News Tagged ‘Garden’

Mulching

Monday, May 30th, 2011

After the recent winds blew down alot of fir cones from the trees I decided to put them to good use.  I have been topping my pots with them to reduce water loss and look decorative.  The only problem with this type of mulch is that the garden birds think it’s a game,  they throw them of the pots and I replace them.  I did hear that the fircones can also make the compost in the pot more acidic, so not too good long term unless the plants in the pots are acid lovers.  Oh well back to making good old garden compost!

Fir cone mulch

Fir cone mulch


Planting for Wildlife: Honeysuckle.

Thursday, May 26th, 2011

As late Spring merges into Summer many of the hedges that border our garden here in North Devon are festooned with the most beautifully scented pink & yellow Honeysuckle. This is not something that we have planted, but instead forms a natural part of the woven fabric of the ancient hedges – our native species of this glamorous clan, Lonicera periclymenum, a plant without equal in terms of floral perfume, and also an essential element in the composition of any wildlife-friendly garden.

Lonicera 'Sweet Sue'.

L. periclymenum is a vigorous, scrambling climber, native to woodland margins and hedgerows throughout the land. The species bears large, open clusters of flowers, each comprised of greatly elongated tubes, typically red or pink on their exterior and creamy yellow within. These flower tubes flare open and re-curve back onto themselves, lending the flowers their highly exotic and intricately beautiful appearance. In truth, though, the Honeysuckle is another of those near bomb-proof native plants that will thrive in a range of garden situations without a great deal of attention or fuss. They can readily be trained over a fence or through a tree or companion shrub, and of course can easily be planted and left to develop in their natural habitat of the hedgerow.

Lonicera 'Munster'.

The species will grow in shade, although it certainly flowers better with at least a few hours of sun, but it is also highly tolerant of dry, and nutrient poor soils. The plant climbs not with arial roots or tendrils, but merely by the actions of the growing stems that have a powerfully twining, circular, clockwise momentum. This habit produced the old common English name for the plant: Woodbine – a reference to the “binding” effect that the twining stems can have on their tree hosts. A stroll through Honeysuckle woodlands will quickly reveal an array of curiously twisted and contorted tree branches, all of which will have been moulded and sculpted over time by their Honeysuckle neighbours.

The twining stems of a Honeysuckle, clambering above and below the now twisted branch of it's host tree.

Those wonderfully scented flowers first appear in late May but the season continues throughout summer, with the perfume intensifying greatly in the evening, a clue to the intended audience for the flowers. Honeysuckle blossoms are visited by bees and hoverflies, but their greatly elongated flowers are difficult for these insects to access and the nectar tubes have instead evolved to benefit an entirely different group of pollinators – the moths.  Many species of moth will visit a flowering Honeysuckle over the course of a night, feeding upon the copious nectar, and pollinating the flowers as they go. The spectacular Hawk-moths, in particular, with their greatly elongated tongues, have just the right feeding apparatus to get to the base of the flowers. All of the moth action in turn attracts bats, and an entire nocturnal mini food-chain in born.

An Elephant Hawk Moth pays a night visit to a Honeysuckle flower.

Honeysuckle flowers are only one of the many assets that the plants provide to wildlife.  The leaves are the larval foodplant for an array of Lepidoptera, most famously the majestic and all-too rare White Admiral Butterfly, but also many smaller moth species too.  In early autumn the flowers give way to bright scarlet, waxy berries, and these are a favourite of bullfinches, thrushes and a variety of  species of warbler. Honeysuckle bark is also targeted, both by birds, including Sparrows, blackbirds and pied flycatchers, as well as by dormice, all of whom use the soft, flaking, peeling bark strips to line their respective nests.

Lonicera berries.

On top of that the plant itself, once mature, creates a very dense tangle of often impenetrable, inter-woven stems which make the perfect, fully protected nesting site for an array of small birds. Sparrows, robins, blackbirds and all manner of tits will invariably make use of a Honeysuckle plant in the garden, and even outside of the breeding season the dense cover the plants provide will make a ideal sheltered roost for many of the same species. Periodic hard pruning will encourage the plants to become extra bushy and maximise the protection that they can offer to garden birds.

Those delicate, flaring, nectar-bearing flower tubes, in close-up.

