Weeding the Web

GBBD: a sprung spring?

All of the plants I'm about to show you have featured here before for Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, but never so early. I don't have to tell you that the weather's been unseasonably warm.

We'll see what's out in the garden in a minute. It's worth a reminder, though, that various gardens will open for their snowdrop walks earlier than usual. Rode Hall in Cheshire start theirs 30th January, a whole week earlier than in the last two years.  For what you can expect, read Susan Rushton's account of her visit in 2015. In the meantime, here's a preview:

Rode Hall snowdrops, Cheshire

Chelsea Physic Garden has also brought forward their snowdrop days, from 16th to 24th January, two weeks earlier than originally planned. They're usually one of the first gardens to have snowdrops in bloom anyway, and, in fact, some of theirs have been out since well before Christmas (it's a very sheltered site).
 

Back to the garden. The pulmonaria are looking rather shy, with various rather short plants displaying gentle colours.

The winter aconite hasn't quite emerged, which seems funny as it's usually the first:

 

Here's something unexpected:

And here's a hyacinth that I planted out last year after having it indoors. Oddly, it's got exactly the same problem as the ones I grow every year over Christmas: the flower blooms before the stalk grows. I thought it was to do with room temperature. Oh, perhaps temperature has, indeed, affected it.

So, what will happen in a few weeks, when spring really has sprung? Here's what Nick Bailey, Head Gardener of Chelsea Physic Garden, has had to say about it.

The unusual weather patterns of the last few years have triggered some odd responses in ornamental plants. Some deciduous species are remaining semi-evergreen through winter while flowering patterns of some perennials, shrubs and bulbs have changed.

This December saw Camassia leichtlinii in flower, a full six months ahead of its usual blooming time while Fuchsia ‘Hawkshead’, which usually flowers in summer and autumn, is in full bloom now! Even sure-fire summer flowering species such as Geranium sanguineum are currently in bloom at the Physic Garden. 

Despite the novelty of having these plants flowering ‘out of season’ it may cause problems for pollinators later on if certain species have  bloomed before the insects emerge in spring.

We might be in for an interesting year.

This is part of Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day hosted by May Dreams Gardens.

GBBD: the cold and lonely ivy

It gets lauded as much as it's vilified. Does it kill trees, will it destroy brickwork? Current advice seems to be that, with trees, it can fill the canopy so full that the tree becomes top-heavy and vulnerable to strong winds, while it only penetrates holes in walls that are already there, rather than causing them with its aerial roots. 

This is a Good Thing, as we have rather a lot of ivy on the wall in the front garden. For all that it creates work (cutting back, though you wouldn't know it from looking at the picture below), I rather like it. As front gardens along the road increasingly become hard standing, our wall is a strong interjection of green. What the photo also shows, though, is that the height of the ivy above the wall equals the height of the wall below. This, I fear, is Not a Good Thing.

I can't help thinking that the vilification of ivy has something to do with older times, when it gathered associations of death, decay, cold and loneliness. The Contest of the Holly and the Ivy describes it as cold and that only the owl (a bird associated with death) will eat her berries. Thomas Hardy's The Ivy-Wife has it killing the thing she loves. And in The Ivy Green (of which this is the first verse) Dickens has it feasting and growing fat on the decay of past glories:

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim:
And the mouldering dust that years have made
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

All seems a bit harsh, though the amount you see in churchyards surely helps to cement the associations.

Mine, however, is positively bursting with life, being covered with unripe fruit.  According to the RSPB, weight for weight, it contains as many calories as Mars Bars, so I guess the blackbirds and thrushes that tend to eat them only later in winter are saving them against sharp weather.

The heads are also rather stunningly architectural, which I reckon accounts in part for the joy of a different carol, Ivy, Chief of Trees, It is (the Latin means "I came crowned"):

The most worthy is she in town;
He who says other, says amiss;
Worthy is she to bear the crown;
Veni coronaberis.

Ivy is soft, and meek of speech,
 Against all woe she bringeth bliss;
Happy is he that may her reach:
Veni coronaberis.

There's more, if you're interested.

I'm fairly sure our neighbours think we're potty (and if you're American, I think I can see you wincing at what is probably a noxious weed in your neck of the woods), but ivy is a store house for insects. It was crystal clear in the warm sunshine recently that the flowers are a magnet for them. Wasps, hornets, hoverflies, bumblebees, red admirals, small tortoiseshells and peacock butterflies, and other late-flying insects, are all listed as drinking the nectar. Earlier in the year, the holly blue butterfly might feed on the flower buds.

