PLANTS KEEP CHANGING THROUGHOUT THE ICY MONTHS TO PERFORM WELL IN THE SPRING AND SUMMER
Under its seasonal covering of snow or frost, the winter garden appears dead and lifeless. Brave splashes of colour come from witch hazels, viburnums and a few other shrubs. But the majority of the garden seems to be sleeping, waiting for the warmer weather and longer daylight hours.
This is an illusion. The garden never sleeps, and all winter there are subtle but vital changes taking place. Under the soil, the cold is working its magic on seeds, bulbs and roots. Even the chill winds have a role to play to ensure flowers and fruits appear later in the year. Without the winter cold, gardens would be less beautiful in the summer.
A period of cold weather is essential to many plants and crops. Without it, some would struggle to grow at all, while others would not flower or produce crops.
One example of crops that need a cold spell are fruit trees such as apples, plums and pears. If temperatures remain high, these trees would not come into growth in spring, nor produce flower buds. In a process known as vernalisation, the reduction in daylight initially induces the trees to go dormant. They shed their leaves, which would require too much energy to maintain in winter when they make less food. Then the trees must be exposed to a certain number of days with a minimum temperature, usually less than 7°C. Only when this has happened are they ready to burst into growth and bloom when temperatures rise. This process is designed to ensure this happens in spring, and not in autumn.
The amount of days of cold required is expressed in chill hours. Some require longer periods of cold than others, although the reason for this is not currently known. However, the plants are believed to store the necessary information and pass it on in their genes.
Bulbs in winter
Hardy bulbs need different weather conditions at different times of the year to grow and produce flowers. Flower bulbs are formed in summer, as a result of heat in a process called baking. Root growth is stimulated by the cooler and wetter weather of autumn. However, it is the cold of winter that is needed to stimulate stem growth. Temperatures of 10°C or below trigger the elongation of the flower stem.
Attempts to grow hyacinths or daffodils in the home often results in hyacinths with a clump of flowers crowded in the neck of the bulb or daffodils on dwarf stalks. This is the result of ignoring the bulbs’ need to spend at least 10 weeks in cool conditions, ideally outside below 10°C. There are exceptions to this such as ‘Paperwhite’ and ‘Soleil d’Or’. Native to warm Mediterranean regions, they do not need a period of cold for their stems to grow. It is autumn rain, rather than winter cold, that spurs on these daffodils’ growth.
Getting ahead in the race for light
In winter, herbaceous plants stop growing and die back. Instead, they store the carbohydrates they make from water and carbon dioxide from the air in their roots. This provides the plants with a reserve of energy, designed to give them a head start in spring. They store the carbohydrates as starch because this is more concentrated in energy (calories) than simple sugars. Starch is not water soluble, making it difficult to move around the plant in the sap.
The onset of cold weather, however, triggers enzymes in the root to convert the starch back into soluble sugar. This means it can be moved to the growing tips of the plant, ready for early spring’s surge of growth. Once the conditions are right, they are able to push their shoots to the sunlight ahead of surrounding plants such as annuals. This stops the new growth from being smothered by the hundreds of annual seedlings which are germinating at the same time. Peonies and dahlias are both examples of the wide range of plants this benefits. It is also the reason why parsnips taste sweeter after they have been frosted.
Saving the next generation
When grown from seed some plants need a cold spell before they will flower. These include biennials such as wallflowers, aquilegias, sweet Williams and onions. Blooming in late spring, they release their seeds in summer. If the seeds germinated immediately, they would flower and set seed as soon as they were big enough. These new seeds would not have time to ripen before winter arrived. The cold weather would kill them, with the loss of a whole generation. Instead the plants make healthy clumps of foliage the first year. Then they wait for a sufficient winter chilling before producing flowers. No matter how early in spring these seeds are sown, they will only produce leaves in the first year, never flowers.