Not surprisingly for such a widely cultivated and much loved native plant, a variety of forms have been selected and named over the years. The habit, foliage and vigour is pretty consistent throughout the cultivars that are available for the gardener, but the flower colours and sizes do offer a subtle range of options. The best known, and certainly the longest established are ‘Belgica’, an old Dutch selection that has been grown since the 17th Century that has red-purple flowers that fade to yellow-cream, produced early in the season, and ‘Serotina’, a much more recent selection that extends the flowering season into October.

Lonicera periclymenum 'Serotina'.

L. periclymenum ‘Graham Thomas’ is another very widely grown cultivar, this time originating in Warwickshire where the original plant was found growing wild in the 1960′s. It produces flowers that are nearly pure white in bud, opening to butter yellow. ‘Munster’ goes in the other direction, with rose pink buds that open to white with pink streaks on the tube and the reverse of the flower lobes.

Lonicera 'Graham Thomas'.

Two of the very best forms are also amongst the most recently introduced. ‘Sweet Sue’, was found and named by the famous plantsman Roy Lancaster to honour his wife; the plant has exceptionally fragrant and very large flowers of creamy white, ageing to soft yellow, whilst ‘Heaven Scent’ has equally large and equally fragrant flowers of deep cream that open to pale gold.

Lonicera 'Heaven Scent'.


Planting for Wildlife: Foxgloves.

Thursday, May 19th, 2011

All planted gardens, no matter how modest in scale, and no matter their style are beneficial to wildlife. With the increase of industrial scale farming through the last part of the 20th Century, many species of bird, mammal and invertebrate have come to rely upon our gardens and use them as a refuge or even as their permanent home. The combination of habitat, food-source and breeding location makes the garden an obvious and invaluable sanctuary for wildlife, but, of course, some gardens are more useful than thers when it comes to providing for the needs of wildlife.

The common, wild form of our native Foxglove.

Lots of recent research has underlined the importance of native plants in attracting and then maintaining populations of wildlife in the garden. This is hardly a great surprise, as virtually all our our native flora and fauna have evolved together and a host of different inter-dependent relationships have emerged as a result. Taking this to it’s ultimate conclusion you could argue, as many do, that the ultimate wildlife garden would contain only native plant species, and in so doing would replicate a little patch of habitat that has been lost from the open countryside.

That’s all well and good in theory, but in practice only the most dedicated, or those with the most garden space to spare, are likely to head down the all-native route when planting out their plot. But what almost every gardener certainly can do is to integrate some native plants into their garden schemes. The British flora is well known for having been greatly impoverished by the last ice age, and it’s true that we can’t get close to the variety or numbers of species found at similar latitudes in Asia or North America; still, a little investigation will turn up a really quite remarkable array of highly appealing species that will sit comfortably in any ornamental garden whilst giving the local wildlife the opportunity to benefit at the same time.

The soft pink of Digitalis purpurea 'Suttons Apricot'.

A good case in point is our native Foxglove – Digitalis purpurea. Foxgloves are so familiar, so commonplace both in the landscape and in our flower-memories, that it’s easy to take them for granted and ignore their great appeal. In this case, though, commonplace certainly doesn’t mean dull or unworthy of garden space. If you stop and take the time to really look at a foxglove in full flowering glory you could easily imagine that you’re looking at some exotic, tropical hot-house plant, rather than a vigorous and ultra-tough wildflower.

Digitalis purpurea Excelsior Group.

Digitalis is a small, but highly ornamental genus of herbaceous plants, pretty much all of which are endemic to Europe. D. purpurea is the only truly British native species, (although a few others have escaped from gardens are form localised populations in the wild) but rather handily, it is also the largest-flowered, and most easily grown of the group. The species is very easily grown from seed, which germinates rapidly (a week to 10 days is the norm) with no special treatment. The plants are generally biennial, meaning that the first year is spent bulking up and the second flowering, after which they die, leaving copious seed behind. If you grow them in a semi-natural area or bed, then they will invariably self-seed and quickly provide an ongoing succession of generations to grow and flower. Alternatively it’s easy to collect some seed and sow in a pot or seedtray the following Spring. In the wild they often colonise disturbed ground and woodland edges, but in the garden they will do just as well in full sun or semi shade in a regular herbaceous bed.

A wild stand of Digitalis purpurea.

