Posted on

Let’s hear it for the daughters…

Rosa ‘Ellen Willmott’ photo credit: www.trevorwhiteroses.co.uk

I am delighted to tell you that I have finally, after hours of internet searching, found a nursery, Pepiniere Roses Loubert here in France, which stocks, in bare-root, Rosa ‘Ellen Wilmott’. I spent hours looking but I could have found it straightaway on the helpful back tabs of the rose history website, www.helpmefind.com.

Silly me. So this is typical plant-nut behaviour. I get interested in something, a plant or a person, and then I go on the hunt- and invariably, this all ends with a plant purchase. So, here is a short synopsis of the story. I wrote a blog post about Ellen Wilmott (1858-1934) in 2017. I was really struck by her life and reputation, which at the time, seemed to me to be a case of the largely male horticultural world branding a clever woman as mad and reckless. Gertrude Jekyll, her contemporary, on the other hand, regarded Ellen as ‘the greatest of living women gardeners’. Enough said. I rest my case with Miss Jekyll. 

Last year’s new book on Ellen Willmott, has expanded the story. Finding Ellen’s letters and papers, Sandra Lawrence has been able to correct, very probably, much of the tone of the discussion about Ellen. Ellen suffered a terrible personal tragedy when the love of her life, Gian Tuffnell, walked away from her to marry an elderly Lord George Mount Stephen. This break-up coincided with the award ceremony for Ellen’s receipt of the prestigious RHS Victoria Medal in 1897- and in her distress, Ellen ran away to France, never attending the ceremony. This was a public shock that she would never recover from, though, of course, the real reason for her disappearance was never known. For more about the discovery of this story follow this link.

So back to the rose. Three roses were bred to celebrate Ellen. The first was bred by Bernaix in 1898, a Hybrid tea and the second, in 1917, was another tea rose, ‘Miss Wilmott’ by Sam McGredy. The third, ‘Ellen Willmott’ was bred by William Archer and Daughter in 1936, two years after Ellen’s death. 

Stop a moment. Yes, William Archer’s nursery business was called ‘William Archer and Daughter’. What a surprise. In the 1920s, Muriel Archer and her dad, William, were jointly in business together and they recognised this by trading as ‘William Archer and Daughter’. 

Both the connection to Ellen herself, and the redoubtable Muriel Archer and her Dad, were far too intriguing to me as a plant-nut….and then I saw the rose, see top picture. Open, generous, single therefore good for pollinators, shell pink tint to a creamy colouring, and then those dark pink eyelash stamens. Oh my. Bred by crossing Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’ and ‘Lady Hillingdon’, it has great parentage and such a good back story.

And oddly enough, only 6 months ago I had bought a Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’. Also bred by the Archer team, and named for Muriel’s mum, Elizabeth, it became a very hot seller and remain so to this day. You can see the parental influences if you compare both photographs. Thank you, to Trevor White, for the excellent photographs. I would have bought both roses from Trevor White were it not now impossible to export to France, thanks Brexit.
Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’ photo credit: www.trevorwhiteroses.co.uk
Rosa ‘La Belle Sultane’, Oloron Sainte Marie, May 2023

So both roses will be planted in the Barn Garden against the stone wall, and they will be accompanied by Rosa ‘La Belle Sultane’ a cutting from the parent plant across the way. ’La Belle Sultane’ is an earlier rose from the end of the eighteenth century, possibly bred in the Netherlands, but will create a darker pink mood alongside ‘Ellen’ and ‘Bess’. I’m going to underplant them with Indigofera kirolowii, some other as yet undecided bits and bobs, and weave in a bit of Pennisetum for a bit of waftiness. It’ll be my ‘Archer Daughter’ corner.

Many thanks to, and for further information on ‘William Archer and Daughter’ please see: 

‘Singularly Beautiful Single Roses’ in Fall 2010 Deep South District of the American Rose Society edited by Stephen Hoy


Posted on

The power of four…or three…

Fresh from the fleece, Abutilon pictum, January 2024

Well, this is the power of ‘One’. From underneath the fleece protecting it from the last 10 days of colder nights, there emerged just one brave little flower on the Abutilon pictum. Strangely, the cold conditions seem to have affected the colouring, a much stronger paprika orange than usual and darker red veining. It was a lso a bit of a midget, but I’m not complaining, it remains something of a miracle. I have always known this plant as Abutilon pictum, ‘Thompsonii’ being the variegated version.

Libertia ixioides ‘Goldfinger’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Three years ago I bought three twiglet sized cuttings of this fabulous Libertia ixioides ‘Goldfinger’ to Oloron when we moved, and now, albeit slowly, they are gently beginning to run under the old cherry tree in the front garden. This is their season when the low sunlight brings the gold colouring to life. Such a good and obliging plant, it never disturbs another plant, it just sort of glides by, and the baby plants are easy to gently dig out and put them where you want them.

