News Tagged ‘Gardening’

Planting for Wildlife: The Guelder Rose.

Thursday, June 2nd, 2011

Wandering through the garden recently on a hot, sunny morning I was drawn to one shrub because of the sound emanating from it…once I arrived I found the entire plant was covered with bees – wild honeybees, masonry bees, leaf-cutter bees and other solitary species – together with hoverflies of half-a-dozen different species. Even some pollen-eating horned-beetles had flown in to join the scrum, and there must have been getting on for a thousand individual insects all feeding together on one plant.

The shrub in question was a Viburnum dentatum, and the big draw for all the many insects were the flowers, many hundreds of which were covering the plant, each one laden with pollen. Our garden teems with wildlife at most times, but I was particularly pleased to think that just one individual plant was providing to much sustenance to so many wonderful insects and their various hungry broods back in their respective nests.

Viburnum dentatum is a North American species, and not necessarily one of the most ornamental of this strikingly handsome genus. Over in our hedgerows, though, both of the native species of Viburnum – V. lantana – aka the Wayfaring Tree – and V. opulus, the Guelder Rose – are doing their thing. The plants of Viburnum opulus that grow wild around the margins of the garden are all interwoven into the hedgerows and so get cut back pretty hard every couple of years, which certainly doesn’t do much for their flowering display, but where they do flower these too are smothered with feeding insects feasting on the bounty of pollen.

Viburnum opulus in full flower - a major insect magnet.

Viburnum opulus is one of our most attractive and versatile native shrubs. Not fussy as to soil type, the plants tolerate dry, infertile soils but particularly thrive in wet or boggy soils where, aside from huge trees, relatively few other native woody plants will succeed. Our largest pond is bordered by soil that was, at least in part, formed by the spoil from its excavation – rich but very heavy clay. The area also periodically floods from the river and is subject to continual leaching of water from the body of the pond.

We originally planted this mini-zone with a variety of selections of Acer palmatum, with their traditional association with water, but the continually wet soil has proven too much for these Maples, all of which failed to thrive and were moved to another part of the garden this last winter.  This pond-margin has now been replanted with a group of different cultivars of Viburnum opulus which have already produced great growth and seem to be positively relishing their semi-boggy new homes. The future display of flowers, all interweaving from the different varieties, should prove to be an even bigger insect magnet than their American cousin Viburnum detatum over on the other side of the garden.

Viburnum opulus - the wild form.

Viburnum are closely related to Hydrangea, and the flowers of V. opulus are amongst the finest in the whole genus, closely resembling those of a Lacecap Hydrangea. The common name ‘Guelder Rose’ is one of those widespread, but not very useful or accurate labels that sometimes get attached to plants, this time stemming from the introduction of one very well known form of the species – V. opulus ‘Roseum’, widely known as the Snowball Tree. This very popular cultivar was believed to have been found in the Dutch region of Guelderland, hence the name, but, from a wildlife perspective, the Snowball tree should be avoided entirely. Those large balls of flowers are completely sterile – so no pollen is produced at all, not much good for hungry bees and hoverflies.

The flowers of Viburnum opulus 'Roseum' are big and blowsy, but not much good for hungry wildlife.

Being sterile ‘Roseum’ also fails to set fruit, which brings me to another great attribute of the species. Once the flowers have fallen away the plants produce heavy clusters of cranberry-like, glistening bright-red fruits. These are absolutely beautiful to behold, particularly on the varieties with contrasting leaf colour (more of which in a moment…) but, as might be imagined, they are also highly valuable to birds busily feeding-up for the coming winter. The Thrush family are particularly fond of these fruits, and blackbirds, mistle thrushes, fieldfares and redwings will all go out of their way to visit and feed upon a fruiting bush. Woodmice and field mice are also fans of the fruit and have been known to scale the shrubs in search of a meal.

Big clusters of fruit bring in the birds (and the mice).

From an ornamental perspective – pretty important for any large shrub if it’s is going to deserve a space in most gardens, after all – the flower and the fruit are followed by another top feature, namely autumn colour. The foliage of most varieties turns to a range of colours from deep purple-burgundy to bright crimson and orange, depending on the temperatures, and is especially vivid when the plants are grown in full sun. A plant of Viburnum opulus in full autumn colour, and at the same time laden with it’s bright fruits, is pretty hard to top when it comes to seasonal finery, and all this from a common and easily grown British native.