The necessary cold period to stimulate flowering can be very short. Several biennial plants, such as parsnips, carrots, beet and onions, are grown as vegetables. The starches and sugars stored in their roots provide valuable food when eaten. If these vegetables are sown too early in spring, there is a risk of short cold snap while they are growing in April or May. This could fool them into thinking that winter had come and gone, and it was time to flower. At this point the plants ‘bolt’, sending up flower stems and the crop is lost to the gardener.
The biennials above require winter chilling to make them flower. There are other plants, however, that need their seeds to be vernalised before they germinate at all. The seeds undergo a period of dormancy. In some cases, simply the softening of the hard coat by frost and weathering action will allow the seed to germinate. This applies to some lathyrus species including sweet peas.
In other cases, this weathering is linked to the need for a cold, moist period. This triggers the seed’s embryo to grow and expand. It breaks through the softened seed coat seeking the sun and nutrients. Seeds do this because if they germinated in autumn, the seedlings would be unlikely to survive the winter. If frost did not kill them, grazing animals, slugs and snails would eat them in the absence of other food. Delaying germination till spring gives every seed a better chance of survival to maturity.
All these processes show that winter is not just a time of frosty beauty. Its chilling weather creates more than a snowy landscape, it plays an essential role in ensuring that the following season is as productive and beautiful as the last.
Words: Geoff Stebbings Photography: Alamy
ICY COVERING OF CRYSTALS TURNS THE COUNTRYSIDE WHITE ON A CLEAR NIGHT
Onclear, still winter nights, a delicate covering of crystals turns the countryside white. The phenomenon is hoar frost. Leaves, flowers and stems are covered with delicate patterns. Spiders’ webs are outlined with a fragile coating. Fine feathers and needles turn grass silver and give trees a ghostly frame.
The name hoar comes from the old English word, hor or har, for white or grey. These frosts form on cold, cloudless nights, with little or no wind. The conditions must be right for crystals to form directly from water vapour present in the air. This process is called sublimation and happens when air changes to a solid without passing through a liquid stage. A true hoar frost is formed solely by sublimation, and is neither frozen dew nor droplets of water. In practice, the frost is often a combination of frozen dew and sublimation.
On these nights, the ground, and the air just above it, steadily cool as they rapidly lose heat to the atmosphere by radiation. Eventually the dew point is reached – this is the temperature at which water vapour in air condenses into liquid water. Both the air temperature and the dew point need to be below the freezing point of water for hoar frost to form.
When the radiation persists, and the temperature continues to drop, the air becomes supersaturated with moisture. The excess moisture is deposited in the form of needle-like crystals that bind themselves onto surfaces.
A crystal world
If there is a lot of moisture available during the long winter night, hoar frost is formed in a thick layer. This can resemble a covering of snow. The pure white is caused by the reflection and refraction of light as it interacts en masse with the frost’s crystalline structure.
An area of high-pressure during the winter will provide the quiet conditions suitable for the formation of a hoar frost. An old weather rhyme says ‘clear moon, frost soon’. When it occurs on successive nights, and does not melt during the day, an ever thicker coating of crystals are formed. This can be 1in (2.5cm) or more long. Conversely a cloudy sky or windy conditions inhibits radiation, preventing a frost.
It is possible for a lawn to be coated with hoar frost while trees and shrubs are frost-free. This happens when the ground temperature is several degrees colder than the air higher up, which remains above freezing point.
Places that are particularly susceptible to a frost are known as frost hollows. As air chills its density increases. On a clear night, slopes in undulating country lose heat by radiation cooling the air above them. The cold air runs downhill like water into hollows and valleys. It is known as a katabatic flow, from the Greek word katabatikos, meaning downhill. If it is trapped by embankments across the valley or by natural spurs jutting outwards, a lake of cold air can form. The valley floor is coated with a thick hoar frost whereas higher up may be frost free. During March 2012 there was only one air frost at a weather station in east Surrey situated above a downland valley. A weather station close by on the floor of the valley recorded 16 air frosts.