Well, this is the power of three or it will be, in the summer. Last year I potted up six small Kniphofia rooperi plants that I had grown from seed sown 3 years ago. I had hoped they might flower last summer, but no. Reading one or two blogs about Kniphofia, several writers suggested moving them, that the stimulus of being disturbed might egg them on to flower. So this morning, they were duly removed, split and replanted in the hummocky grass slope above the vines in the front garden. It’s stony, so I hoiked out (a good Scots word for ‘digging’) the big stones, leaving the little ones for drainage and planted them in threes, about 0.5 m apart from one another as I am going for a ‘clump’. We’ll see if this recipe will work…

Newly planted Kniphofia rooperi, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Back in Tostat, I was a bit of a ‘one plant’ queen. Which is fine, but planting in threes or fours creates a companionable proximity for the plants and scientists now acknowledge that plants like to be together. Threes or fours means you’re heading towards a clump, which is exactly what my brain likes nowadays. Patterns, rhythms, connections and contrasts really work for me now, they didn’t so much when I was younger.

Euonymus japonicus ‘Benkomasaki’ and Agave americana, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

This is a contrast that I love, and whilst this photograph shows only one plant of my top favourite sculptural evergreens, Euonymus japonicus ‘Benkomasaki‘, this is one of a trio planted at the edge of the Agave americana zone. I have had this Euonymus for, mmm, maybe 7 years, and I absolutely love it. It is so tough and so verdant all year round, with tight, cuticled, glossy deep green leaves and it makes a great silhouette in the garden. I bought mine very small, maybe only 10cms high, and they are now maybe 75 cms, so they don’t grow fast, but because of that, to buy them at 75 cms is an expensive business. So I would recommend buying them small and being patient. 

In the intervening years I have taken several cuttings too, which means that very slowly and surely, you will have more. They take months to root, so best to put them outside in a semi shady spot, water now and then and look at them a year later. There are new varieties, variously called ‘Green Spire’, ‘Green Tower’ and others, but I am not sure if it is the same plant with the same growth habit. It is a wonderful contrast with the glaucous blue-green of the Agave.

Anisodontea ‘El Rayo’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Jimi Blake of the famous Hunting Brook Gardens in Ireland raved about ‘El Rayo’ and that was enough for me to buy two plants. Many UK sites talk about rich soil conditions for Anisodontea- don’t do that! They really love poor, stony soil in full sun and need no extra watering at all. The downside of this preference is that they are shallow-rooted and so get a good bashing in our summer storms. But with a bit of spring pruning, they bounce back and are not that big that a 45 degree tilt is a massive problem. They flower like trains, sometimes having a few weeks off from flowering in hot summers, but even in the winter, they are dotted with these deep pink flowers. 

Anisodontea capensis, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

This is the species plant, Anisodontea capensis, which is also really really good. It has smaller shell pink flowers but the same prodigious flowering almost all year round as ‘El Rayo’. I have two of each in the garrigue style garden in the front, and did I mention that cuttings take so quickly that you need never fear being without one.

Lomandra longifolia ‘Tanika’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

I had tried another variety of Lomandra in Tostat, and really liked it for it’s spikey stubborness. But this plant has found the garrigue garden hard going, and so, even after nearly 3 years, it only looks good in the spring. So, it maybe I will give it another year, and if it hasn’t finally got going, it may be found a better home in the Barn Garden.

Ophiopogon japonicus, Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

However, this robust little Mondo grass, Ophiopogon japonicus, is going to be a real ‘do-er’, I can tell. I bought 4 plants, and when they arrived, they were busting out of their pots. Sometimes at this time of year, nurseries sell plants that are desperate to be re-potted but haven’t been- so lucky me, I got 12 good sized chunks out of the 4 rumbunctiuous plants I received, and they are in the ground and looking great. This is the green version of the black Japanese grass that is often seen on gardening programmes. I will eat my hat if these don’t come good.

Group of Ophiopogon japonicus newly planted, Barn Garden, January 2024

And here they are- in a group of four.

Posted on

Beyond Gracie Fields…

Aspidistra and bottle on the table, painted by FCB Cadell mid 1920s- photo credit: National Galleries of Scotland http://www.nationalgalleries.org

By the time Francis Cadell, the Scottish colourist painter, painted this potted Aspidistra, framed against his famous red chair in the mid 20s, the poor old Aspidistra was pretty much regarded as ‘very old hat’ by anyone in the know. From being the houseplant of choice in any home that had a houseplant, the Aspidistra was firmly out of fashion, George Orwell mocked it, Gracie Fields laughed about it in a song, and it has never recovered it’s pole position since then. Staying at a friend’s house in Nottingham about 6 years ago, I saw a strong and healthy collection of interesting plants thriving in a dark and shady passageway to the back of the house, and wondered what they were. Aspidistras.

The Aspidistra was first recorded in the ‘Botanic Register’ in 1822 by John Bellenden Ker and is thought to have been found in China, but the plant that appeared a decade or so later was the Aspidistra elatior from Japan, and this became the dominant plant of the Victorian era, because of it’s tolerance of gas lighting fumes, cold and darkness. The Cadell painting captures the elegant fall of the big leaves and what I think is a very dramatic presence as a plant, whether in a pot indoors or planted in the garden. I was so struck by the Nottingham planting that I bought two which I initially grew in pots near our house in Tostat. When we moved to Oloron, I reckoned it was worth a shot to plant them straight into the Barn Garden, which is wet in the winter and dry in the summer, with semi-shade beneath the overhang of neighbouring trees. We don’t get really cold nights in winter, so far anyway, down to about -4C max, and they are planted in the lea of a 3m old wall on both sides.