Viburnum opulus, in autumn foliage.

Besides the aforementioned ‘Roseum’ there are surprisingly few named forms of the species, but those that do exist are generally all well worth growing. ‘Aureum’ is an old, golden-leafed cultivar that tends to burn when grown in full sun. It’s now been superseded by the much more weather-proof ‘Park Harvest’ which, come early autumn, combines it’s intensely yellow leaves with vivid red fruit – quite a spectacle.

Viburnum opulus 'Park Harvest' - the new golden foliage lined with red.

‘Xanthocarpum’ and the newly selected ‘Apricot’ have yellow and pink-ish gold fruit respectively, whilst ‘Notcutt’s Variety’ has larger flowers and fruits. Perhaps most useful of all is ‘Compactum’, a very free-flowering and strong fruiting cultivar that forms a dense and compact shrub, ultimately much smaller than the wild form, and so more readily accommodated in smaller gardens.

Viburnum opulus 'Xanthocarpum'.


Out of action

Monday, May 30th, 2011

Well, I have been out of action gardening wise for two weeks. The reason is restoring our new home and garden.  Although it is the home bit that was the problem.  I was happily gardening when my Husband called me to look at the hidden bread oven he had revealed.  It was fascinating and very exciting to find a 16th century oven but then I helped him clear up the mess, which I didn’t mind doing.  Unfortunately this brought on a bought of pleurisy.  So I have had to rest, which I do not do well but if I over do things the dreadful ache gets worse.  Also I have been really tired and sleeping for part of the day,  it must be the bodies way to make you stop.

Anyway, I do feel alot better now and today I have been back to our new home to have an hour in the garden.  I decided that I would do some gental gardening, dead heading the roses and there are masses of them.  They are beautiful but  suffering from greenfly so I used my favorite method to get rid of them, the finger and thumb method.   There is also a lovely herbaceous border with peonies of every hew.  I have cut quite a few of them to put into a vase, as in the border they really need water and have started to droop everywhere.   Next year I will stake them with a home made hazel supports.  This border needs quite a bit of attention. I have noticed that there is ground elder growing as well as other weeds also I need to pull up the spent forget-me-knots and daffodils.  The border is broken by an arch with honeysuckle and a climbing rose winding its way over it.  Although these plants have started to grow all over the place because they have been neglected and need tying in, a job for another day.

Beautiful climbing rose

Beautiful climbing rose

One of the first jobs in the garden was to remove some over grown Leyandi hedging which now it has been removed has given us evening sun  and the space for a new border.  I can’t wait to get planting but need to en-rich the soil first and take time to choose the plants.  I think I will plant in the Autumn which is when we hope to move in.  We also had the garden deer and rabbit fenced although today I noticed a baby rabbit in the garden so maybe he got trapped inside.  I will watch where he goes and hire a humain trap so he can go back to the wild.

Off to rest now with a good gardening book and a cup of tea.


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


Summer Flowering Magnolias.

Thursday, May 5th, 2011

Magnolias hold a very special place in my heart. It was the fluttering Lotus-like petals of my parents Magnolia stellata that were partly responsible for my fascination with plants in the first place. Their shape, size and clean simplicity seemed somehow more extraordinary than most other garden plants. This introduction to the genus – at the tender age of maybe 6-ish – was the jumping off point for a lifelong relationship with these most magnificent of temperate flowering trees.

Magnolia sieboldii - pink stamen form.

I have blogged before about some of the newer hybrids and colour forms of Magnolia, but this is a huge and diverse genus and there is another, very different sub-section of Magnolias that opens the plants up to more gardens and gardeners than might traditionally be imagined. Magnolias, as a whole, are quite rightly thought of as large, and generally tree-like in size. Even the smallest of the well known species (such as good old M. stellata) eventually become quite enormous in girth, if not in height. Magnolias are also known for preferring acid soil. This is not entirely accurate, and almost all will do perfectly well on a neutral soil, particularly one that is nutrient rich, as is the case with most clay-based soils, for instance, but alkaline soils are generally seen as a no-go area for the plants.