Hoar frost in the garden
Gardeners can inadvertently create frost pockets by building a solid fence across a slope. The type and texture of soil is also a factor in contributing to the likelihood and severity of a frost. Sandy soils lose heat more rapidly and reach the frost point more readily than a clay soil. Moist soils will not cool as briskly or lose as much heat.
Hoar frost can be harmful to more delicate plants, shrubs and trees. Water freezes within the plant’s cellular structure, breaking down the walls. A vulnerable time is just after dawn when the air is often at its coldest. Rays from the rising sun are cast onto foliage, causing a rapid defrosting. This ruptures the sides of the plant’s cells when the sap expands. By putting fleece covers over plants, frost is prevented from forming on the plants themselves and averts that sudden thawing. Plants inside a glass cold frame get some protection from a coating of hoar frost. The covering raises the temperature inside by several degrees, giving some protection from radiation.
The longer the duration of the frost, the more a plant suffers. It is the buds and flowers that are most tender. One plant that is susceptible is Magnolia soulangiana. A mild winter induces the tree to flower early, then a spring frost scorches it.
In an average year, many places will have twice as many grass or ground frosts than air frosts. Air temperatures measured at 4ft (1.2m) can often be up to 40C higher than those on the lawn, flower bed or vegetable patch. A thick hoar frost can blacken potatoes while the blossom high on an apple tree may be untouched, remaining just above freezing.
The effects of nature’s frozen tracery are unpredictable, but its beauty remains one of the wonders of the winter.
Words: Ian Currie Photography: Alamy
VIVID BERRIES AND LEAVES OF SPINDLE TREE PROVIDE FOOD FOR BIRDS AND VISUAL TREAT
With the approach of winter, spindle trees start to set the garden ablaze with the colour of their fruit and foliage. These shrubs, botanically known as euonymus, shake off their previously plain appearance, as the leaves burn red and purple. It is, however, the bright, jewel-like fruits that gleam in misty hedgerows. In spinning cascades of pink and orange, they create droplets of pure, bright colour amid the drab branches of other deciduous shrubs. These fruits persist like hot embers long after the foliage has fallen.
A feast for birds
The fat seed capsules are divided into four plump symmetrical lobes like miniature lanterns. These split to reveal glossy orange, rounded fruits that descend from their covers and spin in the breeze. As they ripen and become more prominent, the colourful seeds provide a valuable food source. Persisting well into winter, birds feast off them through the coldest months.
The birds are attracted by the orange fleshy seed coat, with its high-calorie nutrition. Inside the coat the true seeds remain intact after being eaten. Because of this, they are able to make their way through the birds’ digestive tracts to be deposited far away from the parent plant. This is an exquisitely balanced natural relationship. It supports native birds, helping them to survive through winter, while the spindle tree is able to propagate itself throughout the countryside.
The native Euonymus europaeus is such a veritable larder for birds that it will often be aggressively defended by robins making it part of their territory. For this reason,
it is known as ‘robins’ bread’ in some areas of the country.
The fruit is poisonous to humans, as are all parts of the plant. The toxic berries, however, have been put to good use. One traditional remedy for head lice involved applying the crushed berries to the scalp. Referencing the plant’s poisonous nature, the name ‘euonymus’ may originate from Euonyme. In Greek mythology she was the mother of vengeance-wreaking goddesses, the Furies.
The bright fruits are often initially seen dangling below a mantle of colourful leaves. Before it falls, the spindle tree’s foliage has one of the most impressive transformations in the British landscape. It turns from an unobtrusive dark green to a bright pinkish red with splashes of purple and hints of orange.
‘Red Cascade’, a cultivar of Euonymus europaeus, has the brightest and perhaps best colour for this time of year of any plant. A spreading shrub, it reaches 10ft (3m) across and 8ft (2.5m) high. The scalloped leaves gradually turn deep red, starting at the midrib and spreading to the leaf edges. Before the metamorphosis is complete, the leaves take on hues of pink, orange and purple. ‘Red Cascade’ bears plentiful fruit, the branches bowing under the weight.