I’m with James Wong on Aspidistra, they may be slow-growing but they are seriously tough, even in colder temperatures than we experience in Oloron, and in my view, really attractive. There are so many great new varieties, with spots, with variegation and slim, elegant leaves as well. Right now, there are good amateur growers on ebay too, I have just bought 2 bareroot plants of ‘Asahi’ to extend the planting in the Barn Garden.

Seeing them in the rain really brings out the glossiness and elegance of the leaves too. In the photographs taken this morning in a shower, I love the strong white streak on ‘Asahi’, and this years leaves on ‘Elatior’ also show a slight cream variegation, which is more subtle but attractive too. Both my plants are just shy of a metre tall and wide and will continue to broaden out. ’Asahi’ is also planted right next to the stump of the Paulonia tomentosa. This was not a good idea probably, but they seem to be fine together, and as the Paulonia is practically felled each early winter, this may be why. 

Aspidistra elatior, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024
Aspidistra elatior Asahi, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Another evergreen favourite is Aucuba japonica salicifolia longiflora, which has been slowly settling into the Barn Garden since Autumn 2022. Slim, elegant leaves are glossily green and it holds itself well even as a relatively young plant. It’s a far cry from my childhood memories of spotted laurel hedges surrounding big old houses in Bristol, which I always thought to be very sinister, the Sherlock Holmes fan that I was. Not that I am averse to a spotted laurel now, I had three vibrantly yellow/cream spotted laurels in the Stumpery in Tostat, which I grew very fond of.

Aucuba japonica longifolia salicifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Against the stone wall in the Barn Garden there were various established clumps of Calla Lilies, Zantedeschia aethiopia, which I initally left in on the ‘why not’ principle. But they really love it there, and whilst their big floppy leaves and white flowers are good value, they have become quite thuggish and were shoving other plants out of the way. So they are all out now, with some recycled to the front garden. 

And, in the quite a big space once occupied by the Callas, I have planted my two 2.5 year old Euphorbia mellifera babies and an unusual Berberis that I fell for, Berberis insolita, bought from a great shade nursery here in France, Pepiniere Aoba. But being small, there is quite a bit of open ground which I would like to cover in a shortish, interesting groundcover, whilst they get going. So I am trying out two plants, Ophiopogon japonicus and Chrysogonum virginianum.  Both should provide tufty groundcover and allow the main plants to have some neighbours without being overpowered. Not to mention a couple of ebay Aspidistra ‘Ashai’ to give a bit of presence…we will see!

Berberis insolita photo credit: http://www.pepiniere-aoba.com
Posted on

It’s a New Year….

Hamamelis x intermedia ‘Orange Beauty’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

I love a New Year. January may not be the most appealing month weather-wise but the sense of a new start is irresistible to me, and there are just a few things happening in the garden which feed the energy even when the light is low. I had always wanted to grow a Hamamelis, and thought that the Barn Garden could work for it. I bought a baby one, ‘Orange Beauty’, and planted it in. 10 months later and I knew the experiment had hit the rocks- the Barn Garden is far drier than I had thought through too much of the summer and into the autumn, so ‘Orange Beauty’ came out and has been in a pot in the shadier part of the courtyard where human watering does take place. A fair bit of sulking went on, but 2 years later, it is motoring, throwing out long whippy branches (which means a bigger pot) which hold great promise for flowering next Spring. And meantime, on last year’s growth, the orange peel flowers look magnificent.

Below is a little oddity. I was given a tiny bit of this last summer by Bernard Lacrouts of the wonderful nursery at Sanous near old house in 65. He showed me his pretty sizeable plant in his dry border, and suggested I try it as a good bomb-proof plant for tough conditions. I agree with him. This level of glossy green, upright foliage in January is fairly wonderful, and so I recommend Teucrium chamaedrys to you for a sunny, poor soil spot. So far, it is not wandering unlike Teucrium fruticans, which I love but it loves me too much.

Teucrium chaemadrys, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

All 3 of my, believe it or not, nearly three year old seedlings of Senna artemisoides have come through a frosty period outside without a blemish. The biggest one, below, is now about 8 inches tall, and I live in hope.

Senna artemisoides, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

Rosa ‘Perle d’Or’ had a difficult start in the garden, having been heavily sat upon by other bigger plants brought down in our July storms. And I wasn’t paying attention. But, in the nick of time, I rescued it and it went into a convalescent pot, from where it has thrown out new shoots and flowers with abandon. It will go back into the garden. I am going to take out the Mirabilis jalapa tubers, and replant them in the front garden next month, and this will make space for ‘Perle d’Or’, Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’, new to me but looks good, and a cutting taken from Rosa ‘La Belle Sultane’. I am trying out a lowish creeping (slowly I hope) Indigofera kirilowii as well around the roses. Always work in progress…

Rosa ‘Perle d’Or’, Oloron Sainte Marie, January 2024

And rethinking and reimagining brings a lot of energy and focus to the garden without even being in it much. So that’s how the New Year is shaping up.

