Tag Archives: Wild Flowers

Under Way

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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 Narcissus ‘Ice 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. 

September Return

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September is a favourite month;

in fact I’d rank it in my top twelve.

The light is sharp and low and the gardens look pretty good with much still in flower.  But there is a chill in the air that promises change.

It will soon be time for regular bonfires and leaf raking; time for the perusal of bulb catalogues while sipping huge mugs of tea; chopping fire-wood;  making spring planting plans;  the clearing of herbaceous borders and the annual making-of-things (e.g. more nest-boxes and more leaf-mold bins).  And, best of all, September heralds tottering piles of buttery crumpets.

It is also a busy month at the Priory.  And it is far busier this year than usual.  For reasons I won’t bore you with, we’ve only just cut the beech hedge – rather than in early August.

The main beech arch with, right, a new one being trained

The wet summer meant that it had grown much more than in previous years and so took far longer to do.  Boy, did my arms ache.

Nick, Jim and I toiled a whole day; and then Jim and I toiled another.  All the trimmings then had to be collected and burnt; wreathing the gardens in constant, medieval wood smoke.

The mixed hedging normally only requires a light trim after its main cut in July – usually a swift job to remove a few arching bramble stems.  But not this year.  Again the wet summer had allowed it a secondary, unwanted and major growth spurt.

Jim cutting the mixed hedging

I asked Jim to come in again and help me get it re-cut.  It should now look crisp throughout its dormant months.

With the hedges cut, I could turn my attention to strimming.  There are large areas of grass that now need clearing.  Unmown they have been full of wildflowers but now they must be cut short before they are flattened by heavy rain and frost.

Sheep’s Bit Scabious (Jasione montana)

This is such a patch below the greenhouse; packed with Sheep’s Bit Scabious (Jasione montana) it has been spared my strimmer – for now.

About the ponds and ditches, I have reduced to ground level meadowsweet and ugly dock, nettle, perfidious bramble and unwanted, unloved self-sown willow and alder.  Whatever I cut, I rake up and barrow out to the bonfire.

The meadow is far too large an area for me to strim.  Next week, weather allowing, Sam and his huge, his amazing grass-cutting machine will tackle it.  (Heavy rain today forced us to postpone).

As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, rabbits have broken into the gardens once again to wreak havoc; nibbling through the wire netting as if it were cotton.  Damn them and their twitchy noses too.

I really ought to be moving tender plants into the warm, safe bosom of the greenhouse now except that it is still full of cucumbers and …

… tomatoes.  Weird, strange 2012.  And I have had a warning shot across the bows.  I really must get a move on and bed the gardens down for winter.  You see last Wednesday, on the 19th we had our first frost!

As it does every year, it has caught me by surprise.  Suddenly, summer has slipped away.  And me with the meadow still uncut, lots of strimming to do, loads of tender plants to move under cover, some of which I was still hoping would flower!  But not now.  Frost?  Already.  Cripes.  Yes, I really must get cracking.

Best get the crumpets on.

An Arum By Any Other Name

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Were you to visit the Priory at this time of year, and were I to gently push your nose under bushes and hedges and into shady, damp corners, you would certainly notice Arum manulatum.

You might not know it by its Latin name (I didn’t prior to this post) but if you call it anything it is probably Lords and Ladies.  Or Cuckoo flower (though confusingly Cardamine pratensis shares this common name), as its flowering is said to coincide with the spring arrival of cuckoos in the UK.  This seems true enough – I heard my first cuckoo on 14th April and saw one two weeks later.

Perhaps you use neither of those names and call it Jack in the Pulpit or, if you prefer, Parson in the Pulpit.  Maybe Wake Robin, Babe-in-the-Cradle, Robin and Joan, Greasy Dragon or Silly Lovers.  No?