Foxgloves have an exceptional reputation for attracting certain kinds of wildlife. They don’t bring in birds or butterflies, but they are absolutely unrivalled attractors of one of our most important and most threatened groups of insects, namely bumblebees. You only have to look at a Bumblebee feeding at a Foxglove to see how obviously and closely the two have co-evolved, each benefiting the other. The foxglove flower fits the bumblebee like a glove, and indeed, so specific is the match that few other insects are able to access it’s resources at all. For the flower the bumblebee brings a reliable and dedicated pollinator, whilst for the bee the Foxglove provides a feast of both nectar and pollen, which they feed to their larvae.

A White-tailed Bumblebee coming into land on a Foxglove flower.

Each individual flower is spotted and lined to our eyes, and much more vividly so to a Bumblebee, whose vision, like that of all insects, operates primarily in the ultra-violet spectrum. These patterns have evolved to precisely guide the bees onto the landing strips of the flowers, and then up into the bells to where the nectar and pollen lie.  The flowers even have an array of hairs on their lower surface to help the heavy insects get a secure grip as they do their work.

A Foxglove flower in close-up, with the guide spots and hairs for the benefit of the bees.

Wild populations of Digitalis purpurea are almost invariably rosy red/purple in flower, and show relatively little variance. However their very long history in cultivation has, over time, lead to the selection of  a number of other colour forms. D. purpurea f. albiflora is an exceedingly beautiful and very well-known form with pure white flowers.

The elegant, cool white of Digitalis purpurea f. albiflora

Digitalis purpurea 'Sutton's Primrose'.

‘Sutton’s Apricot’ is a soft, flesh-pink whilst ‘Sutton’s Giant Primrose’  extends into deep nearly-yellow-cream. Many other forms, such as the Excelsior Group, have also been selected for increased spotting or heavy blotching on the flowers, which reaches an extreme in ‘Pam’s Choice’ and the Giant Spotted Group. All of these are seed grown and so the flowers of each individual plant do vary somewhat, within the general limits of the group, but all are highly worthwhile and can provide essential drama for you and a lifeline for your equally fascinating and beautiful garden residents, the Bumblebees.

Digitalis purpurea 'Pam's Choice'.


Baby Bird

Tuesday, May 17th, 2011

Well it was a baby magpie and now it is being looked after at a a wildlife home near Chichester.  So I am sure it will make it to adulthood.  On a gardening note I have been pulling up my spent for-ge-tme-nots and shaking the seed over the borders for self seeding next spring.  Tomorrow I am going to trim back the Wisteria tendrels, which will give me more space to walk along a pathway at the side of the house.

Stunning Wisteria

Stunning Wisteria


Baby bird

Monday, May 16th, 2011

I was working in the garden yesterday when a baby bird fell out of its nest I think it was a baby magpie and was quite large. We looked for the nest but couldn’t find it so  I found some snails and tiny slugs and now we know it will take food from us a friend is going to try to keep it alive until it fledges.  Lets hope it makes it.


The Bluebells Tale.

Thursday, April 28th, 2011

There can be few sights more evocative of the English countryside than a Bluebell wood in full flower. Late April and early May see large numbers of worshippers flock to key sites when entire acreages turn to azure, the colour all the more striking for the contrast that it makes with the apple-green of the newly emerging woodland foliage above.

Sunlight filtered through the woodland canopy onto a carpet of Blue.

The Bluebell is a perennial herbaceous plant whose new shoots, in common with many denizens of the woodland floor, emerge from their over-wintering bulbs at the tail end of winter, before the overhead canopy robs the floor of light. The species sets profuse seed and also multiplies rapidly at the bulb, with nemerous new bulbils being produced in a good year.  The combined efforts of these two reproductive strategies can see the species dominate over extensive areas that provide the right conditions.

The nodding, bell-shaped flowers, unfurl from mid April to early June, depending on the seasonal temperatures and the location. Not surprisingly, given the widespread affection in which the plant is held, a variety of other common and local names abound besides the familiar one. These include Auld Man’s Bell, Calverkeys, Jacinth, Granfer Giggles, Wild Hyacinth and Wood Bells – all of which refer to the flowers. Although Bluebells are, of course, prominently blue in colour white flowered plants are quite frequent, and can form small stands in amongst the blue. Much rarer are the pink flowered forms, although these too do occasionally occur amongst wild populations.

White flowered bluebells are not uncommon.

