Tag Archives: Summer Flowers

The Tropical Border Revisited

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Back in April, I told you about the new tropical or hot border I was developing (see ‘Planning for the Tropical Border’).  And I promised to let you know how it turned out; unless, of course, it was a humiliating disaster in which case I most certainly would not.

Well, actually it hasn’t been too bad (despite the absence of a ‘topical’ summer) so here are a few shots taken over the last few weeks.

Various Cannas (including coccinea), Bishop of Llandaff dahlias, Fuchsia thalia and Lilium pardalinum have all flowered pretty well.  As did several self-sown, gaudy snapdragons that artfully filled gaps I’d purposefully left.  *Cough*

While foliage plants including Colocasia esculenta, Tetrapanax papyrifer ‘Rex’, Melianthus major and the bananas Musa basjoo and Ensete maurelii all put on good growth and should be more impressive still next year.

I’ve really enjoyed watching an entirely new bed fill out with unusual and exotic large plants, with the big leafy planting meshed together with Verbena bonariensis.

Not everything has been a resounding success.  The giant reed (Arundo donax – centre, rear) only threw up three or four canes and looks decidedly spindly; but it is a thug and I’m sure it will muscle itself to the fore next year (though I wish I’d followed Christopher Lloyd’s suggestion and bought the variegated form).  And also (sniffle) my Echium pininana didn’t flower (sob); I grew them from seed last year.

Here they are (right) just after they were planted out in May.  I  had banked on them carrying the whole border on their tall, stately, blue-flowered shoulders.  But no, they have let me down and must be transplanted back to the greenhouse to overwinter, in the hope that they will flower next year.

Easily said.  These are now hefty, prickly plants …

… and moving them is hard work.  And besides, I’m not convinced they will survive the process and another winter under glass.

Colocasia is easier to handle and barrow …

… to where I could pot it up in leaf mould.

I almost put my back out moving this fellow.  The red banana (Ensete maurelii) is instant impact when planted out in the spring.

Though I wonder how much longer I will be able to lift this particular specimen without help.

The hardy bananas (Musa basjoo) are not worth lifting.  They are young and didn’t grow much and so can stay put.  I don’t mind if they are killed back down to ground level – which is what will happen if I don’t protect their stems.  But over in what was an experimental ‘tropical border’ last year is a …

… larger specimen.  Last year I wrapped it in hessian to ward off frost.

But I obviously didn’t do it thick enough and the three-foot trunk turned to mush.   This year I intend to protect it properly.  I put a column of wire netting about the de-leafed banana …

… and then stuffed it with straw (knowing the local farmer is a real boon!).

Hmmm.  Not a thing of great beauty … but it should do the job and next year’s new growth will be given a three-foot head start.

I rather like this border.  It is a lot of work preparing it for winter but some of the plants like the dahlias and melianthus and tetrapanax can be mulched and left in situ.   Having seen how the various plants meld together, my spacing next year should be better and, if we actually get some decent sun, then this new bed should really get underway. And, who knows, my echiums might just flower!

A Priory Pause

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I’m about to toss my blogging beret (with ostrich feather) to one side; take off my blogging smoking-jacket (burgundy with faux-ermine trim), lay down my blogging cigarette-holder (fake ivory with diamante inlay) and flick-out my blogging monocle.

Yep.  Time for a break from the blogging treadmill.  At least for a while.  But before I go, I’ll leave you with some recent snapshots from the Priory.

The kidney beds with absurdly huge (and very stoutly staked) echinops – left, have put on a good showing this year.  Over on the right, behind the persicaria is …

… Crocosmia ‘Lucifer’.  This is a widely grown garden stalwart … and quite right too.  A gorgeous, and reliable, thing.

The long borders are looking neat and trim but I shall be giving them a major revamp over the coming months.  The cardoons for a start will be coming out – their enormous leaves take up a huge amount of space but then die back leaving unsightly gaps.

Here, in the rock border, is Lobelia cardinalis ‘Queen Victoria.‘  I’ve grown this in my garden before but this is its first year at the Priory.

You will have to do battle with slugs, to get it to flowering size.  Persevere – she’s worth it.

For these past four years, I’ve experimented with different climbers on this wooden post:  morning glory, passion flower, Spanish flag and this year black-eyed Susan (Thunbergia alata).  I can now announce my climber trial is over and we have a clear winner.  Of the four, I am most impressed with (…drumroll … bugle … more drumroll … a touch more bugle …) the Thunbergia.  It has won itself a permanent spot. *Applause, whistles and foot stomping*

I started clipping the box the other day – of which I’ve planted rather a lot.  This hedge is a free-form shape.  A sleigh?  A recumbent giant (waist down only)? A pair of racing caterpillars?  No idea.  It will become clearer in time, perhaps.  Or maybe I should run a competition?  You suggest it; I’ll clip it.