Many of the names are baffling but not Friar’s Cowl

How about Friar’s Cowl or Bobbins?  Or Adam and Eve, Lily Grass, Knights and Ladies?  Or Calves Foot, Devils and Angels, Red-hot-poker, Snake’s Meat, Frog’s Meat, Lady’s Smock, Lamb’s Lakens  or Cows and Bulls?  Have you decided yet,  Sweethearts?  (that’s another name.  I wasn’t being over-familiar).  Parson and Clerk, Adder’s Tongue, Ramp and Kings and Queens are perfectly acceptable and if you’re from Somerset you might know it as Sucky Calves.  I also found Kitty-come-down-the-lane-jump-up-and-kiss-me – though I find it hard to imagine anyone using that many syllables to describe what’s under the privet.  Hobble-gobbles, Moll of the woods, Jack in the box and Jack in the green; English passionflower, Lady’s keys, Long purples, Nightingale, Soldiers and sailors and Flycatcher – the list goes on.

The brown spadix and hooded spathe

The shape of the green hood gives us Tender Ear, Narrow Ear and Goat’s Ear.  And that of the spadix: Bloody Man’s Finger,  Dead Man’s Fingers and Cobbler’s Thumb.

Some names such as Starchwort and Starch-root refer to the historic use of its cooked and ground tubers as starch for laundry and even food (but please don’t try this at home unless you know exactly what you are doing; A. maculatum is toxic).  They can also be used as a thickening agent hence the name Arrowroot  – though this is not the familiar, readily available ‘arrowroot’ which is usually derived from Maranta arundinacea.

You might have guessed that many of the names are ribald and even lewd, as the shape of the flower is suggestive of male and female genitalia.  I’ve always known it as  Cuckoo-pint – though I have been mispronouncing it; pint rhymes with ‘mint.’   Pint is derived from pintle an Old English word for penis.  And cuccopintle means cuckoo penis which the plant is said to resemble.  (I wasn’t able to verify this from my sighting of a cuckoo in flight)!  Willy Lily,  Priest’s Pilly (Westmorland), Parson’s Billycock and Naked Boys are hardly euphemistic but if you really wish to cut to the chase, move to Wiltshire where it is known simply as Dog’s cock.  No  beating about the bush in Wiltshire.

The most common name, Lords and Ladies might be Victorian; used to gloss over some of the more er, colourful rustic epithets.  Though it has been suggested* that with a little apostrophe-use, it is just as vulgar as some of these other names, viz Lord’s and Lady’s – bringing us right back to the earthy vernacular.

So pick a name.  You might just plump for Wild Arum though that now seems a little tame. And me?  I think I’ll ditch Cuckoo-pint in favour of the perfectly marvellous Sucky Calves.

(There may be as many as a hundred common names for A. manulatum.  I found many more that I haven’t listed, mostly because they are variations on some of the above eg Dog’s bobbin, Man in the pulpit, Soldiers, Pokers, Naked ladies etc.  And I figured fifty-five – now sixty – was more than enough).

* Richard Mabey’s quite brilliant ‘Flora Britannica’ (which was invaluable in writing this post) – if you don’t already own a copy rush out and buy one.  Right this minute.

Wild Places, Wild Flowers

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April is a busy month for gardeners and the sheer amount of flower can be a little distracting.  Plants are elbowing through to the fore, hurling themselves into flower and screeching, “Me, me, me.  Look at me!”  And very pretty it all is too but I do wish (a little) that they would just calm down a bit.  I find myself whispering, “Very nice, but just take it easy, OK.  Slow down pal, slow down; there’s plenty of time.”  As distracting as it is, I want the show to run and run.

But realising that they won’t take a blind bit of notice, I continue to edge and dig, mow and plant; all the while taking time to enjoy the spectacle.  Even plants that I wouldn’t have planted myself, such as …

Forsythia in bloom. A neighbour's cottage at The Old Forge.

… forsythia, are looking mighty fine in this, their lime-light moment.

There is a forsythia up against the house and under a window at the Priory.  Seems an odd place to plant one as, once the main event is over,  it is a dull shrub.  But, with an underplanting of forget-me-nots, I have no plans to remove it.  Yet.

