants that move into the foreground and change the dynamic as time passes- giving way to others as they go. Very little has needed to be removed, and the shrubby elements, the Phlomis bailanica, Berberis thunbergii ‘Maria’, Helichrysum rosmarinifolius ‘Silver Jubilee’ and Miscanthus ‘Gracillimus’ have created the beginnings of a permanent structure as a backdrop.

The other article that continues to set me thinking was Alys Fowler’s article last week on weeding. I always like her thoughtful articles, and this year weeding has taken a back seat in Tostat. I have been surprised at how little this has bothered me, and I have learnt that I have only to wait for plants to grow up and over, thus hiding the interlopers. Then summer heat will finish most of the rest off. I just need to stay calm for the month or so in the Spring when it looks as if all is lost. I am going to go easy again on weeding next year. I adore the combination of the Verbena bonariensis and the wild carrot, Daucus carota and will welcome that back. (see top)

Where I will not go easy is my eternal battle with bindweed. But, 3 years ago, I grew and planted out Tagetes minuta all over the garden where we were under siege from bindweed. Tagetes minuta seedlings have continued to work away since them, and we have a very different garden thanks to them. I have ordered more seed for next year to bulk up the population.

Tagetes minuta still doing battle for me, Tostat, July 2019

Me and the Assistant Gardener…

 

The Assistant Gardener resting in the grit bucket, Tostat, May 2018

I am really delighted that the sun has been shining in Scotland, where the Assistant Gardener normally lives, but am pig sick that we are back to 8 degrees and pouring, cold rain and wind for the last 4 days.  I can’t quite believe it, as it had looked as though we were beginning to emerge from a very wintery spring. I try not to moan, but usually don’t succeed.

Still, last week before all this came upon us, the Assistant Gardener volunteered herself into that role and we smashed our way into a much neglected part of the garden- the area in front of the pig shed and adjacent to the sunken gas tank.  It is actually more promising than that description sounds.  But, as the southern outpost of the New Garden, the area which we cleared of snakes and bramble to have a go at making a garden out of the naturally rocky, stony soil and not much else, it merits more work to it.

New Garden, Tostat, May 2015

This is a bit of a Terminator section.  I have lost more plants than I can bear to remember in taking a long time to understand how to manage a hot, dry, stony garden area which, in the winter, is bleak, cold and half-wet.  What I have learned the hard way is:  that, unless you are an Olympian gardener with muscles to show for it, this area will defeat you unless you can accept a balance between deliberately cultivated plants and naturally arriving plants aka weeds.  So, the last few years have been about building that balance.  The existing planting is mature and so can take a few invaders without complaint- the difficulty arises in getting to that point of mature balance.  And knowing that the balance will need intervention on a big scale in late Spring when the invaders are settling in nicely and can be uprooted when the ha-ha soil is damp.

2015 shows what I was trying to do.  Much of this still remains though bigger and tougher, but in this very wet winter I did lose a super-big and lovely Halimium, leaning out over the gravel in 2015.  Last year, I laid a plastic cover down on the area to combat some of the invaders, and this was largely successful.  So, the Assistant Gardener and I set to, with the new set of hopefuls that I had auditioned for this tricky area. They included:

a dwarf pomegranate, Punicum granatum ‘Nana’, for its glossy green leaves, gorgeous singing-red flowers, and general toughness

Ononis spinosa, a tough dry-soil ground cover

Achillea nobilis, another tough dry-soil running plant

Salvia ‘Anthony Parker’, a fantastic Salvia, sadly not really winter-hardy despite what some say, but it flowers like a train, is a gorgeous deep blue, and I dig it up and stick it in a pot for over-wintering.  It can be huge!

Euphorbia pithyusa ‘Ponte Leccia’, new to me, one of the smaller euphorbias flowering later in June..

and Salvia ‘Hot Lips’, Verbena bonariensis, Echinacea purpurea, some repurposed bits of Sisyrinchium striatum and Crocosmia ‘Lucifer’ where the soil is just a tad better.