A view across the new path beds (planted with but not yet filled by Nepeta ‘Six Hills Giant’) to the new tropical border.

It hasn’t been a brilliant year for establishing a hot border.  But it is now, finally, beginning to plump up and have a romp.  Agonizingly, my Echium pininana are still only three-foot tall.  Will they flower this year?  I demand it but your guess is as good as mine.

Dahlia ‘Bishop of Llandaff’ adds spots of colour …

… as did Lilium pardalinum and …

… Canna coccinea; all three are new additions to the gardens.

And if you haven’t grown Eucomis bicolor before (like me) I would heartily recommend it.  The flowers are simply (insert superlative of choice here) and very long-lived indeed.  I do so like a hardworking plant.

I’ll finish with this shot of an only recently transplanted Verbascum olympicum.  As a ghostly specimen this particular plant takes some beating.  The silver, unblemished leaves; the symmetry, stature and slightly bashful nod; that promise of gold flower.  I shall be transplanting more of these from the Old Forge.

Right then.

That’s enough.

Break-time, already.

See you soon ….. Dave

Wild Places, Wild Flowers – Summer

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The most noticeable scent in the Priory gardens at the moment is not the roses; neither is it lilies; nor the strong wafts from summer flowering honeysuckle.   No – the pervasive nose-tease is this:

Measdowsweet (Filipendula ulmaria).*  Because I’m leaving more and more of the garden margins unstrimmed, the number of wild flowers is increasing year on year.  For example, the main drainage ditch (which links the two ponds) is full of wild flowers and, especially, the …

… light, airy flower-heads of meadowsweet.

If you see it growing somewhere, do walk over, bend down and breathe deeply.  You won’t regret it.

I like the ‘stream’ it  forms between the gardens and the meadow.  In a few weeks, when it has finished its summer show, all this will be strimmed.

The meadow itself has been a disappointment this year.  All that flipping rain has allowed the grass to romp away and swamp the wild-flowers.   I’ve noticed this in other gardens too; the wild-flower meadow at Charleston Manor was the same.

Still.  There are more insects in the meadow than anywhere else in the garden.

And even without lots of flower, the meadow is still a special place to walk and look and think; especially in the early morning when the grass is heavy with dew.

The pond banks are also unstrimmed and it is amazing how wild flowers just pop up.  Where from?  Here is a patch of common mallow (Malva sylvestris) while …

… up by the greenhouse is a singular Musk mallow (Malva moschata).

Arguably the prettiest ‘weed’ is this.  Do you know it?  Of course you do:  Herb Robert (Geranium robertianum).  It spreads itself freely about but is easily pulled out.  I once watched a pair of bull-finches feeding on its seed and for that chance reason alone, it is worth having.  Or so I think.

Having identified Herb Robert so effortlessly, how about this one?  Any idea?  I have to say I didn’t know.  The answer is ….. water mint (Mentha aquatica).  It too grows in the main ditch and again I don’t remember seeing it before.

Here’s one last wild-flower for you to name.  Once again, I had to look it up as it isn’t something I’ve seen before; growing as it is on a bank that normally I would have cut by now.  Yes!  That’s right.  Well done, indeed.  It is betony (Stachys officinalis) and we have a …

… a single white one too.  Bonus points to me.

Dotted about the grounds are patches of unmown grass.  These are areas that I have left uncut to allow for the die-back of daffodils.  Thing is, the daffs are long gone but self-heal and birds-foot trefoil and others continue to flower.  Can’t quite bring myself to strim them while they harbour so many flowers – and so many insects.  But soon these Mini-me meadows will be consigned to the compost bin.  Indeed, in a few short weeks we will be mowing the main meadow; an event that, for me, marks an end to summer.  Even though summer only just got here.

Didn’t it?

*  Actually that is a bald-faced lie.  The over-powering smell in the gardens at the moment isn’t any flower.  The over-powering smell in the gardens is the stench of a rotting deer carcass.  Nice, huh?  The poor, young thing fell though the cap of a disused well.  Unable to get out, it drowned.  As much as I hate deer coming into the garden, I wouldn’t wish such a dismal end on any creature.  I’ve covered the well (temporarily) and that has helped reduce the awful stink.  I’ll have it properly capped soon.  An unpleasant story – which is why I lied and stuck with the tale of the strongest perfume being that of meadowsweet instead.  I guess you understand why.

Strangers On My Knapweed

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Common knapweed (Centaurea nigra) grows widely in the meadow.

It flowers from June till September,

is very popular with a wide range of insects and is usually abuzz with visitors.

There are, of course, the usual bees and flies that feed on its nectar.  But the other day there were three visitors that I didn’t know.  So, on getting home, I dug out my ‘Boys Big Bumper Book of Bugs.’   Turns out that they were all fairly common and widespread – at least in southern England.  Doesn’t make them any less beautiful though.  Or welcome.