Something I would have planted (had there not already been one) is Magnolia stellata.  Such perfection is rare on this particular little tree but the absence of late, hard frosts this year has left the delicate blooms unblemished.

Tulipa bakeri 'Lilac Wonder'

I must stress that, actually, I have planted some stuff myself (this is important; it’s my job).  Here Tulipa bakeri ‘Lilac Wonder’ flowers against a backdrop of fresh crocosmia leaves.

Primula denticulata with the first Peacock butterfly of the year - 28 March.

And beneath a young fig tree, a clutch of primulas attract an early visitor; always gratifying that I have helped to attract wildlife.

But as much as I would like to claim credit for all the beauty in the gardens, sadly, I can’t.  One of my favourite areas of the Priory is a bank, running down from the greenhouse to a drainage ditch.

I strim it once or twice a year but certainly not in Spring when, after the crocuses are over,  it is speckled with primroses, the odd daffodil, wood anemones and cuckoo flowers.

Primroses (Primula vulgaris) grow throughout the estate.

Here forming a carpet (or at least a rug) in the wild-flower meadow,

here popping up in the lawn and …

… here self-seeding themselves into places they really shouldn’t.  But, bad as such behaviour is, I can’t always bring myself to root them out.

Usually I’m unimpressed with pink but, while I still prefer the common yellow primrose, I do rather like some of the variations; such as this one.

Viola odorata

Even more widespread than the primulas are wild violets (Viola odorata).  A visitor to the gardens was really quite excited when she noticed the white form …

White Viola odorata

… as she thought them quite rare (though a quick internet search seems to dispute this).  The white violas don’t mix with their common-or-garden cousins; remaining haughtily separate and aloof.  We have several patches of them along the drive and by the river-bank.

Cardamine pratensis

The Cuckoo Flower or Lady’s Smock (Cardamine pratensis) is common in these ‘ere parts, lining hedgerows and field margins, and is now spreading into the meadow; which pleased me no end.

Under three large oak trees, on the east lawn, is another area of grass which I leave uncut until the autumn.  Chiefly because later in the summer it is home to a small colony of …

Dachtylorhiza fuchsii. June 2011

… Common Spotted Orchids (Dachtylorhiza fuchsii) which I wish to encourage (obviously) but also…

… because of a growing spread of bluebells and …

Erthronium pagoda

… a little something extra that I have added:  Dog’s Tooth Violets (so-called because of the shape of their bulbs).  I have planted three different varieties but only this one, Erythronium pagoda, has deigned to flower.  The un-mown grass is also home to a steadily increasing number of wood anemones (Anemone nemorosa).

I’d like to say that their gentle, perfect spacing is down to me.   But that would be a lie.  I know how tricky naturalised planting is to achieve and it doesn’t come any better than this; careful where you tread.

I first noticed wood anemones as a twenty-one year old visiting Rievaulx Abbey in Yorkshire.  Coming from the city, I had no idea what it was but, thinking it gorgeous, plucked one to press within my angsty journal – for later identification.  Now almost thirty years later, the pressed flower is still in my angsty journal and, remarkably, perfectly preserved.

Up on the drive, where it passes through Margaret’s wood, anemones grow much more abundantly.  They have erupted in number since the  trees were thinned a couple of years ago and sunlight now washes the woodland floor.

Caltha palutris

In the water margins of the gardens, I have added Kingcup (or Water Marigolds if you prefer; either way: Caltha palutris) and, unsurprisingly in this perfect habitat,  it is thriving.

Another Marsden introduction (and mentioned in a recent post) are Fritillaria meleagris.  I boasted then that there were hundreds of this handsome charmer dancing across the meadow … but only posted photos of single flowers.  So were proof needed …

Ranunculus ficaria

Lesser Celandine (Ranunculus ficaria) is endemic at the Priory and (very annoyingly) infests some of the formal borders.  But here in the meadow, it may do as it likes – and does.

Nearby is a swathe of wild flowers that, were they not already well established, I certainly would have planted.  Along the river bank, on either side of the post and rail, is a heady, salami-scented expanse of Ramsons or Wild garlic (Allium ursinum).

