Under Way

I’m rather behind with blogging and as it’s been a while since I posted any photos of the Priory, here’s a quick, excitable splurge; a brisk whizz about the gardens, showing some photos from the past few weeks.

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This steep bank below the greenhouses is one of my favourite spots at the Priory. It is no longer strimmed from early spring onwards and has rewarded us with primroses and anemones;

DSM_0164dog violets, a few daffodils and, earlier, crocuses.  A reward for doing nothing.DSM_1075Similarly, bluebells and Erythronium ‘Pagoda’ are spreading and establishing themselves in another patch of uncut grass.

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On the meadow, under the huge oak, primroses are on a colonisation quest.  Here the meadow grass doesn’t get so long as to smother them.

DSM_1077They have helped make up for the dearth of daffodils.  I have realised, too late, that a lot of the meadow is simply to wet for the latter.

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It is a sodden environment but the fritillaries at least appreciate it;

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which, as they are personal favourite, gives me smug pleasure.

DSM_1081Also out on the meadow the ten young fruit trees are blossoming, safe behind their deer barriers.  Apart from quinces, the garden fruit trees didn’t produce any fruit last year.  Not a plum, not an apple, not a pear, not a cherry, not a … well, you get the idea.

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I think this year will be better.

DSM_0048Where the drainage is sharper (like here on a sloping lawn beside the drive), daffodils have done better – though my bulb supplier, Philip Nyssen’s quality control seems a little lax*.  These are four pockets of NarcissusIce Follies‘ but, as you can see, a few of another variety have slipped in.  Should I be annoyed?  Should I rant?  Stamp my foot?  Should I rip out the interlopers?  Probably, but that seems churlish and mean-spirited.  They can stay,  I suppose.

DSM_1072On the east lawn where again the drainage is good (there is a ditch cutting across this shot) another introduction is doing well: N. ‘St Patrick’s Day.

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My all time favourite daffodil is N.Thalia‘ planted here on the east lawn and I’m pretty fond of

DSM_1079N.Pipit‘ too – doing moderately well on a drier part of the meadow.

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Under a large oak these doubles have been here for years.  Even if I liked them (which I don’t)

DSM_0112the flowers are too heavy to stand upright.  What’s the point in that?  Silly things.

DSM_1065The Priory has two Amelanchiers; this one planted too close to the tulip tree by the house

DSM_1073and another smaller one in one of the kidney beds.  Beautiful, huh?

DSM_1092And after last year’s rubbish performance the blackthorn on the river bank has put on a good show this year.  It is getting a little too large – I think next winter I shall lift its crown by a few feet and reveal the mass of wild garlic at its feet.

DSM_1230And finally a shot across the east lawn to the greenhouses – taken yesterday.  Which brings us up to date.  Phew.

Yep, the gardens are certainly under way.  Now, if I can just stay on top of it.

* An addendum.  Within hours of publishing this post, I had a very nice email from Karen at Philip Nyssen, apologising for the strays amongst my Ice Follies and offering replacements.  How gracious – though on reflection, I ought to apologise too. I should have contacted them as soon as the problem became evident rather than waiting almost four years before having an online moan. 

Beauty … and Disappointment

On my way to the Priory, I sometimes drive through the handsome downland village of Glynde.  And at this time of year, I often stop to admire a walled enclosure by the church.

The long-established planting of daffodils en masse …

… is terrific and something I am trying to emulate at work.

Solo wondering whether we're going for a walk up the drive or what?

I’ve still got a long way to go as it is a very, very slow process.  I have planted over two and half thousand daffodils at the Priory (and about fifteen different varieties) and every one has gone into turf.  Some, such as these ‘Ice Follies’ are (in their third season) doing pretty well in establishing themselves.

It’s a pretty daffodil; white with a pale yellow trumpet.

‘February Gold,’ planted here in partial shade, on the east lawn, is also establishing itself well.  (Photo taken in early March).

But daffs planted (goodness only knows how long ago), in the kidney beds, are putting on a better show.

The annual mulching of these beds obviously pleases them.   Each year, I mean to lift and replant them all elsewhere in the garden.  Once they have finished flowering, there is an awful lot of daffodil foliage hanging around – not a great look in a border.  But I can’t quite bring myself to do it; they put on such a fine show.  Perhaps this year I’ll lift them … and perhaps not.

