Weeding the Web

Racing to the top of the tower pot? Climbing fuchsia 'Pink Fizz'

Climbing Fuchsia 'Pink Fizz' from Thompson and Morgan was another introduction to the garden this year. It is, they promise, the next generation of climbing fuchsias and a huge improvement over 'Lady Boothby'.  Also noteworthy, the dangling pink blooms are produced along the entire length of the stem and not just on the tips. 

Now, I have to admit to being a fuchsia virgin, so this didn't mean a great deal to me, but I'm hoping that you might be excited.  Here's what it looks like on Thompson and Morgan's website:

Pink Fizz as featured on T&M's website, in a Tower Pot, too

The plants we received were certainly floriferous. Once they got going, they flowered their little hearts out.

However, they're also supposed to give honeysuckle and clematis a run for their money. Their vigorous upright stems can, reportedly, extend up to 1.5m (5ft) in a single season, making it perfect for covering walls, fences, arches and obelisks.

Hmm.

For reasons that I put down to computer error, T&M generously sent me a plethora of small plug plants (which they call 'postiplugs') and two tower pots, meaning that eventually I got to plant out two test pots with three plants each, one in May, one in June, allowing a handy comparison of their preference for my father-in-law's garden or mine. Both pots were filled with Incredicompost with Incredibloom slow release fertilizer mixed in (this is what came with the pots).

Mine started in full sun most of the day before I read a bit more and moved them to a spot that's shaded all morning. My husband put his straight into a lightly shaded border, with dappled sunlight.

And we waited.

They flowered.

We waited some more.

Lots of flowers, rather less height

In July I wondered if I had misunderstood. Should the flowers be removed, as had been advised with the climbing geraniums, until the plants reached the top of the tower?  I contacted Customer Service at Thompson and Morgan (they're always magnificently swift to reply, in my experience). This is their advice:

The final position we would recommend in patio containers would be in sunny or semi-shaded areas. It is important you choose a site where they are protected from cold winds especially over winter.

I suggest giving the plants a high nitrogen feed which will boost growth.  Also keep the pot on the drier side to encourage plants to search for moisture and create a better root structure.  A foliar feed could also be beneficial if applied in the evening when there is no sun.

I have to admit I ignored all that feeding malarkey; they already had fresh compost and fertilizer, looked well fed, and I don't like overfeeding because it tends to make leaves soft and sappy and vulnerable to pests. It was pretty wet a lot of the time, so keeping them drier wasn't really possible without bringing them indoors. Perhaps that discouraged them.

So possibly I deserved the fact that, by the end of the summer, the plants were barely higher up the tower than in July. My husband's charges include a couple that have reached half way. Here's the tallest of mine:

 

Mine rather sadly didn't even manage it halfway up the trellis.

I've decided to leave them in the pot for next year, and they're still outside. The T&M website does promise hardiness:

Tolerating temperatures down to -10°C (14F), this hardy fuchsia is tough enough to be permanently planted in a border getting bigger and better each year. Height: 1.5m (5'). Spread: 90cm (36").

I've been slow on the uptake but it's gradually dawning on me that it's best not to expect a great deal from any perennial in its first year and that one shouldn't be too excited by marketing hype. Generally, exuberant descriptions of height and harvest seem to take the long view. 

Review of Tower Pot

The other part of this experiment which was new to me was the Tower Pot. When it arrived I did cringe a bit - it's plastic, and is decorated with touches of bronze, for reasons that escape me. The trellis rises to approximately four feet (120 cms) above the ground.  However, while the frame is flexible, once it's clipped into the top of the pot (it clips in and out easily) it feels solid enough, and once foliage is in full fettle it will definitely disappear into the background.

I do wonder how long it will be before the plastic becomes brittle, but certainly it's a very quick and easy way to create a home for a climber. If you visit the geraniums mentioned above, you'll see, though, that it's perfectly possible to make a very serviceable (and I predict - but I could be wrong - longer lasting) climbing frame from wire fencing. It'll just require a bit of effort in the cutting.

