Garden history, garden design and more

After what’s seemed like just two or three weeks of autumn proper, we now appear to be heading into winter, with frosts and the need for scarves and woolly hats. For someone like me, often valuing subtlety more than the obvious, the muted colours at Wisley have an attraction all their own.

The car park has some interesting juxtapositions, involving the remains of Agastache, several grasses, red and yellow-stemmed willows, and for a bit of colour, the stems of Cornus ‘Midwinter Fire’.

Elsewhere in the garden, more mature ‘Midwinter Fires’ retain their yellowed leaves:

In the Country Garden, designed by Penelope Hobhouse, much cutting back of perennials has taken place, leaving a more structural ‘bare-bones’ feel.

Arum italicum ‘Marmoratum’ has sprung up widely here, under the hedges and into the borders. And strikingly, Abelia x grandiflora is perhaps at its most attractive now, the flower petals having fallen to leave masses of pink sepals.

A bright orange fungus appears in one bed:

At the bottom of Battleston Hill, gunnera have been mounded into their protective wigwams for the winter. Homes for a colony of some kind of kobold, one could imagine. Hydrangeas are now masses of lumpy brown pom-poms and the seedheads of Cardiocrinum stand erect like gothic candlesticks.

You should grab opportunities to hear top designers speak. Here are two of these.

The first isn’t new. It’s a Gardens Illustrated podcast dating from just after the Chelsea Flower Show. It features Noel Kingsbury and Tim Richardson as ring-masters, with Dan Pearson, Andy Sturgeon and Cleve West answering the questions. In a nice lengthy discussion, the lads reveal a lot of interesting stuff about how they work, and it’s worth repeated listens as you can pick up new things each time. One interesting titbit: all three designers primarily use one nursery for their more select perennial requirements: Orchard Dene. And all three bemoaned the lack of similarly-attractive shrub nurseries – an opportunity I would have thought for some suppliers I’m familiar with. By the by, I came across the link to this on James Golden’s excellent View from Federal Twist blog. And the podcast itself is where I picked up on the garden history course mentioned in my last post.

The other recording is an interview with Luciano Giubbilei, Italian master of cool, via Landscape Juice. Not quite as good audio quality, but again a useful insight into a designer’s thoughts and ways of working.

Well, I’ve taken the plunge and enrolled in the new Oxford University online course in English landscape history. It’s a ten-week course starting in the new year, and was written by Tim Richardson. It should be a good introduction to the subject.

My recent interest in garden history is one aspect of my need to get involved in the context. Just as finding out about where a plant came from or which plant hunter brought it back to this country seems to add to its appeal, learning about a garden’s history and the characters who brought it into being provides, for me, a greater sense of appreciation. Taking it further, the wider world affects garden making, just like everything else, and so to fully understand gardens and plants you need to get a feeling for history, society, politics… To paraphrase the great West Indian cricket writer CLR James: What do they know of gardens who only gardens know?

The picture above is the nuttery at Sissinghurst, in March.

Am I imagining it, or are the leaves on my Hamamelis xintermedia ‘Jelena’ more vivid than usual this autumn? They have scarlet centres, surrounded by butter yellow. Three other varieties in the garden have yet to do anything special, but ‘Jelena’ is a vision.

Interestingly, I’ve noticed that in some witch hazels the leaf margins turn red first. I wonder what causes the difference? Many sources tell us about the red and purple colours coming from anthocyanin, oranges from carotene, yellows from xanthophyll and browns from tannin, all becoming visible in autumn because of the disappearance of chlorophyll. But what causes the zonation of colours in the leaf and the differences in that zonation between cultivars of the same species? Can’t find any discussion of it on the web…

I visited Rousham in Oxfordshire a year ago, and it is rightly lauded as a great garden. One of the seminal gardens of the English Landscape movement, it doesn’t seem typical of that era, notable more for its intriguing succession of often small-scale tableaux or dare I say it, garden ‘rooms’, than for the rolling acres you associate with Stowe and Stourhead.

The use of architectural caprices such as faux temples, pavilions and statuary is a good deal more considered than in many gardens. The most impressive example, for me, is the Arcade or Praenaste, shown below.

Another feature of note, an elegant serpentine rill, leads you through the trees between clearings. Halfway down its length is a hexagonal pool where bathers could cool off on a hot summer day.

Foliage green is the dominant colour, and this is a garden that demonstrates that you don’t need ‘flower power’ to create impact.

‘Borrowing’ the landscape from outside the garden is something that’s always mentioned in garden design courses, and this is demonstrated to tremendous effect at Rousham. The view from the flat bowling green behind the house and past the huge statue of  a Lion Attacking a Horse takes in fields and two buildings in the distance, which it turns out were in one case modified, and in the other created solely to improve that view, by the garden’s creator, William Kent (who substantially modified the earlier design of Charles Bridgeman). To understand the background to Rousham, and indeed the eighteenth century English landscape garden movement itself, read The Arcadian Friends, by Tim Richardson.