In the foreground are three groups of ‘St Patrick’s Day.’

A pale butter yellow, this variety is also increasing year on year; again they seem to do better in partial shade.

Around the west pond, somebody went to quite some trouble, once-upon-a-time, to plant a ring of mixed daffodils.  I’m afraid I don’t know the varieties and I won’t hazard a guess …

… but backlit with morning sunshine, the name doesn’t seem so terribly important, does it?

But I can’t like some of the ‘pre-me’ daffs.  Double daffs are, in my opinion, the perfect example of gilding the lily; a ruination of all that is perfect and simple and right with the flower.  Thankfully there are not too many of them, and while I wouldn’t pull them up (or stomp on them), I do throw them a disapproving glare as I walk past.

At the base of one of the big oaks,  amongst some naturalised snowflakes, is a more welcome resident, though sadly it produced only one flower stem this year.  Again, as it pre-dates my time I can’t tell you the variety name.

So, we have plenty of beauty in the Priory gardens at the moment but there is also a big disappointment – the meadow.  I planted several hundred bulbs, of various varieties, here eighteen months ago and …

Looking across at the meadow – April 2011.

…  while they flowered well last year (their first), this year there is barely a flower to be sniffed at.  I am hoping that they are garnering their strength for the future, and will put on a better show in 2013.  That has been my experience with other daff plantings that fail to perform in their second year.

Thankfully my favourite flower, the Snakeshead fritillary (Fritillaria meleagris), is going great guns in the meadow and there are hundreds of nodding heads; both in its usual chequerboard form and …

… the white.

Elsewhere, in exciting daffodil-breaking news, Narcissus ‘Cragford’ is flowering strongly …

… as is the lovely, dainty ‘Pipit’ …

… and my favourite daffodil; the coy, the modest, the exquisite, ‘Thalia.’

Three hundred of them on the east lawn haven’t started to clump yet, and each bulb is, mostly, only sending up a solitary flower.  But when the flower is so charming, delicate and perfect, well, who cares?   I can forgive it almost anything.  And I may just have to plant several hundred more.

The Flower Meadow …

… isn’t something that the owner of the house asked for.  Rather it was something that I foisted upon him.  I couldn’t not.  As soon as I saw that flat expanse of mown grass between the ditch and the river, I thought ahh, I wonder.  It seemed perfect for leaving to grow into a meadow.  Before I took over as gardener at the Priory, it was mown every week and the clippings left behind in long straight lines.  It resembled nothing more than the playing fields at school.
The ‘meadow’ January 2009 – the fruit trees haven’t long been planted.  The ditch on the right runs between the east and west ponds and is as full as it ever is
I was asked to plant ten fruit trees in a figure ‘S’, which I did two years ago.  They are slow growing and we now wish we’d bought larger specimens.  As I mentioned recently (see “I’m So Excited…”) some were damaged by deer which have obviously held them up even more.
April 2009
But even in their diminutive/bonsai state they do add some sense and structure to an otherwise big expanse of ground.  I can’t wait to see them as mature, graceful (and bountiful) trees.  Hopefully before I’m too gnarled, wizened and cantankerous to appreciate them.

I spent a great deal of time researching the growing of a flower meadow.  It seemed that to achieve the best results, I ought to have got a digger in and scraped off the top four or five inches of topsoil.  This would suitably impoverish the soil and so encourage flowers and discourage grasses.

The paths are mown into the meadow early so as to deter great, fat, galumphing feet (eg mine) from stomping on emerging bulbs.  April 2011

I could then sow with a wildflower seed mix and hey, alakazam.  But this seemed to be enormously expensive in terms of time, effort and money.  And what was I to do with a mound of topsoil the size of one of the lesser Lakeland peaks (Loughrigg perhaps)?  Instead I opted for an easier, cheaper method.  It’s called the stop-mowing-and-wait-and-see-what-happens method.

My Most Favourite (Fritillaria meleagris) – April 2011

Of course, I’ve given it a little nudge and, every now and again, a gentle shove.  Since the autumn of 2008, I have planted bulbs here including 800 of my most favourite; the snakeshead fritillary.  And last autumn I started planting
Daffodil Pipit – April 2011

several hundred daffodils.