Posted on

The magic of research… and chance…

Agave americana, Tostat, July 2018

I probably spend more time looking at and researching plants than I do buying them, planting, propagating them or gardening with them- if I am honest. I was reminded of this on reading the latest instalment of Dan Pearson’s blog about creating his new sand garden at his home. Some gardeners who write have a very florid style, maybe in my own small way I do! But Dan Pearson is a thoughtful, honest and very straightforward blog writer, whose intention, it seems to me, is to convey the whole truth about the way that he gardens and why. I love the calmness of it, and the acceptance that knowledge is no guarantee of perfection. Once a plant is taken into our world, we can’t know exactly how it will react or behave. We take knowlege on trust, but there is always chance- and risk, not neccessarily in balance either.

But it is still worth developing knowledge and learning from experience and the stories of other gardeners. Very much so. What helps me is watching what happens and deciding if intervention is needed – or not. Sometimes time is all that’s needed. Take my Agave americana in the front garden, on the stony, garrigue-inspired slope. It is a baby of my original Agave in Tostat, given by a friend in the Languedoc. So, I planted it only 3 years ago, and already it is more than 1.5m tall and wide, with several offspring plants nestling nearby. It clearly likes it. I have done nothing except watch and wait.

Daughter Agave and daughters, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

It’s the same story with my groundcover planting of Achillea crithmifolia. Three years ago, planting out my still baby Koelreuteria paniculata ‘Coral Sun’ and not far away, a new baby Rosa x odorata ‘Mutabilis’, I wanted to protect them from the miles of marauding bramble and bindweed that we were attacking with vigour. Reading about the use of allelopathic plants, those that secrete substances that deter other competing plants, I picked Achillea crithmifolia as low growing, aromatic, feathery foliage plant that does brilliantly in tough conditions. I had tried it out in Tostat in a limited area,a nd had been impressed, as well as liking the Achillea as a plant in its own right. I think I started off with eight plants in a ring round the rose and the tree. Three years later, you can see how well it has gently carpetted the area, giving the tree and the rose room to grow.

Achillea crithmifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

It also has spread considerably, which I am really enjoying, though that might be a drawback to consider if you have limited space. The Achillea doesn’t seem to bother the lovely floppy velvety leaves of Stachys byzantina ‘Big Ears’ either. It is not widely available in the UK, but is really worth a try. Dan Pearson is doing the same with it in his new garden, see the blog article above.

Stachys byzantina ‘Big Ears’ and Achillea crithmifolia cohabiting nicely, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

Some plants love where they have been planted so miuch that they really go mad. This would be true of what I bought as a charming, small leaved Phlomis, Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’. The clue was in the name, I thought, and so it was for the first 2 years, a very sweet little hummock of Phlomis. It is still very sweet, but is breaking the 1m barrier in every direction and shows no sign of slowing down.

Phlomis lanata ‘Pygmy’, not so much a pygmy, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

Our conditions can be quite harsh, hot sun, little rain for long periods and damp, even wet winters into Spring. I had taken three small cuttings of Hydrangea quercifolia from the Tostat garden, and they have been slow to get going, with not much happening for the first two years. But they are clearly well rooted in now to our stony soil, and this year looks to be the making of them. I love them even more for the effort.

Hydrangea quercifolia, 3 yr old cutting from Tostat, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

In the Barn Garden, another plant that I have watched and waited for is Fatsia polycarpa ‘Green Fingers’. It was a newish introduction so there wasn’t a lot of information about it three years ago. And it did struggle getting into the shady, poor soil spot that I had put it in. But, three years on, this has been the year when it has turbo charged itself, and is now taller than the companion Mahonia with very cumbersome name, Mahonia eurybracteata subsp. ganpinensis ‘Soft Caress’ next to it. It has a wonderful form, with tiers of arching, jazz hands leaves in a good green.
Fatsia polycarpa ‘Green Fingers’ and Mahonia ‘Soft Caress’, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

I tried to buy another ‘Green Fingers’ last year but couldn’t find one, so went for the more usual variety, ‘Spider’s Web’. This is in a worse spot soil-wise, but a better spot light-wise, and seems to have gone for the big spread look in one year only. I quite like that it’s not too creamy at the edges.

Fatsia japonica ‘Spiders Web’, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2023

Now this is a vital stone. Last winter I noticed that a low branch of Mahonia ‘Soft Caress’ was brushing the ground, so just thought I would have a go at getting that branch to root by weighing it down with a stone. Nine months later, the Assistant Gardener went home with a rooted cutting which should make a bonny plant in a few more months. So I am having another go with the vital stone.

Time, chance and a bit of knowledge combined.

The vital stone….
Posted on

Juggling with the climate…

Colquhounia coccinea, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

Every season or so, I run out of puff on the blog front. It’s a strange business blogging. You are, of course, largely talking to yourself, unless you have very vociferous readers, and you can end up boring yourself. So I am back after having well and truely bored myself for the last three months! It was only a few moments ago that I suddenly thought, ‘I could write something right now’ and thus the boredom was vanquished.