Anyway, I wasn't exactly bowled over by Pink Fizz this summer, but perhaps I deserved it. I think I should schedule a follow-up review of it (and the Tower Pot) for next year.  If you tried Pink Fizz this year, let me know how you did. The worst you can do is make me feel inadequate...

 

 

Autumn planting combinations: fuchsia and Dahlia 'Ambition'

Some gardeners have it, and some don't. I recently showed a lovely sedum and fuchsia planting combination. I found it in a garden run by talented friends who never fail to wow me with their planting, and here's another:

Dahlias are a particular favourite and Jim always buys new corms each year. "When you get to my age," he said, "you realise you don't have that many summers left and you want to make sure everything comes up."

That's a sentiment that I think we can all relate to, however old we are, because counted in flower seasons, life seems exceptionally brief. All the more reason to enjoy every success. Here Dahlia 'Ambition' bolsters the dark pink and purple of the fuchsia, and contrast with the shape of the stone urn. 

Taking the measure of Gerainbow climbing geraniums from Vernon Nursery

One idea I fell for earlier this year, when offered samples by Vernon Nursery, was a pot of climbing geraniums. Arriving promptly in April, five small pelargoniums found themselves in my slightly dubious embrace. Would they really climb?

The variety - Gerainbow - come in white, neon, deep red, orange and pink. (The pink is missing above, as Husband nabbed it for his father's garden.) And, of course, they're not true climbers. They grow long main stems which you tie in to the support. The lower stems, as you can see above, will trail up to around two feet.

Of course, mine didn't make it anywhere near the six feet they're said to be capable of, but I do wonder if they'd have managed a bit higher if I'd stopped fiddling with them.

The plants came with a tip:

Whilst the plant is putting all its effort into growing I suggest you remove all flower buds as they appear to encourage faster growth - this is so hard to do as you want to enjoy the flowers too, but it will be worth it in the long run! Once the plant is at its desired height, stand back and let it bloom.

I was a little tardy in beginning this and [hangs head in sorrow] let them all flower - they just about all arrived with buds on.  Then, I pulled myself together, planted them in a tub filled with a mix of garden soil and Incredigrow compost, with Incredibloom slow release fertiliser incorporated, and started to pull off the flower buds. I became quite ruthless.

I pulled them off for weeks. They grew, a bit. Eventually, fearing I would run out of summer before they ran out of tower to climb, and knowing I was going to be away for ten days anyway, I gave them their head in late August.

They exploded into flower and have continued nonstop. They're still looking pretty good now, in November. I also swear they reached higher than when I was being beastly to them. They've not exactly rocketed, having stalled at exactly two feet high, but they've produced a superb show.

The bright colours won't be to everyone's taste, but their lovely splash draws the eye and I love them. The only criticism I'd make of the colours is that the orange and red aren't noticeably different, especially from a distance, so if you needed to split them up I'd certainly keep those apart.

Rainbow Red on left, Orange on right.

I rather like Vernon Nursery, who make a point of selling plants suitable for British gardens. Everything I received this year was glowing with health and plants are accompanied by very thorough (and sympathetic, as you can read above) instructions - particularly strong on geraniums - which even include how to take your own cuttings.

Anyway, these geraniums will most definitely be kept for next year, when I'll try them in a different compost, give them a more direct feed to encourage early growth, and trust they'll have got a better hang of rising to the occasion. Especially if I don't confuse them with on/off flowers.

 

A Personality Test for Gardeners

Is this anathema to you?  As I cut the sleeve from Thompson and Morgan's plug plants, I had no idea what I would find. I had no idea what I'd ordered.

Mind you, never having bought plugs like this before, I was a trifle taken aback by their size.

I was lured by their newsletter offering thirty-six perennials (worth £35.94) for the cost of postage only (£4.95). It promised a minimum of three different plants from a range that included heuchera, silene, geum, gaillardia.

Couldn't resist. But, I'm interested, can you imagine yourself doing this? Do you do this?