Daffodil Dutch Master – April 2011
I’m hoping that in the years to come  (as I grow increasingly gnarled,  wizened and cantankerous) the daffs will settle in and increase and increase. One day there should be a crowd, a host.
The meadow is my favourite part of the Priory garden.  I suppose because, more than any other part of the garden, it’s down to me.  It’s there because of me.  Me, me, me.  Let’s just talk about me, shall we?  Oh, alright then, let’s not.  It was a rather boring expanse of grass, whereas now it is a major part of the gardens.  It seems to have relished being left alone for the majority of the year and allowed to grow.  It has delighted me in its response and continues to do so.  Just leaving the grass un-mown results in some very beautiful grass heads and to see the wind toying with them is enchanting.

And there are so many different varieties,

sizes,

shapes,

forms,

and colours.

The grass won’t be cut now until August, maybe even September.  Every year I’m tempted to leave it later as it is so depressing to have it mown.  (I shall post the requisite, terribly sad photos in due course).  It is though a fine line between preserving the beauty of the grass and flowers; and having a mass of growth that is suddenly flattened by late summer storms which then becomes difficult to cut.  We have to hire a specialist mower and operator anyway to cut such long grass and remove the cuttings.  It isn’t cheap but probably cheaper than having me mow it every week throughout the mowing season.

The cuttings are removed (and generally dumped in Margaret’s neighbouring field – her cow’s appreciate them) so that hopefully over the coming years (as I grow ever more gnarled, wizened and cantankerous) the soil will be impoverished to the detriment of the grass and the encouragement of flowers.  Though to be frank, I love the grasses as they are.

But the flowers are pretty good too.  The only place in the Priory that I positively welcome Creeping-Bleedin’-Buttercup.
Birds Foot Trefoil (also known as Bacon & Eggs)

In addition there are vetches galore, clovers, selfheal,

Ox Eye Daisy

cranesbill,  and increasingly ox-eye daisys.  Not nearly enough of the latter yet.  But there will be.  There will be.  (There are other wild flower species later in the season and I’ve been adding to them by planting plugs raised  from seed).

So generally I’m pretty pleased with how the meadow is developing though it is still very early days.  This is only its third season after all.

And then a couple of weeks ago to my absolute amazement and joy, I saw this:

Common Spotted Orchid
Oh, be still my beating heart.  How fantastic is that?  I had such a huge grin on my face.  Within a couple of years of “Just say no to mow” we had spotted orchids.  Well, just one but hey, a spotted orchid!  I had supposed that I might eventually get them in a few years time and indeed had banked on it.  But so soon?

Huge grin.

Blooming Priory

I’m trying to catch up after all my time off.  Serves me right, of course, for going away at such a busy time of year.  The grass is growing like billyo and needs weekly cutting now.   In the greenhouse, seeds are germinating within a couple of days of being sown and  much is ready for potting on.  Loads of the daffs need dead heading.  That brief moment of pristine springtime is over and the garden has dozens of dead daffodil flowers.  How sad is that?  All that expectation and waiting for the first one and then, before you know it, that most quintessentially spring flower is on the wane.

The bank of the west pond. Varieties unknown.

Still – mustn’t be too despondent.  There are still hundreds in flower.

Variety unknown.

When I started gardening at the Priory, I was told, categorically,  that there were no bulbs in the garden.  I found it very difficult to believe that a 500-year-old English country garden had no spring bulbs.  But, so I was told.  Accordingly, I ordered and planted daffodils, tulips, anemones, fritillaries, dog’s-tooth violet and lots, lots more.  One day during my first daff planting frenzy, I put 750 into turf using a hand bulb planter.  The following day I could barely stand, let alone straighten my back and my right hand was frozen into a rough approximation of a buzzard’s talon.

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Taught me to look after myself a little.  I was almost incapable of work because I’d decided that I must get all those bulbs into the ground in one day.  I did manage to learn, that were I to abuse my body like that, I wouldn’t be able to work.  No work, no pay.  Simples.
The statement about there not being any daffs at the Priory was, of course, nonsense and during my first spring, they sprang up all over the place.