A lesser-known characteristic of spindle trees is just as fascinating. A close look into the criss-crossing mass of leafless winter branches and the ‘winged’ outline of the straight stems becomes apparent. The branches develop four wings of corky bark, which if cut through have a cross-shaped silhouette. This feature is most prominent on Euonymus alatus, known as the winged spindle. Originating in Asia, it grows to 10ft (3m) in height, gradually spreading to a similar width. With age the bark of the main stems may become fissured, adding to the unusual and sculptural winter outline of this plant.
A limestone lover
The native European spindle, Euonymus europaeus, thrives on alkaline soils and is common on the chalk downs of southern England and on limestone hills and vales. Preferring full sun and freely draining soils, it is tolerant of winds and hard frosts. While it can be found in the shrubby lower canopy of ash, beech or yew woodland, the leaves will be at their most colourful in an open, sunny position. The one situation it will not tolerate is boggy, waterlogged ground. In its natural habitat a spindle tree may live for over 100 years.
Once a very common hedgerow plant, a campaign of grubbing out in the 1970s has left it a rarity in the wild. The spindle tree was thought to harbour crop diseases and pests, especially black bean aphid, which is a major pest of vegetable crops. There was little evidence that euonymus was a truly significant threat to farming.
Now the native plant is spreading in gardens, where it is an easy-to-grow, highly ornamental shrub.
Where to grow in the garden
Ideally, spindle trees are grown where there is an unobstructed view of them in winter. The centre of an island bed is a good location, where its summer foliage offers a useful green foil for tall flowering herbaceous perennials. A winter border with bright-stemmed winter dogwoods Cornus alba, Cornus sericea and Cornus sanguinea is another good site.
There are over 170 species of euonymus around the world but just a handful make suitable garden plants. Euonymus europaeus prefers alkaline soils, but will also grow well in neutral or slightly acidic ground as long as the soil is free-draining.
It is one of the easiest shrubs to maintain, growing in full sun, part shade, sheltered or exposed situations. It is a tough plant that can be used to provide a windbreak, particularly when grown with other wind-tolerant trees such as hawthorn and dog roses. With its abundant food, it is an excellent choice for a wildlife or nature garden.
‘Red Cascade’ is one of the best cultivars of E. europaeus for the garden. Its colour and fruit has earned it an Award of Garden Merit from the Royal Horticultural Society.
Euonymus planipes is another good spindle tree for the garden. Displaying some of the most dramatic winter colour, it grows to 10ft (3m) high. With pinnate leaves reminiscent of an ash tree, it has a vase-like shape that spreads upwards and outwards from a narrow base.
Euonymus alatus ‘Compactus’ is an ideal shrub for less spacious gardens, reaching only 3½ft (1m) in height. With the same distinctive winged wood as the larger E. alatus, it makes an attractive, smaller sculptural winter plant.
Spindle trees need little work. They form a naturally balanced and well branching framework. Little pruning is required, removing only dead, diseased or crossing and rubbing branches, or branches that are growing in an awkward place. Any pruning is done in late winter or early spring before weeding around the base. The tree will then benefit from a mulch of well-rotted garden compost.
The spindle tree is a fascinating plant, valued for its unique aesthetic qualities, wildlife-friendly properties and its many practical uses. It deserves a home in British gardens where the bright fruits and colouring leaves welcome the changing of the seasons and feed hungry birds.
Words: Melissa Mabbit Photography: Alamy
FLOWER-FILLED HAVEN FULL OF COLOUR AND FRAGRANCE
All summer long, a garden nestling in the valley of the River Pang in Berkshire resonates to the sound of bees. From a small wildflower meadow at the front of the house to a formal walled garden at the rear, the plot is filled with nectar- and pollen-rich blooms. Since starting to keep honeybees eight years ago, owner Fran Wakefield has filled her quarter-acre plot with plants that provide these essential foods for her two hives.