As I potted up six of each of the following

• Coreopsis 'Golden Joy'
• Achillia 'Cassis'
• Digitalis 'Dalmation Mixed'
• Sweet William 'Sweet'
• Salvia 'Blue Queen'
• Verbena Bonariensis

I pondered. Well, first of all I pondered where on earth I'd put them. You have to pot them up, keep them frost-free over winter and then plant out mid-late spring. That's thirty-six small pots that have arrived for board and lodging with very little notice.

But equally I pondered why I'd ordered them. OK, yes, they were cheap. (On their website T&M were offering the lucky dip for £14.99.) But there was something more than that. There was the lucky dip aspect. 

Is it the subliminal thought of hidden treasure that makes this so attractive? The memory of the excitement of bran tubs at school fairs?

Or is it more prosaic?

An article by Linda Blair in the Telegraph today seems to sum up the attraction. She quotes research at Columbia University which asked customers at two delicatessens to sample jam from a choice of thirty and jam from a choice of six.

Are you surprised to hear that ten times fewer people made a decision when faced with thirty and, of those that did make a decision, more were dissatisfied with their choice from thirty than those who'd only had to choose from six?

I'm not. Here's me with a gardening catalogue: flip, flip, flip. Flip, flip, flip. Research needed for various plants. Difficulty in deciding if the height's right. Colour combination? Clay soil? Support needed?

Linda Blair summarises:

It appears...that the relationship between choice and wellbeing isn’t simple. Some choice is important—it helps us feel more in control in our lives. Too many choices, however, will overwhelm, and ultimately lead to indecision and dissatisfaction.

All those gardening queries swept away in a single action. The knowledge that I bought exactly the wrong plant for a particular spot, even after careful research - gone. And I can't possibly even think of ordering more. I now have a lot of what promise to be attractive plants that, to be honest, I probably wouldn't have thought of, and a couple I'm really pleased to have got (the salvia and the verbena). I'm merely sorry there weren't any heuchera.

If you're a different personality - and a good gardener, some might add - you probably hate the idea of unvetted plants arriving. I'm willing to bet you make disciplined and well-chosen lists when perusing catalogues, and take complete control over what goes where. That's the sort of gardener I've always aimed to be.

Why fight Nature, though? If it all seems a bit overwhelming, I recommend a lucky dip. It's positively liberating!

 

What happens when you plant tulips too early?

You know how it is. You see bulbs, early in September. You buy handfuls. Then, some time around March next year you find brown paper bags filled with partially sprouted husks and, in a gentle gardener-ly fashion, say to yourself, "Drat. Must remember to plant bulbs at the right time this year."

Albion Star tulips

Happens to me every time. But not this year! Three bags of tulips have gone into the pot.  And yes, I know you all know that tulips should go under the sod in November.

"What happens," I asked at the horticultural society, really wanting to know, "if I plant them earlier?"

"They rot off," said one.

"Fireblight," said another.

"OK," I said meekly.

Then I thought, Hold on. The tulips in the beds are in the ground all year and seem to cling to life. Why wouldn't these?

Johann Strauss tulips

So Albion Star, Show-winner and Johann Strauss (all early and around 8-10 inches high and from J Parker's Wholesale) have been planted. Actually, the compost is quite dry and I sneakily haven't watered them. Will they come up at the appointed time, or will their early burial be their early demise?

Show-winner Tulips

I'll report back in Spring.

In the meantime, you might be interested in what can happen when you plant tulips too late.

Autumn planting combinations: sedum and dahlia

Sedums herald autumn like no other flower, and no one can deny how jolly useful they are for some late, warm colour. Here's a lovely combination I found in an island bed a friend's garden recently:

I didn't check the name of the sedum, as I was sure it was Autumn Joy, but the dahlias (I was told) are Bon Esprit. I'm not absolutely convinced, as the references I've found have listed them as about a foot high and these are not standing on a box, but they're definitely a cactus type, which contrasts nicely with the smoother domes of the sedum, so it shouldn't be too hard to find something to suit.

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day: a late splash of sunshine

Colours, I discovered some time ago, have a hierarchy. Yellow - and by extension, orange - as far as many gardeners are concerned, is most definitely at the bottom. I'm not entirely sure why, although many blooms are pink and that doesn't make a great combination. Perhaps because many weeds are yellow, banishing the colour demonstrates the "cleanliness" of your patch? 