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And here are some that I have planted:

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Verger

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February Gold

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Thalia – pure and unblemished.  Like me.
Over in the flower meadow, I’ve planted 800 of an absolute favourite, the snakeshead fritillary and this year, for the first time, they are putting on a great show.

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There are flowers everywhere you look at the moment.  My rhodohypoxis collection are flowering far too early.  I left them too long in the cold frame and with all this sun they are away:

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Rhodohypoxis ‘Picta’

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Rhodohypoxis ‘Fred Broome’

There is one Magnolia tree in the gardens; this very beautiful little stelatta, each branch and twig sporting a fine coat of pale lichen:

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I have planted hundreds of tulips.  And despite the best endeavours of the resident squirrels (boo, hiss) they are doing well.  For each bulb that I planted, there are now half a dozen flowers.  In the long borders are Apeldoorn:

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Full on and open, I find they can bring on a migraine:

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Not quite open yet and far more sedate, Queen of Night:

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Also just opening are these Carnival De Nice:

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And these tulips were free with a larger order – I’ve forgotten what variety, I’m afraid.  Pretty though:

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No alliums are in flower yet though they’re growing vigorously and increasing  in number, year on year.  (What do you think of them onions, Jason)?

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Over on the river bank is a thicket of blackthorn.

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For a few glorious days at this time of year it is a crashing, foaming, frozen wave.  Stunning I think.

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Beds, Bums* and Borders

When I first saw the gardens at the Priory in the summer of 2008, all of the borders and beds were smothered in nettles, brambles, bindweed and the like.  It was a daunting and dispiriting sight.  And quite a challenge too  as, initially, I was only taken on for two days a week.  A local firm had been engaged to mow the grass and to strim.  But (as they were the first to admit), they were not gardeners and couldn’t identify any diamonds in the rough.  Struggling roses, sedums, day lilies and persicaria were all strimmed along with grass and nettles.  Made me weep.  I very much wished to preserve what few plants had managed to cling to life during ‘the-years-of-neglect’, so I asked them to leave all the planted areas well alone.  I planned to hand weed all the borders and so see what might be worth preserving.
A word of explanation.  (There will be questions later so you may wish to take notes). There are six large borders in the gardens; two, I (very imaginatively) call the Long Borders,
The Long Borders (summer 2009) with the raised veg beds behind

two I call the Kidney Beds

One of the kidney beds in April 2009.  Presence of daffodil bulbs didn’t make weeding any easier .

which leaves the Rock Border

The Rock Border July 2008.  The path that leads to the greenhouse runs along behind it.

and the Iris Bed.

The Iris bed with the amazing wisteria above.  July 2008
In addition there are several smaller beds including the Peony Bed and various beds up against the walls of the house.  So, during my first year, on my hands and knees, with a hand fork I weeded the beds.  Big job.  Huge.

I’m still locked in battle with bindweed (and its  nasty white, brittle roots), couch grass, a little horsetail and ground elder and my all time nemeses – creeping bleedin’ buttercup.  I have dug up enough creeping bleedin’ buttercup in my career as a gardener to bury Croydon to a depth of 55 feet.  True.  I don’t like to use weedkillers and only do  so at the Priory for the brick paving areas around the house, the brick paths, the parking area and some of the 2 or 300m drive.   I just haven’t got the time to hand weed such large areas.   (I never use weedkillers or insecticides in my own garden or indeed any other garden I’ve worked in).

Anyway, the hand weeding is working.  Slowly but surely.  What little bindweed that’s left in the beds is now weak and tiddly as it emerges.  I shall battle on. And whilst I shall never be truly victorious, I  hope to  keep  the enemy on a sullen and sulky back foot.

The hardest beds to weed (and so consequently the ones  that I left till last) were the Kidney Beds, whose surface was a tight lattice of nettle roots and stems, resembling nothing other than the ‘fingers’ on an Alien Facehugger, gripping on with grim determination.
(Still awake?  Well done. Almost there).  What, I’m slowly getting round to saying is that there is a lot of space in the garden.  A few garden plants survived their ‘Wilderness Years’ but mostly what I was left with was some shrubs and lots and lots of space.  Now all I had to do (and still have to do) is fill it.*The use of the word ‘Bums’ in this post title was  for the rather pleasing alliterative value only.  Apologies if you were expecting something altogether different.