So, this article is about the turning of the season, and what’s popping into my head, and being delivered for next year now. The Colquhounia coccinea has been absolutely magnificent this year, now in it’s 4th year, but…incredibly strong summer winds forced it into an amost 45 degree position, and brought it very close to throttling the rest of the planting in front of it. It is such a good late summer into autumn flowerer, though honestly not an oil painting otherwise as it has such a straggly form. So what to do?

Eventually I took drastic action. I have reduced it in size to just over a metre all round from what was nearly a 3m shrub, and am hoping to persuade Andy to make a couple of super-sized rebar supports for it, with which I plan to pin it back closer to the wall next Spring. It’s a judgement call doing a prune like this in the Autumn, but I reckoned it was too susceptible to root rock with inevitable winter and spring winds, and also I needed to rethink what to plant in front of it. So time will tell.

So, among the plants it had brought down with it were Rudbeckia subtomentosa ‘Henrik Eilers’ and Solidago rugosa ‘Fireworks’. Both are yellow flowerers, and I have a very soft spot for yellow, and do interesting things when they flower. ‘Henrik Eilers’ is tall and wafty, with delicate quill shaped petals, and ‘Fireworks’ does what it says on the tin, flowering like a firework in delicate, arching sprays. Both, for my money, the best in class.

Rudbeckia subtomentosa ‘Henrik Eilers’ and Solidago rugosa ‘Fireworks’, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

As you can see, both were working their way to the horizontal from the pressure of the Colquhounia. One of them had to go to give the other one more of a chance, assuming that the rebar manages to control the Colquhounia. So the Solidago, already reforming itself into a nice clump for next year, is to be replanted in the front garden, as it is a real favourite of mine.

I have taken another risk, and replanted a Daphne ‘Eternal Fragrance’ that was too far into the shade and was busily contorting itself. Daphnes don’t like being moved. I know that, but it makes such a good, dense, rounded shrub that I wanted to give it another try in a sunnier position at the very front of the Colquhounia area. I moved it a week ago, we have had mild temperatures and a lot of rain, and so far it is looking perfectly fine. Phew. It flowers almost all year round, and though a slow grower, the other one that I have, bought at the same time, is now a well rounded Im bush. The flowers are exquisite and beautifully scented, the photograph below is of my pink one in Tostat.

Daphne ‘Eternal Fragrance’, Tostat, January 2019

There are always one or two casualties, or near casualties, at the end of a hard summer season. The Skimmia japonica ‘Kew White’ that looked so good last Spring was yellowing and looking very fed up. Fearing the return of the dreaded vine weevil, I dug it up and checked the roots- all fine, fortunately. So the likeliest reason is lack of water, and as we are more neutral than acidic, maybe we are too neutral for it. Not sure which, but I have moved it back into the shadier section, under a Mahonia, and as a temporary first aid measure, bulked up the soil with ericaceous compost. Another time will tell situation.

Skimmia japonica ‘Kew White’, just planted, Oloron Sainte Marie, November 2022

Only partial sun and tree cover also tortured my Physocarpus ‘Diable d’Or’. Physocarpus is such a good shrub, good shape, great spring colour in the new leaves, pretty viburnum-like flowers and then, depending on conditions, great autumn colour, and generally as tough as old boots. So, they have also been trimmed back, lifted and will find a new home in the front garden.

And, nothing if not living dangerously, I am replacing them with two Euphorbia mellifera that I have tenderly grown from seed over the last 2 years. Am I mad? Maybe not. Books and sites indicate that free-draining poor soil is their main requirement and that they will accomodate some semi-shade. That’s the part I am banking on. Whatever happens, they probably won’t die, as Euphorbias are pretty indestructible. And so the big gamble starts.

Euphorbia mellifera as a sturdy baby, Oloron Sainte Marie, 2023
Berberis insolita photo credit: www.pepinieredesavettes.com

My last gamble, (well, probably not in reality if I am being truthful) is planting this lovely Berberis insolita in the damp and then dry semi-shade in the summer, part of the Barn Garden. This has glossy, elegant spined leaves, pinkish new growth and, as yet unseen, pale yellow flowers that look a little Japanese Quince-like. It should love these conditions, I hope. You have to try, don’t you?!

Posted on

September…

Thalictrum delavayi seedheads, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

Thalictrum delavayi is a lovely plant, giving 6 months worth of interest, from fluffy, feathery foliage in the Spring, to masses of bobbing pink flowers in constant movement in early Summer, and then these delightful hat-shaped seed hads, which do yet more bobbing in any breeze. Not fussy, needs regular moisture, it’s also an elegant tall plant, which adds movement to other plants in a very complementary fashion. I grow mine in a large container in a semi-shaded part of the courtyard, but they grow well in normal garden soil in the UK.

This is an inbetween time of year, in September. It still can feel like high summer in the afternoon, but mornings and evenings are cooler, though not yet mosquito-free. Some plants really relish the conditions. I am so fond of this Salvia, Salvia spathacea, the Humming Bird sage. Sadly, we don’t have humming birds, but this Salvia flowers whenever it fancies it. It flowered like mad last December, then again in April, and now again now. The flowerspikes appear above the fruity smelling foliage and seem to wait for ever till the right moment. It spreads slowly, gently insisting against other plants, and has colonised an area in the Barn Garden, where it seems happy even in the winter.