“Nearly everything I plant now is with bees in mind,” she says. “It’s wonderful to see them in the air at this time of year. They are always so busy and even when you can’t see them, you can hear them. They make a lovely noise.”
Making a bee-friendly plot
Tithe Barn and its garden are in Tidmarsh, an ancient village surrounded by low-lying flower-filled meadows. The soil is rich loam with chalk from the river. The 18th century barn sits almost in the centre of the 28½sq yd (24sq m) plot. When Fran moved here more than 30 years ago, the garden was bounded by leylandii and saw very little sun. The sloping plot was mainly lawn with an old acacia tree in the centre and a few containers to provide colour. Then eight years ago, the neighbouring manor house was pulled down and redeveloped. As a result of the work, Fran lost hedges and the acacia tree, although she gained a new wall to match her existing two 10ft (3m) high red brick walls.
“The changes let the sunshine in,” she says. “I thought, I need to make the most of this.” She decided to strip the garden out and start anew. At the same time, she wanted to keep bees, something she used to do. She got two hives, which are each home to between 45,000 to 60,000 bees in the summer.
“I wanted to create a classical walled garden to complement the 1760s brick and flint barn,” she says. “There is a formal framework of low hedges, straight paths and box-edges borders filled with flowers in soft pastel shades.”
This scheme provides the backdrop for her bee-orientated planting in the rear garden, where one of the hives is located. The other sits in a small wildflower garden at the front of the barn. It all combines to create a haven for both Fran and her bees.
Abundance of flowers
The wildflower meadow replaced an area of lawn to the left of the drive and courtyard area. “It’s a favourite bee haunt,” says Fran. The hive here is surrounded by corn poppies, white field chamomile and purple toadflax. Rich in pollen and nectar, these are magnets for the bees.
From the front of the barn, a path leads down the side, past a small patio with pots of hostas, to a gate into the walled garden.
In summer, this is a riot of colour with roses, peonies, clematis, delphiniums and other herbaceous perennials in full bloom. Flowers tumble over antique terracotta pots, fill the beds, line paths or climb arches and walls. This abundance of flowering plants is ideal for Fran’s honeybees, as it is easy for them to work their way across the borders. They do not have to fly far from their hives in the garden to find sufficient pollen and nectar. Each colony needs to collect 66lbs (30kg) of pollen and 264lbs (120kg) of nectar simply to survive. To provide a store of honey, they need to gather more than this.
“The bees have plenty of choice for their foraging,” says Fran. “They like single, simple flowers such as geraniums that give them easy access to their pollen or nectar.
“I avoid hybrids or double flowering plants, as the bees struggle with these. However, if there is something I want that the bees don’t like, such as a rose or peony, I still plant it. There is enough in the garden for the bees to feed on.”
To the right of the gate is a border of lavender ‘Hidcote’. Every single stem on this plant has multiple flowers, so the bees can work it easily, moving from one to the next with little expense of energy. Lavender also has the ability to release its nectar gradually, to keep the bees coming back.
To the left, a climbing rose, ‘Goldfinch’, covers the walls of the nearest corner. This restrained rambling rose is ideal for a small space. Its button-like, fruit-scented blooms are covered with golden anthers, loved by the pollen-gathering bees. The petals fall onto the square brick courtyard below. Here, square Victorian seed pans are filled with succulents and thyme. These tiny, low-growing plants are ideal for the bees, flowering even when a lack of water affects other plants.
“They all shrug off drought, and are virtually maintenance free,” says Fran. “The only thing I do is add crocks and pea gravel to the bottom of the pot to ensure good drainage because waterlogging will kill the succulents.”
Fran’s second beehive sits in a quiet and sheltered spot between two herbaceous beds along the east wall. Creamy white rose ‘Alberic Barbier’ standards and allium ‘Globemaster’ are planted here. The bees swarm to the alliums’ starry clusters of violet-purple flowers. Flourishing alongside them are valerian, hardy geraniums, catmint and delphiniums. All are popular with the bees, particularly the open-cupped geraniums, which allow easy access to their nectar to the short-tongued honeybees. The open flowers of delphiniums are visited for their pollen, rather than nectar. Valerian and catmint both have clusters of small flowers that are easy for the bees to work. Flowering through the summer into autumn, they provide a long-lasting food source.