So, for the time being it's staying. If we get heavy snow I'll dash out to relieve the wall of the extra weight, but I'll save its haircut for next year.

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?

 

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?

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day: Acanthus mollis, columnar splendour

It's hard not to love something that is named for ursine trousers. Well, for me, anyway. It's a shame that the reason that Acanthus Mollis is also known as bear's breeches is lost in the mists of time,

Anyway, mine offers another minor triumph for the garden this year. Back in May, my peony gave a single bloom after four years of waiting.  The bear's breeches has been kinder. A friend gave me the plant three years ago. It merely offered leaves last year (and the year before). This year we have...

...a single flower spike.

Some people hate acanthus, and it can strike a funereal note. It tones rather well with the Rosa glauca in front of it, but together they are a bit gloomy, so I'm glad to have the rambling rose as part of the view from the house to lift it with a stronger pink.

It's so architectural, it seems perfectly natural that the plant should have inspired the decoration for Corinthian columns.The flower (more correctly, bracts), let's face it, could hardly be more columnar.

Actually it's not been much hardship not to have a flower until now as the glossy leaves make a lovely contrast, especially with the montbretia leaves at its side.

According to the Missouri Botanical Garden, plants can spread aggressively, especially in loose soils. I'm fairly confident that my rock-hard clay will keep it in check.

Next year, perhaps there'll be two flowers!

This post is my contribution to Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day. Pop over to May Dreams Gardens to see what else is flowering around the world.

GBBD: hazy blue with dots of red

This month I'm proudly displaying my newest acquisition - a cerinthe bought at a local plant sale. I've held out against this plant for some time because I tend to avoid annuals when possible. I probably would have left this on the stall, but for the fact that I'd forgotten cerinthe was an annual (it looks perennial, don't you think?) and bought it before I remembered to ask. I just fall for that bluey haze every time.

I have high hopes, though, for self-seeding, as I was assured that it would be with me forever. Already, though, I fear I've put it in the wrong place, as I read that it takes best to poor, dry soil and it's in rather hefty clay.  Next year, if there are seedlings or I remember to save the seeds, I'll try them in the dusty, dry soil of our south-facing front garden. Sarah Raven gives useful information on sowing honeywort, as it's also known (bees love them).

Strangely, considering the number of gardening books I've acquired, I've found it impossible to track down in their pages and have had to resort to Google.  I suspect it's become fashionable.

The red splashes behind? Alpine strawberries. They catch me out frequently, as I wonder what the little red flowers are in the borders and realise they're fruit. I let these plants wander at will and the fruit must ripen almost as you watch as, combing however carefully through a border, I never seem to find the ripe ones all in one go.

You don't exactly get a meal (there are thirty strawberries in my hand above and no, I'm not a giant!). They are rather dry and light when picked. But mash them with sugar before eating to release the juice and you'll know why I let them roam so freely.

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

GBBD: Camassia behind bars

With beds full of lungwort and forget-me-nots and, yes, garlic mustard and herb robert (because I like them, OK?), I'm going to concentrate on my newest addition. My Camassia. This, I found out from Emma Cooper, is tipped for great exposure at Chelsea. I bought mine a couple of days before I read that, or I might have put it back on the shelf. I don't like people to think I'm a slave to fashion. However, Chris Beardshaw, who's putting in around a thousand at Chelsea, says he can't imagine why they're not more widely used.

Let me explain...

I was in a buoyant, spring-like mood when we visited a newly discovered nursery. The sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, and I treated myself to a carefully picked specimen that had four strong flower plumes ready to burst.

Pretty, huh?

Back home, where to put it? If you're like me, you tend to leave plants in their pots around the flower beds to see how they take you. I put it in a likely spot. I got quite fond of the position. I decided to plant it there.

Arrival at bed with fork. Hold on. Weren't there four flower stalks? Two remained. The others? Snapped off. One I spied below the strap-like leaves, lying on a bed of pulmonaria. The other has never been seen again.