Linking the new planting (to the right) with the established stuff, New garden, Tostat, May 2018

The New Garden planting, pig shed to the rear, Tostat, May 2018

The New Garden, a long view, pre-planting with plastic still in place, May 2018

We did a good job.  Clearing the ground happened,  the plants went in, and they will have benefitted from the 4 days of rain, even though I moan.  The Assistant Gardener learnt that you bang the plant on the bottom while it is in the pot, not when you have already taken it out.  I was a little slow with instructions.  And so now we keep an eye on it all for the first year and then after that, it’s all on its own.

Must get round to trimming off the brown bits.

 

 

Sometimes you need new eyes…

Sometimes you need to go away and come back again, to see the garden in a different way. Having had a day away in the Valle d’Aran just over into Spain, coming back yesterday afternoon and evening was almost a re-discovery.  It was partly thanks to the soft light of late evening, which gave a kindly glow to plants that are suffering, again, owing to drought since our last rain, but it was also that I realised I often look at the garden from the same vantage points, and so, I see the same things.  If you couple this with my usual micro-vision tendencies, where I examine the individual performance of a particular plant- it’s a wonder I am not totally blind really.

So, this is what I noticed yesterday evening, as if for the first time.

Looking towards the olive tree from the back door, Tostat, July 2016

The light really caught it.  Begonia grandis subsp. evansiana ‘Claret Jug’ shines out from the image with the ruby-red leaf backing picking up the light.  It is such an easy plant.  Although often described as hardy, I wouldn’t risk it even in our often mild, wet winters.  I grow it in a massive pot, partly filled with polystyrene chips to reduce the weight, and I just lug it into a covered, but open space in November, keep it pretty dry, and then start watering in March under cover.  I drag it out in April and the rest is all done without my help, though I do a weekly feed from about May onwards.  I am not really a begonia flower person, so the pink flowers are not my thing, but they are small and the leaves are the main act.  Tons of tiny bulbils get scattered and so you will have this plant forever, and keep your friends supplied if you just pot them up in the autumn.

Being Gothic, Verbena bonariensis and an arch, Tostat, July 2016

I have often raved about Verbena bonariensis.  I love it for it’s attractiveness to butterflies and other insects, for it’s abundant self-seeding (which can also be a pain), but mostly for the electric quality of the flowers.  In low light, it’s as if it’s wired to the mains.

A new view, Tostat, July 2016

This is a new view.  I am looking back towards the back of the house, across the top of my only-planted-this-year-from-seed-grown-last-year area.  This area has toiled a bit in it’s first year, finding the spring very cold, the summer very dry and the wind very debilitating.  But, I think it will make it, although this year will be a bit of a damp squib. These Liatris spicata bulbs, bought from Aldi for 60 bulbs at E3, a total bargain, have done a great job in providing some points of punctuation where flowering, as I hoped, has not quite materialised.  I don’t find Liatris a reliable returner year on year, I probably lose about 50% of them over a wet winter, but, they are so cheap and dependable, that I am still a great fan.  In the US, where they are native plants, they are often called ‘Blazing Star’- you can see why, something of the electric about them too.

Slightly new view, Tostat, July 2016

This is a new view as far as the further away view is concerned.  In the foreground, is a reliable and terrific Pennisetum alopecuroides which I bought ages ago, put in the wrong place, replanted and now it adores where it is.  Slightly flattened by dryness, it is a gentle punctuation point at the end of the promontory bed.  It may be the variety, ‘Hameln’ but I can’t remember after all this time.  ‘Hameln’ is supposed to be the hardiest of the varieties and so it may well be that.   The thing with Pennisetum is that nothing seems to be happening in the growth department until really late in Spring, then up it pops, so it’s important not to poke it and panic.  The other main new-this-year-area is encircling the olive tree, and I have planted, though you can’t see it, another Pennisetum, Pennisetum alopecuroides f. viridescens.  I couldn’t resist the idea of dark-charcoal-purple-black flowerheads meeting, almost head-on in a Pennsietum-off, the older Pennisetum you see above in the photograph.