Behind the beds, espaliered apple and pear trees, their varieties now forgotten, grow along the east wall. Planted as part of the redesign, they burst into a mass of blossom in spring. On warm days, they are covered in bees seeking nectar and in turn helping to pollinate the trees.
A place to drink
A path leads past these herbaceous beds, to a corner where an arbour is tucked away beneath trees. This is an area of dry shade where pachysandra, ivy, and periwinkles grow. Flowering from March, pachysandra and periwinkles provide food for bees early in the season when other flowers have yet to bloom. The late-flowering ivy is an important source of nectar later in the year when the bees build up their store of food to see the colony through the winter.
A shady stumpery spills over with ferns and hostas, one of Fran’s favourite plants.
“I’m passionate about hostas, growing 20 different varieties. The leaves are like an embroidery. The bees do go to the spike-shaped blooms, but they prefer flowers they can work and work, such as the verbena,” she says.
Access to water is essential for the honeybees. As well as drinking it, they carry water back to the hive where it is used to regulate the temperature. They also use it to break down nectar from plants such as oil seed rape, which crystallises in the hive. The rape grows in the countryside beyond the garden, and Fran often watches her bees travel out to work it. Under the arbour is a rescued animal feeder perched on brick pillars. Planted with waterlilies, it is an important place for the bees.
A path continues along the back wall, where a border is planted with more hostas and frothy yellow alchemilla. This is another plant whose myriad tiny flowers are covered with foraging bees. The foxgloves planted here are another of Fran’s favourites.
The south and west boundary walls support clematis ‘Montana’ and climbing roses. Covered with big, open flowers, clematis are ideal for bees. Climbing rose ‘Perennial Blue’, is a mass of bluish purple blooms each July. Its open flowers are good for the bees who can get into them easily and take pollen.
A central pathway connects the back wall with the barn’s terrace. It widens in the middle of the walled garden to create a square that encloses a still, round pool. “I love watching the honeybees sit on the edge of the pool to drink, before flying off in search of more nectar,” she says.
Fran puts as much energy into her garden as the bees that work the flowers. She is rewarded not only by the beautiful plants but also the honey from her bees. “The garden gives me a deep connection with nature. This comes from the fact that the flowers I grow are to attract insects, not only for their beauty,” she says. “I’m giving nature’s cycle a helping hand.”
Words and Photography: Nicola Stocken
The feature about Fran's bee garden originally appeared in the July / August 2015 issue of LandScape.
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A DEVON PLOT is filled with a variety of tall grasses that tumble onto curving paths
Autumn brings silver grasses and golden leaves to a Devon garden that tumbles in terraces down the Blackdown Hills near the hamlet of Dalwood. To the south, just seven miles as the crow flies, lies the sea. Below, the gently undulating landscape of the Yarty Valley stretches eastwards as far as the eye can see. Wooded hills, grazed pastures and fertile fields are bounded by ancient hedgerows, a living reminder of the generations of farmers who have worked this land.
It is now more than half a century since Mary and John Benger settled at Burrow Farm and, bit by bit, turned the fields surrounding their farmhouse into a 10-acre garden and woodland. The hillside lies mostly on heavy clay, but John ran a dairy farm on the land, so there was no shortage of well-rotted manure to improve the soil.
In the early days, all the pasture was needed to feed the cows. The only unused land was a derelict former Roman clay pit. “I was so desperate to create a garden that I started there,” recalls Mary. Slowly, with help from their four small children, she cleared the brambles in the old clay pit, revealing an ancient field maple. This still stands today in the Woodland Garden, a tranquil shady oasis filled with birdsong.
Initially, there was no money to spare for planting, but some informal bartering with a local nurseryman resulted in milk being exchanged for plants. “After that I just kept planting, planting and planting,” she says.