Botanically speaking, the species has previously been given it’s own genus, as Endymion non-scriptum as well as being  included within the closely related Scillas (Squills) as Scilla non-scripta. These days most botanists accept the scientific name Hyacinthoides non-scripta, which identifies the species as a close relative of the Hyacinths – Hyacinthoides literally meaning ‘Hyacinth-like’. As for the specific name, ‘non-scripta’ this translates as ‘unlettered’, which might appear rather odd as a plant name, but relates to the ancestor of cultivated hyacinths Hyacinthus orientalis. In Greek mythology the Hyacinth was believed to have ererged from the blood of the prince Hyacinthus as he lay dying. In response to this tragedy Apollo wrote ‘AI AI’, meaning ‘alas’, on the petals of the Hyacinth flower in order to express his grief. These wild Hyacinths, thus being the ‘lettered’ flowers, as opposed to the unlettered Bluebell flowers.

In close-up - the nodding, reflexed flower bells.

Aside from their visual appeal, Bluebells have been widely turned to various utilitarian purposes too. The sap is extremely rich in starch and was widely used as a glue for bookbinding – the toxins in the sap handily also discouraging nibbles from silverfish –  as well as for attaching feathers to arrows. That same starch also provided the stiffening properties in Victorian ruffs and collars.

The Bluebell is also rich in folklore and associations, both good and ill. The plants undoubted toxicity may also be the origin of the belief that anyone who wanders into a ring of bluebells will soon fall under fairy enchantment and be lost or even die. The fairy connection is repeated in other myths too, all of which stem from a time when the countryside was considerably more densely forested, and potentially hazardous. In particular the bells of the Bluebell flowers were believed to ring to summon fairies to their gatherings, and any unfortunate human who heard the ringing would soon die.  A counter belief was that when wearing a Bluebell wreath the wearer would be compelled to speak only the truth, whilst if anyone succeeded in turning one of the individual flowers inside out without tearing it, they would win the one whom they loved.

Bumblebees are key pollinators.

Bluebells are denizens of deciduous woodlands, and have also adapted to their changing and reduced habitats by taking up residence in hedgerows, meadows, cliffs and shady gardens. Their ideal environment, perhaps, is actually man-made – the coppiced woodland, where reasonable light levels reach the floor and regular management keeps the environment optimum for growth. These are the sort of conditions that allow the species to dominate, and vigorously out-compete all other flora that attempts to grow and blooms in the same season.

Although they do have a reputation for being hugely invasive in shady gardens (due largely to the lack of natural competition) Bluebells actually need a fairly specific environment to really thrive and are intolerant of trampling, heavy grazing, water logging & permanent deep shade. They are able to grow happily in sunlight, but can’t compete with carpet-forming grasses, so are rarely present in open sites. Where remnant Bluebell populations are found in hedgerows and pastures it’s a good indicator that that the land was once wooded.

Bluebells in a relatively open location, beneath an orchard.

Bluebells are native only to Europe, and whilst the species is still common in Britain and Ireland, it is rare or endangeres throughout the rest of the continent with about one third of the worlds wild population endemic to the UK. The species has greatly declined over the past 50 years and is considered to be globally threatened as a result of habitat loss and over-collection for use in gardens. Legislation introduced in an attempt to halt this decline means that it is now illegal to collect seed or bulbs from any wild populations.

The typical heavily arched flowering stem of the Common Bluebell.

A further and on-going threat to the Bluebell comes in the form of it’s close relative, the non-native Spanish Bluebell, Hyacinthiodes hispanica. This larger, more vigorous species has for many years been widely grown in British gardens, from where it has escaped to both out-compete and hybridize with our native species.

The Spanish Bluebell - with the bells evenly distributed around the stem, which is held upright.

The English Bluebell has fragrant flowers held only on one side of the stem and always in a distinctive, nodding arrangement. The Spanish Bluebell, by contrast, has unscented flowers produced on on all sides of the stem and in a fully upright pose, much more like a wild Hyacinth, in fact. Hybrids between the two species are now widespread in the countryside due to pollination by bees and the discarding of the over-vigorous, unwanted bulbs in hedges and road verges. Both methods of introduction represent a serious threat to the long-term survival of our native species, and the very real possibility of the eradication of the one of our most cherished wild-flowers. What a tragedy that would be.


Lilac Time.