Salvia spathacea, The Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

Rhamnus frangula ‘Fine Line’ is another slow and discreetly growing plant, that I often forget I have, but now in it’s third year in the garden it is beginning to grow with a bit more alacrity. And so it is starting to take it’s rightful place in the garden- even though what you see is all it does. But it does it beautifully. Gently spraying branches of delicate foliage, and a neat, columnar shape, it slots in really well as an accent anywhere. Books suggest it can grow to 2.5m in the end, but it would not disrupt even at that height in my view. It just gets better and better.

Rhamnus frangula ‘Fine Line’, The Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

In a recent post, I looked forward to the fabulous, and common, but so worth it, Anemone ‘Honorine Jobert’ flowering for the first time in the Barn Garden. It was first spotted by a Mr Jobert, a nurseryman, as a mutation in a planting of pink anemones in 1851 in Verdun in northern France. He named it for his daughter, and he brought it to market in 1858. There have been many newer varieties, but ‘Honorine’ stands the test of time. An established clump back in Tostat, the old garden, handled one of the hottest spots in the garden, contrary to advice in books. Give it time to develop the roots it needs and you have it for years. I particularly treasure the luminosity of the flowers in semi-shade, as I have tried to capture in this morning’s photograph.

Anemone x hybrida ‘Honorine Jobert’, The Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

Another champion plant that has been flowering since February on the old wall in the Barn Garden, is Abutilon megapotamicum. It is a bit of a straggler, so best pinned into a structure or tied to wires on a wall, but the reward is this myriad of small chinese lanterns bobbing about in any breath of air. So jolly, and so like a child’s handmade decoration somehow. But do manage it, if left to romp on the ground it will become a thicket.

Abutilon megapotamicum, The Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

Small and not magenta-black as usually described, I nevertheless love my Pelargonium sidoides. The dainty flowers are only slightly bigger than my little fingernail, and pop up at the end of long, twirling stems that I just let be, as they have an elegance of their own. You can just see them in the background of the photograph. It stays outside all winter, I just keep it out of the wet on a windowledge.

Pelargonium sidoides, Oloron Sainte Marie, September 2023

My last champion plant for September is Solidago rugosa ‘Fireworks’. The best Solidago ever. It drapes, it leans without bothering other plants, it can look fabulous isolated as a specimen making a vase shaped explosion, hence the name ‘Fireworks’. Unlike other Solidagos which can burst out all over the garden, this variety is discreet, clumps up, but doesn’t chase itself round the garden. Quite the best.

Solidago rugosa ‘Fireworks’, The Barn Garden, September 2023
Posted on

The Barn Garden comes back….

Colquhounia coccinea, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

The Barn Garden has had a hard time this summer- largely drowned out in the late Spring, then doing mortal combat with very ambitious bindweed fed by all that rain, and, only now, is it slowly coming back to itself. Truthfully, it is largely a Spring garden, with some roses bringing up the rear, and then, after the blistering heat last year, I have done some replanting to increase the interesting, but tough, shrub population and reduce the more vulnerable herbaceous perennials. Not much you can do about the bindweed in my view. It is native to the rocky, recovered ground that forms the Barn Garden, and will appear in any summer, though not usually as strongly as this year. I yank out armfuls just so that I can’t see it, but beyond that, I am not up for any other response.

The Colquhounia coccinea is a bit of a straggler and got very bashed by all the spring and early summer storm activity- but whilst it may bow down, it usually picks itself up after a few days of recovery. But the orange vermillion flowerspikes with just a flash of yellow are so pretty that I don’t care that the rest of it isn’t an oil painting. It has flowered a bit earlier than usual this year, tempted by the rain I think.

Rudbeckia subtomentosa ‘Henrik Eilers’, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

‘Henrik Eilers’ is one of my alltime favourites, and a really good Rudbeckia. It doesn’t look like much at the start, but it shoots up in height to a good 2m, and then flowers like a firework with these elegant quilled flowers in neat groups. If it likes the conditions, not too hot, not too dry, but nothing special in terms of soil, it clumps up quickly. In 3 years, it will be looking very fit from a tiny plant. Be careful though when the shoots start coming, as they do look very much like weed activity that you may not want in the garden. I use a stick marker to remind myself not to go to war with it.

Part of the Barn Garden, Pawlonia tomentosa at the back, Anemone x hybrida ‘Honorine Jobert’, Eupatorium rugosum ‘Chocolate’ and Mahonia ‘Soft Caress’, Eupatorium capilifolium ‘Elegant Feather’ and plenty of weed friends, Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

So, against this, now pink painted, wall, I had planted 2 baby Pawlonia tomentosa. I was hoping for about 3m growth off them, but the one you can see in the backgound of the photograph, has easily made 5m and has found open sky. The other one got chopped in half by the storms, and then has tried to catch up but has run into the tree overhang from next door. I think therefore the other one has to go sadly. My fault, I never imagined that despite being coppiced to the ground in the late Autumn, they would grow so big. I should have worked it out- the Pawlonia is the fastest growing tree on the planet. It might be a 2 person job with 2 pickaxes to get the no 2 out- later in the year.