In the mid-1980s, John retired and the cows left. “For ages, I had been quietly stealing little bits of field to turn into garden, but now I had all the pasture to choose from,” says Mary.
Since then, she has created new areas including a Terraced Garden, Millennium Garden and, five years ago, the Anniversary Grasses Garden. Each section is allowed to mature before work starts on the next. “The garden has evolved slowly, and a few years have always passed between establishing one area and designing a new one. This means each has a very distinct character,” she explains.
Separating each area are mature oaks, maples, ash, magnolias, birches and cherries, that frame distant vistas, shrub borders and sweeping lawns. “Broad expanses of lawn are like a sorbet between courses, cleansing the palate before you encounter a different style of garden,” says Mary. The lawns not only separate, but also serve to bind the variety of styles together. They link naturalistic planting with formal, colour-themed areas, cottage style with rose pergola, woodland with herbaceous or terraces with courtyard.
In autumn, it is the grasses garden that takes pride of place. Delicate wafting fronds mingle with rich perennials such as asters and sedums. Sited on the westerly boundary, it was created in 2010 to celebrate the family’s 50 years at the farm. It consists of twin, prairie-style borders that run downhill, from north to south. “The idea was to make a garden that, at its autumn peak, feels enclosed with the plants towering up to either side,” Mary explains. This was achieved by lowering the level of a central, winding path and building up the borders. The result is that the planting appears to be tiered. “Then the path twists and turns, obscuring what’s ahead, which gives a feeling of mystery in a relatively small space.”
The grasses garden
The grasses garden was created in a field on the farm’s westerly boundary, down the hillside from the house. The start of the path through the garden is flanked by the first of many clumps of Miscanthus sinensis grasses. These include variegated ‘Cosmopolitan’, and diminutive ‘Yakushima Dwarf’. Its pink-tinged spikelets grow to just 24in (60cm) high, turning silver with age.
“Miscanthus are repeated along the borders’ length. They are the key to the design. Their height ensures that, once the first corner is turned, you cannot see out in any direction,” explains Mary. By chance, when she was planning the beds, a local nursery was closing down. She bought the entire stock of miscanthus for £200.
As the path winds deeper between the borders, the towering clumps of miscanthus and pampas grass become ever more deeply interspersed with flowering herbaceous perennials. There are pink sedum, bistort, purple Verbena bonariensis, pink and purple asters. “I plant them in conjunction with later-flowering plants for extra interest,” says Mary. “The borders are densely packed so that the plants hold each other up. This removes the need for staking.”
She originally planned a mauve and pink colour scheme, but there are also some yellow nasturtiums that have spread far and wide. “When I first planted the borders, I wanted to echo the yellow of the buttercups in the neighbouring field, so I planted nasturtiums. They did so well I have been pulling them out ever since,’’ she says.
The yellow flowers tumble onto the path as it narrows round the first corner, intermingling with foliage of Lathyrus tuberosus, a perennial sweet pea. Nearby is the first of many clumps of geranium ‘Rozanne’, a great favourite. “It’s so vigorous that it almost climbs up other plants,” marvels Mary. It is a wonderful filler that binds the planting together, as well as spilling into the path. This reinforces the seamless transition between path and border, created by an all-embracing mulch of wood chippings.
When planning the borders, Mary first marked out the path that curves between them so that neither end is fully visible from the other. With the path being countersunk, any excavated top soil could be piled onto the borders each side to create gentle slopes for planting. “Then I laid the pots of ornamental grasses onto the soil, arranged according to height. This is so that the eventual effect will be graduated from path-side to back, with see-through grasses near the front edge,” she explains.
Prior to planting, compost was added to each hole and every potted plant was soaked in water for a couple of hours. “After that, the borders were only watered as needed during dry spells, until well established,” she says.
