Weeding the Web

Plant of the Month March 2016 Roundup

I had no idea I was about to unearth such a monster. "Plant of the Month" is an obvious subject for any nursery or plant-based organisation but I was unprepared for the variety when I went looking for recommendations. And it can only increase as the growing season gets going. Here's a round-up for March. 

The Horticultural Trades Association has morphed its Plant of the Month into Plant of the Moment (no, I don't think there is, either). Each month, they'll be promoting a plant (chosen in consultation with garden writer Adam Pasco) which is "guaranteed to perform well in almost any garden". This time round in participating garden centres, you'll find the emphasis on primulas. They particularly mention Japanese Candelabra (Primula japonica), Bulley's Candelabra (Primula bulleyana)...

Primula bullyana (©The Farplants Group)

...and Chinese Candelabra (Primula beesiana)...

Primula beesiana (©The Farplants Group)

...to be planted now so that they establish well to bloom this summer.

I was expecting the RHS to have a centralised Plant of the Month, and pleased to find there's a different one suggested by each garden (which makes sense, as they're spread around the country). At Wisley, they enthuse about Wintersweet (Chimonanthus praecox). at Rosemoor Rhododendron praecox, still rather leafless but one of the earliest rhodos to flower; at Hyde Hall in Chelmsford, Euphorbia rigida; and at Harlow Carr, horticulturalist Russell Watkins has chosen one of my favourites: Pulmonaria.

The Hardy Plant Society sings the praises of Scilla bithynica, to the extent that I really must find some. It provides a blue carpet earlier than bluebells and enjoys damp semi-shade. Fergus Garrett gives it his stamp of approval, which is enough for a lot of us. 

And in Norfolk, Bakker Spalding's Gareth Richards has his eye on what will surely be one of the biggest trends this summer, edible fuchsias with the new Fuchsia Censation 'Juice Berry'. A recipe is also provided. 

Finally, with a slightly different approach, Kew offers a Plant of the Month tour every Tuesday (I'd give you the link but bizarrely, whichever I choose, Kew page URLs inserted here changes into an affiliate link). This month's focuses on Narcissus. Is it just me who thinks £5 for a tour is a tad steep on top of the astronomical price of entry? 

 

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.

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...

 

 

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!

 

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?

 

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: 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?