But a happier story with Anemone ‘Honorine Jobert’. I bought 3 tiny plants 3 years ago, and they really strugged with the heat and the dry, and didn’t grow much at all. But I knew they could do it, in spite of all the sites that tell you this Anemone needs shade and damp, if you can get the plants to hang on, they will take anything in the heat and dry department. There were several old clumps around the hottest bits of the garden in Tostat that never flinched whatever the heat. This is their best year yet in the Barn Garden, thanks to the restorative effects of all the rain we have had. They will be lovely very soon.

I grew the chocolate Eupatorium as an experiment. Grew them on to a decent size and then planted them out this Spring. They are a bit collapsed from the storms, and I should have, but haven’t, propped them up a bit. But I am hopeful for the beautiful vanilla umbel-type flowers soon. And then you would not believe the following is another Eupatorium…

Eupatorium capillifolium ‘Elegant Feather’ is absolutely lovely, I adore it. Fresh feathery foliage, no flowers to speak of, and a distinctive upright form. Again, I grew them on from tiny, and then planted them out. I would have more and I will.

Eucomis ‘Sparkling Burgundy’ plaiting itself, the Courtyard Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

I dug up and replanted my growing Eucomis family this Spring, and they have done much better in the courtyard out in the open. The flowerheads are so heavy with the rain-inspired growth that they have begun plaiting themselves!

Kalimeris incisa ‘Madiva’, Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

Kalimeris incisa ‘Madiva’ is such an obliging later-in-the-summer plant, happy anywhere except very dry, and a delicate mauve colour with a jolly golden centre. No trouble and they gently spread. I infinitely prefer them to any Michaelmas daisy.

A month or so ago, I was mourning the demise of my second Acanthus sennii plant, which had got a bit lost in the jungle of the Barn Garden. Mourning was premature. Look what has turned up all on it’s own.

Acanthus sennii no 2, Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023
Posted on

Seed Central in Oloron

Back in Tostat, with a huge and, at the beginning, largely empty garden to make and fill, seed production in the spring and summer was almost industrial in scale. Growing from seed is a pleasure unparalleled. Cuttings are fun, rooting plants is a grand occupation- but nothing gives you the same up close and personal feeling about a plant and how it grows, as growing from seed. Of course, it can be wildly productive, ending up with 30 baby plants of something- and it can result in nothing except slight frustration. I mostly try again in that case.

Dianthus cruentus, the stunning red, Cleve West’s garden, Chelsea Flower Show 2011

Dianthus cruentus is a plant that got inside my head in 2011. Blood red, wiry, strong whilst also being wafty, I grew lots from seed for the Tostat garden- and then my mind moved on. This year, I found myself yearning for it again, bought seed, and despite a tricky Spring, I have 7 small plants coming along nicely. They will spend the next 9 months or so over the winter, bulking up and being potted on, before finding a good spot for them in the garrigue garden at the front. They work best as pops of colour, so good, not tall, but the colour is the thing, and it’s great to have an old friend in the garden again.

New to me this year, from the MGS Seed List, is Geum trifolium. This, unusually for me, is a tiddler of a plant, only about 20 cms tall, and I think I will plant my 3 baby plants, after their 9 months getting bigger, into a shallow bowl, and keep them in the courtyard garden. I haven’t grown this before, and so I don’t want my rougher customer plants lording it over the Geums.

Geum trifolium photo credit: www. hardysplants.co.uk
Morina longifolia photo credit: http://www.bethchatto.co.uk

Above is another plant from the past. Morina longifolia was a big presence for a while in Tostat, but despite apparent perfect conditions, it didn’t last and didn’t self seed. So I have had another go here in Oloron. It has those unrivalled icecream coloured flowers and good, thistly leaves and is really striking. I have only one survivor from my sowing, so maybe me and it are not meant to be together.

Euphorbia bivonae seedlings, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

Now here’s a success. Seed from the MGS Seed List is always massively tempting, mainly because you just think ‘I can do this’, so whereas I have almost conquered my need to buy plants, seeds are very hard to resist! Euphorbia bivonae is not well-known, but I liked the sound of it. And as the seedlings have come along, they look to me to be in the same vein as my favourite Euphorbia, Euphorbia seguieriana, which I bought at Beth Chatto’s nursery and smuggled home many years ago. Slim leaves and an elegant shape, without too much wulfenii world domination, is what I am after.

Now below is something I can claim no credit for. I did grow the original plant from seed maybe 8 years ago, but what’s happened this year is just the result of a happy plant doing it’s thing. Peltboykinia wattanabei is a lovely Japanese woodlander, beautiful, emerald green incised leaves and a lovely upright form, it does need moisture though and plenty of shade, so it’s always been in a pot next to my other solo success from seed, Astilboides tabularis. But, on spring time examination of the state of my pots, I discovered that the Peltboykinia had seeded itself all over its’s neighbours, and now I have 9 vigorous little plants potted up. Result!

As for the Astilboides, it has flowered, and in the spirit of ‘onwards and upwards’, I will sow the seed and cross my fingers.