Once the grasses were planted, they were interspersed with Michaelmas daisies. “I repeated the same varieties at least twice along the length of each border, in order to create a sense of rhythm,” she adds. Finally, any gaps were filled with lower-growing plants such as persicarias, salvias and sedums. These quickly spread into their allotted spaces. “The great advantage of grasses and herbaceous plants, as opposed to shrubs, is that they reach their ultimate height in the first year, filling out in subsequent years.”
With its all-embracing mulch of wood chippings, the border is low maintenance. The only work is in late winter when that year’s flowerheads are cut back. To prevent the borders looking bare after this happens, several columnar evergreen Thuja occidentalis emerge as the path winds downhill.
At this point, the border on the left side parts to reveal a wooden bench, edged in a low box hedge. “I like seats where you can sit and contemplate the plants. Otherwise, you just walk straight through, without pausing,” says Mary. From the bench, the tiered planting of the border opposite can be fully appreciated. It ranges from sedums, asters and hardy geranium, past clumps of Miscanthus sinensis and Verbena bonariensis, to the highest point where pampas grasses stand tall. Cortaderia selloana ‘Pumila’ is a great success, a compact variety with silky, silver-yellow plumes.
To the right of the bench stands a clump of Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldtau’, a shimmering golden mass when caught in the evening light. Nearby are clumps of Verbena bonariensis and pink Aster amellus ‘Brilliant’, a magnet to tortoiseshell and peacock butterflies.
“So many of the later flowering plants are rich in nectar,” adds Mary. There is also an unusually restrained, pink bistort. “Both bistort and sedum are grazed by the deer that wander in from the countryside,” she explains. Nowadays, when cutting back the previous year’s sedum heads, she leaves the long stalks to protect the new foliage from being eaten.
With its blend of autumn-flowering perennials and ornamental grasses, this garden changes in mood according to the light. As dawn breaks above the distant hills and valleys of the Devon landscape, the grasses take on a cool silvery sheen. At sunset, they bask in a warm, golden glow, blending into the surrounding landscape with deceptive ease and great beauty.
Words and Photographs: Nicola Stocken
The full feature on the garden at Burrow Farm appeared in the Sept / Oct 2015 issue of LandScape.
The borders of this Worcestershire garden are filled with old-fashioned flowers
Sitting on a Worcestershire hilltop, Highfield Cottage's borders are filled with the scents and colours of flowers grown in English cottage gardens for centuries. Behind high hedges, that protect from the winds, an abundance of roses bloom, here against a backdrop of birdsong, and softly buzzing bees. They scramble over trellis, sheds and rustic arches framing views of billowing borders filled with fragrant flowers.
Owner Valerie Mills moved here 40 years ago with her husband David and two daughters.Then the plot was open to the countryside and was completely over grown. Today it is a beautiful garden where paths meander past clematis, foxgloves, lavender and campanula to name but a few of the beautiful plants that flourish here. Majestic delphiniums line up, tall and stately. Around their tall blue spies, other colours flow freely in every direction. The main border is mainly creams, pinks, whites, blues and purples.
Many of the plants are allowed to self-seed, such as Verbena bonariensis and aquilegias. As well as allowing plants to self-esteem Valerie exchanges plants with other keen gardeners. One of the first she got this was was hardy Geranium x magnificum, with pretty blue flowers. This was joined by Geranium psilostemon, a rampant perennial with shocking-pink flowers. Valerie describes her geraniums as the glue that holds the borders together.
Photographs: Nicola Stocken
The full feature on Highfield Cottage appeared in the May / June 2016 issue of LandScape.
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With subtle tones and smooth curves, an Essex garden quietly celebrates springRead More
The yellow tips of Fritillary michailovskyi radiate warmth when set against the dun tones of an old wooden table. Whether displayed in galvanised watering cans, or even an old food grater, this daily flowers bring a golden glow to a garden.
They are one of 100 species of fritillary, and are among the oldest cultivated plants. With its narrow strap-shaped leaves, they grow to 8in (20cm) in height.
Photography: Richard Faulks
This craft feature appeared in the Spring 2016 issue of LandScape.
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