I rather like it, especially at this time of year, when it seems to create a late splash of sunshine, much needed in the grey rain.  In fact, I've got a bit of theme going on this year.  A range of marigolds from a free packet of seeds supplied by World Vision:

Osteospermum Blue Eyed Beauty, supplied by Thompson and Morgan. This has been a real success, repeat flowering, short stems, compact mound and just pretty, pretty, pretty.

I first saw them last year at Ball Colegrave. For those interested in such matters, they are a touch more environmentally friendly than some plants. Nurseries generally like to raise stock early to get more sales, which often means using heat. These can be grown cool, so saving energy. Here's what they looked like last year.

They're positioned close to the marigolds above, and to crocosmia elsewhere.

Finally, a short sunflower. I'm not a fan of tall ones, which for me just get leggy and messy. This was grown from seed saved from a short variety given to me by Mr Fothergill's. I'll be saving it again, I think, assuming the birds don't get to the seed heads first.  I have to admit the bloom went over a couple of weeks ago, but I couldn't resist putting it in here, as it's been adding to the mix for some time.

 I think it's Little Dorrit. (Please ignore the horsetail in the background!)

This is part of Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, run by May Dreams Gardens. Pop over to see what else is blooming around the world.

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day - hollyhock heaven

One of the staples of summer in my garden are hollyhocks. I sowed a "black" hollyhock and a standard pink one many years ago now, and have never sown again. The interest is that each year I never know what colours will be coming up. A couple of years ago, I was rewarded with this rather lovely wine and pink combination against the background hebe.

The black, which was really a very dark purple, disappeared after the first couple of years, and I wasn't sorry. Black flowers do rather disappear into the background, so it was difficult to tell they were there.

This year has presented more than the usual variety. I always love the pink ones which are pale enough to create a stripy effect when they're open:

Then we have a more solid pink altogether:

And a really pale pink. These are one of my favourite too. Thanks to the mysteries of genetics, all the hollyhocks this colour have, this year, been no more than two feet tall. Strange but cute. 

Last year I decided some hollyhocks on the other side of the garden would be welcome and sprinkled seed from last year's plants. Up came the only one in this rather determined colour:

And long may the hollyhocks continue to spread their seed, I say. Whatever the colour, they always look lovely, and they over a positive bounty of pollen to the bees.

This is part of Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, hosted by May Dreams Gardens. Why not pop over and see what else is blooming around the world?

Tulips on trial at Wisley, May 2015

If there's one thing I'm a glutton for in the floriferous world, it's tulips. And Naomi Schillinger's recent post on tulip combinations reminded me that I haven't yet shared the glory that has been on display at Wisley this year.

Late April turns out to be a slightly disappointing time at Wisley - or it is this year, anyway. It's at that awkward stage when much of the winter structure has been cut down and hasn't been replaced by anything much. Though the rhododendrons added a bit of colour:

And these arums were very arresting:

But a rounding of a corner towards the demonstration gardens revealed a glorious melee of colour:

Tulips on trial. Eighty-two varieties in this test bed and dotted around the demo gardens, in beds and pots.

In the trial the judges are looking for three elements:

• Impact, grace and charm (translates as colour, style and proportion)
• Length of flower life (durability)
• Good health (a good constitution)

They all looked pretty good:

People couldn't resist trying to work out their favourite:

For me the best tulips, like Ferraris, are always red (or thereabouts):

Which is possibly why the one that really grabbed me when I passed its pot is Tulipa 'In Love'. It had an almost irridescent sheen that my camera just can't catch:

Must remember to get more bulbs this year.

To plant: a warm, sunny site with good drainage (they come from mountainous areas with dry summers, ranging from North Africa to China). Plant 4-8 inches deep (10-20 cms) in November.

 

 

National Flowers - borders without borders

Here's an idea for a border, inspired by an infographic from Love the Garden, a gardening advice site. Pack all these in, and you could have a United Nations, all in one bed together.

(Pause for smutty image to recede in favour of floriferousness.)

  
Plant a few poppies and you've got several "sown" up straight away (sorry!).