Allium ursinum

So far only one or two have flowered but …

… when they all do, it is quite a sight.  And smell.  The sight I’ll share, in due course. The smell?  Er, garlicky.  Go sniff a salami; you’ll get the idea.

Prunus spinosa not yet in full spate.

And providing the shade that Ramsons love?  A large bank of Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa).  I certainly didn’t plant this but I did save it from being felled.  The chap who put in the post and rail fencing wanted to clear it (would’ve made his job much easier).  But I fought its corner and the thicket was reprieved.   I’ve been delaying publishing this post for a few days now, as I wanted to show you the Blackthorn at full throttle; unfortunately though, that is still a few days off and (as a good friend has just pointed out) it has been a while since I last posted.  So …

Looking over Apeldoorn tulips to the Blackthorn. April 2011.

… we must make do with this photo from last year.   It is a magnificent, completely over the top, distracting performance – which I love and never tire of.  I’m so glad it wasn’t chain-sawed.  Aren’t you?

Mini-Me Meadows

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South of the river and north of the house, there is a big expanse of grass and flowers and life that I like to walk around at least twice a day.  It’s a nice place to be.  But this isn’t the only area of grass that is left to grow at this time of year. There are half a dozen or so little flower meadows dotted about the gardens of the Priory.   These are where I have planted drifts of daffodils in the lawns.  For six to eight weeks after they’ve finished flowering, I leave them be, mowing around them and waiting for the foliage to die back.
 
And then, eventually, I strim the long grass and start to mow normally.  This does, unfortunately,  leave pale patches on the lawn (you can see two in the above photo up against the banks of the East Pond).  But after a few weeks they green up and disappear.
But some of these Daffodil Islands survive longer than they need to.  You see, I can’t bring myself to strim them.  There is one in particular over by the West Pond.  Here it is:

The daffs are long, long  gone and it really ought to be cut back now but I can’t bring myself to.

It is so pretty and beloved of bees and butterflies, that I can’t.  I can’t and I won’t.  So don’t ask me.  At least for the time being.
If you look back at the first photo of the meadow you’ll notice how the grass is much longer than that in this ‘Island.  But if we continue to mow the former as we have been, removing all the cuttings, then one day (probably years after I’m carted off) the big flower meadow will look like the small patch above.  A drop of concentrated meadow essence.
Further areas that I have left uncut are the banks of the two ponds:
In the past, I strimmed these steep banks several times during the summer after the daffodils had died back. But, whilst there are nettles, docks and thistles in amongst the good stuff and I realise that the banks look terribly neat and trim and sculpted when strimmed (rather nice actually – Ed), they are better a little ragged, a little shaggy and full of flowers.  I think.
I will need to strim them at some point or else I shall be up to my earlobes in alder and elder, bramble and  willow.
There is reed mace growing in the East Pond for the first time and I like how it merges with the unshaven banks; I am concerned, however, at how invasive it may become.
Last autumn, along the base of a section of the beech hedge, I planted crocuses and this year have avoided mowing it whilst they died down

And then I got quite fond of the look of it (monk’s tonsure and all that) and then, and then

and then another bleedin’ spotted orchid appeared.  What is it with orchids – are they trying to be as common as muck?  And how many more are there that I must be mowing over year on year, just waiting for the opportunity to throw up a flower spike.  Two a penny at the Priory it seems.  Extraordinary.  But I’m not complaining.  Still, it is another area of lawn I can’t yet start mowing.  Not until the orchid has seeded.
The other area that I am not strimming this year, in order to allow it to flower, is the ditch that connects the two ponds.
The meadow is to the left and the north lawn to the right
And it is responding marvellously, full of flowers and insects and froglets.  The latter avoid me by jumping for cover when I walk past.  But I see them.
All these temporary wild areas will, sadly, be strimmed in time.  They have to be in order to avoid them being colonised by scrub and tree.  But for the moment vibrant, colourful, abuzz and full of life they are integral to the garden.