What little varmint was responsible? Squirrels? Foxes?  I'd placed the pot at a point in the fence where they quite possibly jump over at night. Perhaps they jumped on it.  We moved the pot and Husband produced the netting. It looked like a naughty Camassia by the time we'd finished, but no fox was going to come close.

No foxy varmint is coming close to this

All serene. The blooms began to emerge, at the base of the flower plume, moving up. Then, What's that you say? What's that hanging down in the picture?  There, inside the cage, another snapped bloom!

A snap of a snap

From FOUR I I now have ONE. Did something small and furry return for another bite? Was it the wind? We had very strong gusts after the netting went round. Might the flowers have got caught? 

To be frank, I don't care. If Camassias are such martyrs to passing hazards, all I can say is they suit Chelsea down to the ground and are just far too delicate for me.

ON OFFER: Plant of the moment (slightly battered).

 This is part of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day hosted by Carol at May Dreams Gardens. Pop over to see how other gardeners are doing round the world.

GBBD: not-so-shrinking violets

There's something about the underdog that, they say, always appeals to the English. Perhaps this is why I've always had a soft spot for violets. They seem so small, so frail, so much as if a breath of air would crush them.

It took me a little while to discover that they're actually tough as old boots. Dug up a violet? Just stuff its wiry stems and roots back into the ground. Anywhere will do. Anyhow. You don't even need to water them in for the most part. 

They can also get a little untidy. Once the flowers are over, the plants grow, lifting their leaves and seedpods high.  But I do love them. Rarely do I put them in the compost. They add a little to my spring corner, underlying polyanthus, cowslips and anemones.

   

If they're really in the wrong place, I move them to a different part of the garden. And I'm pleased to say that my plan is finally coming together. In a woodsy area I have a statue and for quite a while I tried to work out what would look good carpeting the very shallow soil behind it, and what would be tough enough to bear stamping on when we pick the plums above.

 
After various attempts, some involving alpines and small-leaved sedums, I realised the answer was literally all over the garden. I'm now helping violets to colonise the area. They seem to chime perfectly with the Victorian character of the young maid.

Today is Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, hosted at May Dreams Gardens by Carol who, I am delighted to see in her blogpost last Saturday, is also a violet enthusiast. Why not pop over and see what else is in bloom this Spring?

 

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day: a spring combination

Husband's obsession with Hellebores doesn't quite match up to Juliet Davis's, she who featured on BBC's Gardeners' World this week with her glorious collection found at Kapunda Plants, but he does have the patience to grow them on for years on end from seedlings grubbed up from the borders.  We should have quite a few around by the time he's finished. 

The one pictured below isn't one of his, but now that the Daphne is filling out nicely (it's about three years old), the two make a lovely combination at the back of a shady border.

Today is Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, hosted by May Dreams Gardens. Pop over to see what else is blooming around the world.

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day: a love-hate relationship

There's virtually nothing out in the garden, apart from the Camellia sasanqua I featured last month and the lonicera fragrantissima that I wrote about in January (it's a bit earlier this year). The climbing rose has popped out a few unseasonal blooms (rather like VP's unexpected honeysuckle), but I think it's a bit embarrassed by its impulsiveness.

We're not completely without colour, though, because in the corner, flashing orange, is Iris foetidissima - Stinking Iris or, more kindly, Beefsteak Iris (crush the leaves and they smell like beef crisps).

I have a love-hate relationship with this plant. The flowers are a sort of dirty mauve and virtually invisible in summer, but its dramatic leaves provide great contrast in the bed. But individual leaves turn ragged and brown, so except at in spring the plant looks pretty messy.

They have a reputation for thriving in dry shade (though, next door's leylandii proved more than a match when I tried that) and in more favourable circumstances it spreads. And spreads.

The berries spill over the ground and seems to seed like weeds, so I've got small iris springing up around the garden where, unnoticed, they take a firm grip of the soil and are difficult to extract. But having seen a blackbird jump to grab a berry from a cluster, I can see they have their uses.

You can tell how common it is by the number of names for it: Blue seggin,Gladden, Gladwyn, Roast beef plant, Scarlet-seeded iris, Stinking gladwin. On balance, I keep them because, as regular visitors will know, if it's low maintenance, it's pretty welcome. And, seemingly bomb-proof, this iris is very low maintenance.

And that flash of orange on a grim grey day like today is really rather cheery.

See what else is colouring gardens around the world at May Dreams Gardens, host of Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day.