A new view, Tostat, July 2016

This is a new view to me.  The foreground is of the new area encircling the olive, this year planted with, a great success in our dry summer, Cosmos bipinnatus ‘Xanthos’ has been sterling.  It might even win me over to annuals.  But the real feature of the view is the borrowed landscape.  It is the dark green of the ornamental cherry tree, actually growing in a commune space, over our wall, which brings the Stipa gigantea to life.  Without it as a backdrop, you would hardly see the delicate, golden flowerheads of the Stipa.  Thank you, Tostat.

The one that nearly got away, Tostat, July 2016

And this is a view that I nearly rejected.  Then I thought, ‘hang on, it’s different’ and so it stays.  Looking back across the grass towards the old privvy door, what you actually see is how comfortable the Hydrangea arboresecens ‘Annabelle’ is with its’ big, creamy flowers still looking good against the big leaves of Telekia speciosa.  And further along to the left, you can imagine though not quite see, the now-pinky flowerheads of Hydrangea paniculata filling in the space.

So dry and thirsty, but not yet down and out.  By contrast, the Valle d’Aran looked bewitchingly green.

Near Vielha, Spain, July 2016

 

 

 

 

Wind, wind, wind

Windy June: Clematis viticella and Hydrangea arborescens ‘Annabelle’, Tostat, June 2016

This has been a windy month like no other.  Positively Scottish amounts of wind, with little warmth, have torn across the garden most days this month, scorching the soil and ripping at the plants.

This Clematis viticella, whose name I have forgotten, is a very forgiving plant that comes back and back.  I had hoped to be able to grow clematis when we moved here, but a few deaths quickly taught me that we did not possess the best conditions for most clematis, and I was about to give up.   Talking to Thorncroft Clematis at Chelsea one year, persuaded me to have a try with this Clematis viticella and Clematis texenis ‘Princess Diana’.  I grow them them both tucked into a forest of woodland shrubs and early spring perennials, and I mostly forget to cut them back as they are way down in the undergrowth, but each early summer, they pop up again growing through and over the shrubs.  I love the dark blue against the creamy white of the ‘Annabelle’.

Hydrangea macrophylla and Nerium oleander, Tostat, June 2016

I can claim no credit for this combination which stayed still for the camera and was here when we moved in.  The last couple of years, this hydrangea, has got bluer and bluer.  Maybe it’s the early summer rain that we have been experiencing more and more, but the Nerium oleander is obviously enjoying the conditions too, despite being a highly drought tolerant plant.  We did, however, paint the shutters!

Rosa ‘Kiftsgate’, Tostat, June 2016

Close up of ‘Kiftsgate’, Tostat, June 2016

This is a giant of a rose and a serious thug, Rosa ‘Kiftsgate’.  But it has done a great screening job for us on the wall bordering the road, and it has hung on for grim death in seriously high winds, looking pretty unbattered and just losing its scent when the temperature drops.  I love it for its abundance, hanging in great swags of flowers with golden stamens from 3m above the ground.  You need body armour to deal with it, so probably best grown only where you will never need to interfere with it.  And, of course, it only flowers once in June, but it is a fabulous sight when it does.

Windy June: Testing the purple Verbena bonariensis to the max, Tostat, June 2016

Verbena bonariensis is a really tough customer, but even it has been decked by the wind this year.  I once had it in a ‘proper’ place in the garden, but it moved out as soon as it could and did, actually, what it does best, working as a fringe to the other bits of the garden that are dry and hot. I adore it for this haze of colour and light, dancing habit.  But it is a scratcher of bare legs, be warned!  Another plant that made its mind up to go its own way, is Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’, the spreading low grass that you can see in the photograph.  This came from a tall pot in Scotland with us, and I stuck it in here without really thinking.  It now thoroughly enjoys life in the blazing sun, in one of our driest spots, and, in other words, completely confounds much conventional wisdom about it preferring moisture and dappled shade.  Just goes to show- it’s always worth trying, though best off with an insurance policy plant in hand.