Thursday, April 21st, 2011

Amongst of the most evocative, popular and widely planted of all late Spring flowering shrubs, Lilacs - Syringa species – seem to be having something of a boom season this year. The exceptionally warm and dry April weather has pushed forward the flowering time for many specimens of the common Lilac – Syringa vulgaris – in particular, and gardens near us here in Devon are flowing over with the bumptious, highly fragrant blossoms that wouldn’t normally be putting in an appearance for another few weeks at least.

The Lilacs are a small genus of around 20 species that, in the wild, range from South-Eastern Europe to China and Japan. They are, rather surprisingly perhaps, members of the Olive family – Oleaceae - and, like most members of that clan, they gravitate towards sunny, well drained habitats in the wild.

Syringa vulgaris 'Andenken an Ludwig Spath'.

The cultivated history of the common Lilac is extensive and ancient. The plant is native to the mountainous regions of the Balkans and was widely grown for millennia in the Ottoman gardens of what is now modern day Turkey. By the 1500′s specimens of these cultivated plants found their way into British gardens for the first time, where they quickly became essential ingredients in the newly burgeoning English Gardening scene.  Initially a great rarity, prized above all for their fragrance,  the ease with which S. vulgaris can be propagated from cuttings, as well as it’s handy habit of self-seeding, meant that the newly fashionable plant soon took root in all the best gardens across Europe, and from there the USA too.

Syringa vulgaris 'Primrose' - the closest approach to a yellow flowered Lilac.

Today there are many hundreds – conservative estimates suggest at least 500 - of selected forms and hybrids of S. vulgaris from which the gardener can choose. In almost all cases the plants themselves are identical in habit, size, leaf etc., and have been selected and named purely for their different flower colours and forms. It’s fair to say that a huge number of these are nearly identical to one another, and their existence perhaps says more about the desire of gardeners & nurserymen to name their own form, rather than any special qualities that they posses. On the plus side, it’s almost impossible to find a bad form, so the excessive abundance of varieties at least have quality control going for them.

Syringa vulgaris 'Madame Charles Souchet'.

When left to it’s own devices Syringa vulgaris forms a very large, multi-stemmed shrub. If carefully pruned and shaped the plants can be formed into small, single-stemmed trees and often look highly attractive when grown in this way. The individual flowers are small and tubular, with flaring petals, but they are produced in huge numbers in very densely packed, upright panicles.

Flower colour varies from white through every permutation of blue-purple, to magenta pink. There are also a small number of varieties with a hint of yellow pigment in the flower, giving an overall creamy impression. Many double flowered forms have been selected, in which each individual flower is expanded and/or flattened  and the petals multiplied. These double forms are often referred to as “French Lilac”, a name that has arisen because, like very many of the best single flowered forms, they were raised by Victor Lemoine and his son Emile at their nursery in Nancy, France. Lemoine was also the first to extensively hybridize between the Lilac species, generally using S. vulgaris as one parent and S. x persica, (the so-called Persian Lilac), S. x hyacinthiflora, and x S. chinensis are amongst the now well-known offspring that resulted from his experiments.

Syringa vulgaris 'Madame Lemoine' one of the double-flowered forms developed at Lemoine's nursery

It’s not all plain sailing in the Lilac world, however, since the flowers are also considered to be extremely bad luck, or even harbingers of doom if brought inside the house. This strange reputation stems from the time when highly fragrant flowers were used indoors to cover the smell of putrification that resulted from a death. Being so widely grown, and abundant in flower, Lilac was very frequently employed in this way, and as a result became associated with death itself - ironic really, considering that the flowers were used to combat the signs of death. It’s an idea that has persisted, though, and even to this day the flowers are not supplied by florists.

Syringa vulgaris 'Sensation' - one of the very few Lilacs with truly bi-coloured flowers.

Aside from the ubiquitous S. vulgaris and it’s many forms and hybrids, there are several other highly ornamental members of the genus that are well worth investigation.

Syringa pubescens subsp. microphylla ‘is distinctive and now widely available. It forms a pretty shrub that rarely reaches more than 2 metres in height or width and contrasts it’s open, fragrant flower panicles with delicate and very small leaves. The form ‘Superba’ was selected for it’s very free-flowering habit, with blooms being produced intermittently from May through to the first frosts.

Syringa pubescens subsp. microphylla 'Superba'.