The group that I want to highlight don’t conform to either of those stereotypes, however. They are most definitely shrubby and rarely if ever grow on a single trunk, which in turn makes them much easier to accommodate in smaller gardens. What’s more they are known to be highly tolerant of even quite alkaline, chalky soils, and are amongst the best of all shrubs for use in such gardens where other luxuriant Himalayan/Chinese shrubs can often be all but impossible to grow.

Magnolia wilsonii.

Another handy thing about these plants is that they flower well after the “normal” Magnolia season. Strictly speaking there is no one Magnolia season, and, in fact the genus contains species, that together, can be in flower pretty much 365 days of the year. Still, it’s fair to say that most gardeners associate Magnolias with Spring…and with Spring come frosts, and with frosts come mushy flowers and disappointed gardeners. These summer flowering species completely bypass all of that potential heartbreak and their flowers are never affected by frosts in any way.

The horizontal flowers of Magnolia sieboldii.

The most primitive of all Magnolias – and indeed the most ancient of all flowering plants alive today – are summer bloomers too. Species including Magnolia obovata, M. fraseri, M. officinalis, M. macrophylla and M. tripetala are all spectacular and wonderfully Jurassic in appearance when their gigantic flowers open, but these are huge trees, and completely unsuitable for all but the most park-like of gardens.

Super-primitive, the giant blooms of Magnolia obovata.

Flowering along side them, from early May through to mid summer, are a small gaggle of 4 species, all of which are closely related to one another. Magnolia sieboldii is the best known, and perhaps the template for these shrubby, summer-flowering species.  A native of Japan, Korea and China it slowly grows to form a large bush that flowers from a very young age and small size….and what flowers they are too! Cup-shaped, horizontal or gently nodding, around 15cm (6 inches) in size, and pure white with a central boss of stamens in a contrasting colour – typically pinkish red, but deep burgundy in the best forms. Lacking the blowsy-showiness of the more familiar Spring flowering Magnolias these are a different proposition, and, together with their gentle fragrance their blooms are, with good reason, regarded amongst the most perfectly formed of all flowers.

Magnolia sieboldii

The Chinese native Magnolia sinensis is the closest relative to M. sieboldii, indeed some botanists lump the two together into the same species, but it is distinct in habit at least, and stands as the largest growing of the four. The flowers are also fully pendulous – wonderful viewed from below and perfect for planting on a steep slope. M. sinensis regularly sets seed in this country too, and this adds a whole further ornamental aspect to the plants, since the seed is held in dangling, bright scarlet seedpods that look extra vivid contrasted against the deep green foliage.

Those burgundy stamens in close-up.

Magnolia wilsonii seedpod.

Magnolia wilsonii is another Chinese species. In my experience it’s the best of the group for the production of seed pods, and each year the plants are fully laden with the fat, cone-like red pods. M. wilsonii also regularly re-flowers throughout summer and even into autumn, and tops all of this off with a decent display of autumn leaf colour when the foliage turns to butter yellow – one of the few Magnolias to do so.

The last of the small group is also the rarest both in cultivation and in the wild. Magnolia globosa is native to Yunnan, in South-West China, and also to Nepal. This Nepalese population has produced the best, and hardiest plants for the garden, and grows without any problems in our rather exposed and frost-prone garden. The flowers of this species don’t open fully, which lends the plant it’s specific name “globosa” as well as it’s Nepalese common name of “Hen Magnolia”, after the very egg-like buds that adorn the branches from May through June to July.

A brand new, as yet un-named hybrid of M. sieboldii and the pink-flowered M. insignis.

Although they are not pollen-compatible with most of the other Magnolias these four species have been used in hybridisation programmes with a few of the larger Asian species, and the gorgeous naturally occurring hybrid Magnolia x wieseneri is by far the best known, and most readily available of the their offspring. This has flowers that resemble it’s parent M. sieboldii, but they are larger, more widely opening, and much more intensely fragrant. This fragrance caused a complete sensation when the plant was first exhibited at the Paris Exposition of 1889, and continues to cause devotees to froth at the mouth at the mere mention of it’s name to this day.

Magnolia x wieseneri, with it's large, upwards facing and intensely perfumed flowers.


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