Windy June: battered lilies and the last roses, Tostat, June 2016

From the back door the other night, with towels laid like sandbags against the door, we watched a tempest roar through, culminating in M&M sized hail which lay like lots of tiny eggs in all the plant pots giving them a horrible cold surprise.  So, the lilies are not in the best shape, all more Hunchback of Notre Dame than lily, but we do have green in general, and plenty of it.

One plant, which is new to me this year, is Hydrangea macrophylla ‘Black Steel Zebra’. I bought it from one of the newer online nurseries, Promesse de fleurs, and I adore it. I have to say that it arrived a bit bashed up, but I am hoping for good things from the cuttings that gave me, so am not complaining.  It has dark, dark, almost black stems, and is topped by dramatic flowers, creamy-green-yellow, which open out to a double-cream, Devon tea, kind of colour.  In a pot for now, and should make a metre high and wide by next year, it is beguiling.  Here it is.

In the dark of a storm: Hydrangea macrophylla ‘Black Steel Zebra’, Tostat, June 2016

 

 

Cleve West and that dianthus

There are moments when plants grab your heart.  It might be a colour, a form, foliage but something reaches out and grabs you. And so it was when I saw Dianthus cruentus in Cleve West’s Best in Show garden in 2011. And I wasn’t the only one, within days all plants available in the UK had been snapped up, and it took 2 years for seed stocks to build up enough to satisfy demand.  So I had to wait.  Sometimes, when you have to wait, the urge to have that plant passes or wanes or is replaced by, fickleness of it all, another must-have that presents itself.  But not so with Dianthus cruentus.

Dianthus cruentus, Tostat, May 2015..and my hand.

Having waited, in a slightly pig headed way, I bought seed and planted it in late summer 2014.  The tiniest seedlings you will ever see appeared and only seemed to grow by the smallest amount.  But, by March last year, small as they were, I had a hunch that they would be better in the sharply drained, stony, sunny position that they love, than sitting in my semi-shaded open barn.  So I planted them out, with stick markers, feeling as if I was performing some kind of micro-surgery.

From the garden point of view, what are it’s merits?  A tufty, grassy bottom is not much to write home about, and it isn’t big, and though it might spread, nothing yet on that front. No, it truly is the colour- which is an electric red, just as Verbena bonariensis is an electric purple.  It is so electric that only 2 or 3 plants light up a planting, in fact, dotted about, they are like little red neons.

Which is exactly how Cleve West used them, only a handful of plants, but they shot through his already superb planting and electrified it.  Of course, I loved all the rest too, the tumbled pillars and the wild, hot climate planting, as if you had just stumbled upon some Roman ruins abandoned somewhere in North Africa.

Dianthus cruentus, Cleve West, Chelsea 2011

Longer view of Dianthus cruentus, Cleve West, Chelsea 2011

Back to the merits of the case.  The plant is tough, only a wet, shady spot would deter it, I think.  Totally hardy, coping with ease with bone-dry conditions, it just really flowers only in late spring/early summer for a few weeks, that is the only serious downside. So, if you want that ruby colour, but without the electricity, throughout the summer, you could mingle it with Knautia macedonica, a bit taller and flowering non-stop, just watch out for the self-seeding Knautia as it does do global.

Knautia macedonica, Tostat, June 2015

I adore them both.  By the way, I would beg to disagree with Crocus about the soil conditions required.  I would say, stony, poor, dry and impoverished rather than rich. And this year?  The small plants are already the size of one fist or two, and are looking great.  Last year’s seedlings are in the micro-surgery stage but will go in the ground soon.  Can’t wait.