The Chinese native Syringa pinnatifolia is definitely the most unusual, or at least the most un-lilac like of the genus, looking much more like a Daphne at first glance. It’s flowers are held in small, nodding panicles, far smaller than those of the common Lilac, but are very charming nonetheless. The foliage is equally attractive, being divided into multiple small leaf-lets that give the whole plant an airy, but also exotic appearance.

Syringa pinnatifolia.

The king of the Lilacs has to be another Chinese species, the magnificent Syringa reflexa. This absolutely gorgeous plant bears large, elongated, cascading flower panicles of deep, pure pink, with each individual flower have a contrasting white throat. I will always remember my first encounter with a flowering plant of this species. It completely revolutionised the way that I saw the Lilacs and I vowed to track down a specimen ASAP!

Syringa reflexa.

The rather clunkily-named Syringa sweginzowii is another, extremely similar Chinese species, and a hybrid between this and S. reflexa, was raised in Germany in the 1930′s and named S. x swegiflexa. Happily I now grow all three of these and can testify to their enormous appeal for both eyes and nose alike.

Syringa sweginzowii


Baby Blackbirds

Saturday, April 16th, 2011

As I stand here peeling potatoes for our supper, I am watching a Mummy and Daddy blackbird tirelessly feed their young.  I had sneaky peak into the nest yesterday and was amazed to see that they have four hungry mouths to feed.   I feel like an expectant Mother myself watching out for any Magpies that might also be watching the proud parents.  It makes realise why I love gardening so much.  It is the continuous interaction with nature watching the seasons change, the fresh air and nurturing the plants in my garden so that I can enjoy a green space surrounded by other creatures that can also enjoy my garden.

Mummy Blackbird

Mummy Blackbird


Enjoyable tasks

Sunday, April 10th, 2011

Today is just so lovely, the bees are buzzing and I have seen lots of butterflies flitting around.  The Magnolia Stellata in the garden is looking so lovely but I think the sun is going to burn the flowers if the weather stays this warm.  Another job that is going to be full on now is to keep the pots watered, the spring flowers are struggling with these temperatures and I have had to move them around so that they re in semi shaded positions.

Dead heading my daffodils seems to be a daily task and weeding is to.  I am going to get the hoe out then I can leave the little weeds to frazzle in the sun then pick them up and pop onto the compost heap.


The forecast: Snow in March (and throughout April).

Wednesday, March 30th, 2011

Hmm…sounds improbable perhaps? But then, what are those delicate white flakes drifting and fluttering on the lightest breeze?

The answer is petals….and the original owner of those petals is the Snowy Mespilus, or Amelanchier.

One of the finest and least demanding of small trees for the garden, whose virtues I’ve already hinted at previously, as March gives way to April and the countless thousands of poised Amelanchier flower buds open, I thought it high time to give these plants centre stage for a while.

Members of the Rose family – like so many other of the finest Spring-flowering woody plants – Amelanchier is a small and rather confused genus of trees and shrubs. There are anywhere between 6 and 35 species, depending on whose definition you believe. They are all, essentially, identical in their ornamental features, and what’s more the species have interbred with abandon to the point that definitive identification of many plants is all but impossible.

One species, A. lamarckii, is a good example. Considered to be a naturalised British plant, where colonies have spread thanks to the assistance of birds, this plant is, like all but two of the Amelanchiers, a native of North America, but “our” Amelanchier is not the same as the species that grows in the USA, and could be a different species, such as A. canadensis or A. laevis, or a hybrid of one or more of these species, or a hybrid with one of the indigenous Euro-Asian species. The truth is that the differences between all of the species are so small, and variable, that the best anyone can say is that an individual plant is closest to, say A. lamarckii…well, maybe.

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Ballerina'.

But enough of that confusion, let’s focus instead on the many good points of these delightful trees. Their common names give a few hints of their attractions and also the considerable importance that the plants played in the lives of Native American and European settlers alike. Snowy Mespilus, as already noted, refers to the wonderful blizzard of innumerable tiny petals that grace the trees and then the ground beneath the trees as Spring progresses. “Mespilus” are the Medlars, further members of the Rose family, and ones to which the Amelachiers bore a resemblance in the eyes of the first Europeans to document the new North American flora. The names “shadbush”,” shadwood” or “shadblow” are also references to the flowering season, which coincides with the arrival of the Shad – a fish that formed a staple food for many of those same early settlers.