First up was a large skipper butterfly.  There certainly aren’t as many butterflies at the Priory this year – at least not yet.  But there are some meadow browns and skippers.   So that’s good, isn’t it?

I was very taken with my second unknown;  the thick-legged flower beetle.  Not the most gracious of names but a rather handsome chap.  And it is a chap – females don’t have the fat legs.  Thin-legged flower beetles?

And then I spotted a spotty moth.

“Must be terribly rare,” I thought, as I don’t remember ever seeing one before.  But no.  The six-spot burnet moth is the commonest of Britain’s day-flying burnet moths.  Apparently.

Might have called it the twelve-spot burnet moth, myself.

Nothing wrong with being commonplace, I suppose.  We can’t all be special.  Or rare.

I’m pleased that having stopped cutting the lawn-that-is-now-the-meadow, we’re attracting all sorts of insects that otherwise would have flown on by; insects that I’m now seeing – and learning the names of.

Even if some of them are rather common.

Of Flowers And Foes

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I’m rather fond of lilies.

I know not everyone is.

But I am.  I grow them in some of the borders and …

… in pots.

After two years grace, lily beetles have now arrived at the Priory.

Did they smell the perfume from across Margaret’s fields and home in from some distant garden?  Smacking their lips?  Or were they smuggled in by my Arch Gardening Enemy (responsible for skewing so many of my gardening efforts)?

I wouldn’t normally relish squishing any creature; especially so handsome a beetle as this.  But having grown potted lilies for several years now, I know LB’s intimately and despise them.  And … and … and … (splutter) their larvae are overwhelmingly revolting.

They cover themselves in a thick, towering coat of their own slimy, glistening excrement – a deterrent to being eaten.  Works for me.

Gross, huh?  Want another shot of one?

Probably not but here you go anyway.

In addition another favourite plant has been subject to attack: Solomon’s Seal (polygonatum).

There is one small clump which survived the-years-of-neglect and, during April, it tends to draw me over.  Or causes me to stop and pause as I walk past.  It is a plant that re-pays being closely studied.

But now, in July, it is just a food crop for the Solomon’s seal sawfly.  In the past I have just let these grubs be – they don’t seem to affect the plant’s flowering.  But I read recently that having stripped the leaves, the fully fed and nicely fat larvae simply burrow down into the soil and pupate the following year.  Repeated annual feasting can’t be good for the plant’s vigour and, as it seems such a simple life-cycle to break, I have begun picking them off.

Another sawfly, which attacks birch (yep, it’s called the birch sawfly) has been a problem these past two or three years.  If I hadn’t removed them all last year, they certainly would’ve stripped my three young Betula jacquemontii ‘Snow Queen’ of all their leaves.  This year I found only one larva (and quickly crushed it thinking there would be many more – hence no photo) and only one branch slightly affected.  Did birds eat them?  I like to think so.  It would be a little payback for all the money spent on birdfood.

But not all the plants are under sustained assault.  Opium poppies survived the-years-of-neglect too – though this year, their numbers are way down.  They self seed prodigiously but I do pull them out of some of the beds.  You can have too much of a good thing.

But as much as I like them, some are too frilly by far.  Not only do I find them too fussy, bees struggle to get at their nectar.

The kidney beds are at long, long last putting on a show though it is not as hyper as last year.

Day lilies (again these are survivors from before my time and so variety unknown) have only just started flowering.  Behind them is …

… Campanula lactiflora looking jolly smart and at one bed’s end …

… a Stipa gigantea has reached maturity.

Also in the kidney beds are Verbascum chaixii ‘Album.’  I originally grew these from seed and they are now increasing in number sufficiently for me to spread about elsewhere.

And, talking of verbascums, out on the drive a single plant (which I didn’t have the heart to strim) has developed into a sizeable grouping.  Goodness only knows where the seed came from.  I shall dig some up and use in the gardens.  Anyone know the variety?

I also transplanted some Verbascum olympicum from the Old Forge – where they flourish on the dry, chalky soil.  But here at the Priory, they are still a long way from flowering; if indeed they will flower at all in this wet and cold, drab and overcast ‘summer’.

My Ligularia przewalskii (written with confidence but pronounced with none at all) has many more flower spikes than last year.  It, at least, appreciates all the rain we’ve had.

But roses do not relish rain.  A couple of weeks ago, this old Rosa ‘New Dawn’ around the front door to the house looked pretty but the flowers didn’t last as long as usual.  The rain and wind soon battered them to a sodden, pulpy oblivion.

The rose tunnel is also in flower (though there are gaps.  I have planted new bare-rooted plants to fill these).

After a visit last weekend to the stunning gardens at West Dean, I can at last identify the climbing rose on the tunnel.  I had suspected it was Sanders White but it’s nice to be certain.  What a beauty it is.  Just a shame we haven’t got the sunshine to show it off at its best.

Perhaps next year?  Or the year after.  Or the one after that.