Peltboykinia wattanabei plants, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

But sowing perennial seed does required patience and waiting. Probably why Monty Don doesn’t demonstrate it much on Gardeners World. Below is a Euphorbia mellifera plant, grown from seed last summer, and it’s maybe 15cms tall now. It’s a sturdy plant, well rooted in those deep rooting pots which are so good for dry conditions plants, but I won’t be putting it out in the garrigue garden probably for another 6 months or so. It needs to be tough enough to fight back against the other plants, so it’s out in the open, but a bit protected, until then.

Euphorbia mellifera in waiting, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023

And here’s another plant of the same vintage. Senna artemisioides started out as one of four seedlings that came through germination last summer. The other three are lagging behind a bit, but will be fine in time. It is suprisingly robust, despite looking like a very delicate lace curtain with holes in it. So, for me, perennials are way more exciting than anything that you can grow from the annuals list, but you have got to be willing to wait. But then, that’s the excitement of it, the daily examination of what’s happening in that pot.

And as a slight diversion, here is another survivor. This Alcathea suffrutescens ‘Parkallee’ was part of my cull of the Barn Garden last Autumn, after our ghastly roasting summer. I dug it out, brutally shoved it in a pot with spent compost and left it. This year, it qualifies for a medal, flowering all the same, though a bit on the weedy side otherwise. So it is owed a restorative Autumn in a better setting. It is the perfect late summer plant, tall, stately, will bush out rather than just being a stick, and the flowers are exquisite, starting out apricot pink with a splash of raspberry and fading to a very pretty cream.

That’s it.

Alcathea suffrutescens ‘Parkallee’, Oloron Sainte Marie, August 2023
Posted on

July in Oloron

Leonotis leonorus, or maybe not, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023

What a surreal summer we are having here in our corner of the South West of France. Last year, the big heat had arrived by now, and we were dicing with average temperatures in the late 30s daily, lasting until nearly the end of September. This year, we have barely got out of the 20s, and have had so much rain that watering the courtyard pots has been an occasional activity rather than a bluelight daily, or twice daily, experience. For me personally, although the grey skies have been more than a little Scottish in feel, I have enjoyed sleeping properly this summer, but the volatility has been difficult for the plants- very heavy stormy rain, sometimes quite low temperatures, and only occasional sun, has left them stopping and starting.

So there are only slim pickings out there- and mountains of Olympian bindweed to carry out occasional purges on. So far, no tiger mosquitoes, but plenty of other pesky biters. I get bitten endlessly, Andy doesn’t. It’s a big bone of contention.

The best thing this week in the garden? The flowering of my mystery Leonotis. I have no memory of buying this plant. I do remember a pot with something in it that I held onto in Tostat for three years or so, and then, bam, it flowered one summer after being virtually consigned to the bin, and spending all winter outside. It is undoubtedly a Leonotis, but it defies all the rules. It has made a straggly bush of itself, with woody stems, it lives in a pot and it is still outside all year. But I look forward to the sheer guts and vibrancy of it every year. The flowers open like tiny jewels set in a crown and then flare outwards- it’s a wonderful thing. I notice that a few years back, I wondered if this plant is in fact Leonotis nepetifolia, mainly because it’s compact, bushy and woody, unlike the classic Leonorus. But I can’t be sure…

Salvia cacaliifolia, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023
Salvia cacaliifolia, back in Tostat, September 2019

I thought that Salvia cacaliifolia was a goner. I had left it out, by mistake, over the winter and there was nothing there but dry sticks in the Spring. I even went back to the wonderful nursery not far from us in Tostat in April to see if the amazing Bernard Lacrouts had another plant, but he didn’t. Eight weeks later, a few leaves poked up from the soil. And today, the first flower sprig has broken through. The leaves don’t look as good as normal, a washed out green, rather than the glossy vibrant green of a usual summer, but both plants are alive. It is a lovely Salvia, it will almost twine if you can find a way to do that, next year, I will have a proper go at encouraging that. For now, I am just glad that I didn’t kill it. The blue is a gentian blue, that is stunning when the flower spike opens properly.

Salvia chameleagnea, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023

And another strangely behaving Salvia. This dry garden Salvia chameleagnea is not enjoying the weather. It has angular, almost spiky leaves with a good, thick cuticle, and flowers very occasionally for me, always at the end of a sprig. It has pale white flowers with a blue lip, hardly blue at all this year. The perfume from the leaves though is very pungent, and is reminiscent of a dry pine forest, a very health giving smell. I love it for the smell alone.

Another plant not doing quite so well in these wet conditions, but still smelling amazing is the tiny but powerful Pelargonium abrotanifolium. I cannot now remember where I got this plant, but it is really worth having, for the powerful smell from brushing against the tiny, divided leaves, which brings to mind a dry Provençal garrigue, and for the minute white flower with a purple throat. The flowers are little fingernail sized, but who needs big? It goes woody as it ages, but has a lovely open structure to it, I just snip bits off that look like they have had it. It’s kind of like a summer flowering, smelly Erodium, and such a good plant.

Pelargonium abrotanifolium, Oloron Sainte Marie, July 2023