The flowers are only one of the appeals of the Amelanchiers, however and “serviceberry” and “juneberry” are further much-used common names. These, of course, refer to the fruit – a red-purple berry that eventually matures to black which was considered to resemble the berries of the wild European Service Tree – Sorbus domestica. The fruit are edible, and in the best varieties, quite delicious, which characteristic gives rise to yet more common names including “sugarplum”,”wild-plum”, and “Indian pear”, again, all hinting at the importance of the plant in the lives of the early populations of  North America.

The fully ripe fruit of Amelanchier alnifolia.

To the Cree Native Americans the plant was “misâskwatômina”, a name that was Europeanised into “saskatoon”, after which the town of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, was named. Finally, while we’re talking names here, Amelanchier itself is derived from “amalenquièr” the Provençal name for the European species: Amelanchier ovalis, and, despite some sources that might state otherwise, the name is pronounced:  amma-LANK-ee-er, with a hard “K” sound, which perhaps becomes more obvious when seen against it’s French language counterpart.

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Robin Hill'.

Amelanchiers produce an abundance of flowers from a very young age, and even the tiniest specimen will pop out a handful of blooms. Within a few years all of the branches of that plant will be fully laden with blossom each Spring. Once opened the flowers are joined by the new foliage which is often flushed with bronze or copper, making for a magnificent contrast and highlighting those dazzling white flowers all the more.

Amelanchier lamarckii with deep red/bronze new foliage.

So we have a tremendous Spring display followed by branches smothered by small, but highly decorative, edible fruit, but these trees have one final trick up their sleeves as the foliage can turn to glorious shades of orange and red in a good, crisp Autumn.  Amelanchiers display their autumn finery with great gusto and reliability in North America, although the colour can be patchy of even absent here in the UK, but that is entirely to do with our erratic, maritime climate rather than any failing on the part of the plants.

Virtually all Amelanchiers are capable of producing fiery autumn foliage under the right conditions.

Despite the presence of numerous selections in cultivation – the RHS Plantfinder currently lists 44 named forms – Amelanchiers are a pretty homogeneous lot, and really there is very little to choose between them. A. x grandiflora ‘Ballerina’ was selected for it’s larger flowers and is now very widely distributed. It’s a lovely plant, but we have it growing amidst 10 or so other named forms, and frankly I’m hard pushed to tell them apart from one another.  There are a few genuinely different selections however. The lovely pale-pink flowered form A. x grandiflora ‘Rubescens’, and pink-fading-to-white-flowered ‘Robin Hill’; the slender, upright growing A. alnifolia ‘Obelisk’ & similar A. canadensis ‘Rainbow Pillar’ and the much smaller growing A. rotundifolia ‘Helvetia’ and equally compact species A. stolonifera are all distinctive.

Amelanchier 'Obelisk' - not exactly fastigiate, but the closest to an upright form the genus has to offer.

Aside from these last two, all Amelanchiers are vigorous, as well as undemanding and easy to grow in many garden situations. Depending on how they are treated and grew as young plants they can form graceful, slender trees or multi-stemmed, more-or-less globular large shrubs. The plants can eventually get quite substantial, but they retain an airy, light quality to them and the slender leaves don’t cast a great deal of shade, even in mid summer. Plants may also be pruned after flowering to retain a desired shape or keep them to a fixed size. Amelachier are tolerant of a wide range of soils, including heavy clay and even water-logging, although young plants should be mound-planted if soil is permanently wet to allow the roots to find their own way through rather than simply plunged into a soggy hole.

Amelanchier canadensis in full autumn colour in the UK.

All parts of the plants are edible and are evidently quite appealing to a variety of browsing animals, from harmless leaf-cutter bees through to more potentially damaging rabbits and deer, so young Amelanchiers should be given some protection where appropriate. They are generally very healthy plants too, although they can suffer from fungal leaf spot, particularly if grown in sheltered areas with limited air movement. Treatment of the newly emerging foliage, together with collection of fallen leaves in autumn will keep this problem in check should it appear, and an opening up of the canopy of more congested plants will help prevent it’s re-occurrence.

Amelanchier stolonifera - the smallest growing of the species.

If sheer flower power in early to mid Spring is your thing, then, whichever form, species, or selection you choose, you won’t find a better small tree than the Snowy Mespilus, and adding one to your garden will ensure that you’ll always have at least a little of the right kind of snow, right where you want it every March and April.