I ought to mention that part of Rousham that’s usually ignored by reviewers: the walled garden that is separated from the Kent-designed and celebrated section by a huge yew hedge. Pass through this and you are in an area that although more conventional in appearance, is far from being without merit. Trained fruit trees and herbaceous borders are here, but the most striking feature is the pigeon house (below), the walls of which are covered in cherry fans. When I was there a resident peacock nosed about in the guano that has built up in the bottom of this structure over the years.

All in all, a very worthwhile trip. Visit if you can.

The new book Wildflower Wonders of the World by Bob Gibbons is a superb introduction to many of the globe’s floral hotspots. You’ll sometimes find these places mentioned in the horticultural literature, often in hushed tones, and if you’re like me, you’ll have yearned for a bit more information.

Here, fifty locations are described, from Europe, Africa, Asia, Australasia and North America. Such classic sites as The Burren in Ireland, Spain’s Picos de Europa and the Zhongdian Plateau in China are covered, together with others that are perhaps less well known. All feature both informative descriptions and splendid photographs of the floral riches to be seen there.

Many of our favourite garden plants originate from these worldwide ‘super-sites’ and it’s fascinating to see them in their natural surroundings. For example, we have Eranthis hyemalis Cilicica Group (large-flowered winter aconite) pictured en masse at the snowline in the Taurus mountains of southern Turkey, Ox-eye daisies and Clematis alpina in the Slovenian Alps, and the Tibetan meadows festooned with primulas.

This is a stunning book that should find a home on the shelves of many curious gardeners. My only slight quibble is the dominant use of common plant names as opposed to the botanical equivalents, but this is a minor point and shouldn’t put anyone off.

 We’re well into autumn now, but there’s plenty of colour left in the garden. This part of one of our borders (look away now, designers and colour wheel fanatics) shows (approximately left to right):

• A self-seeded golden feverfew that formed a nice tight mound of foliage and for some weeks has been swathed in little white daisies
• a young yellow-flowered Helianthemum
• Aster asperulus; a self-seeded Eucomis
• Crocosmia ‘Emily McKenzie’
• Aster amellus ‘King George’
• and a carmine-pink Cosmos

Cosmos were strange this year. Of three bought as small plants, two (white and pale pink varieties) flowered fairly well, but refused to bulk out, leaving the one shown above to grow into a several-foot-tall plant as it should. Continual dead-heading produces ongoing new blooms, and there’s a lot still to come.

In addition to the above, Rudbeckia fulgida var. deamii is performing well as usual (this does well for us, unlike it’s more glossy-leaved brother ‘Goldsturm’, which always seems to get blackened leaves and pine away generally). Nerine bowdenii and varieties thereof are starting to flower in a small east-facing bed with poor soil, which they seem to like. Amaryllis belladonna is just finishing in the same bed, although the number of blooms we have had is way down on a few years ago when they numbered twenty plus.

Both the hardy “plumbagos”, Ceratostigma plumbaginoides and C. wilmottianum, are in flower and looking good. A Hummingbird Hawk Moth was flitting between the wilmottianum flowers this morning. I could hear the distinctive whirring as he flew by.

I’m not one for ‘flower power’ alone though, and I often prefer the subtle charms of foliage variations. Mind you, there’s enough ‘wow factor’ in the changes that are starting to happen to deciduous leaves already. Hamamelis ‘Jelena’ has some leaves starting to turn, but this is nothing compared to the small example of Fothergilla major that we have. Brilliant oranges and scarlets can be seen all the way from the other end of the garden (below).

By the way, you can now see more of my images on Flickr. And one of this blog’s sidebars shows some more Flickr images too.

When you think of plants for shade, you usually think ‘spring’, because many woodland plants flower before the leaf canopy has developed above them. But there are plants, especially perennials, that do their thing later in the season and don’t mind being overshadowed by trees and shrubs. They can be useful additions to areas that you might think would be just a mass of green after April.

Many of these plants originate in the far east. An old favourite is Kirengeshoma palmata. The deep green palmate leaves contrast nicely with the lemon-yellow bell-shaped flowers that are held in loose clusters borne above the foliage.

Members of the Tricyrtis genus are far more attractive than their common name, “toad lily” would imply. Below, the vivid purple-spotted orchid-like flowers of Tricyrtis formosana. There are six petals surrounding a central proud-standing column of stamens and pistils. The flowers, which are very variable in colour in this species, are borne on numerous upright stems carrying alternate glossy green heart-shaped leaves. Spreads strongly.

Below, the similar Tricyrtis formosana Stolonifera Group. This particular plant has paler flowers, the purple spots being less apparent. As its name implies, this is even more strongly spreading via shallow runners.

Tricyrtis require shade or semi-shade and a rich but well-drained soil that does not dry out fully in summer. There is a chance that early frosts may damage the flowers, and they can be subject to slug attack. One excellent source of plants is Farmyard Nurseries in deepest southwest Wales, which until recently carried a national collection of the genus. They recommend that taller-growing species benefit from a June trim to keep them compact and encourage more prolific flowering.

Saxifrages bring to mind the small plants that decorate many a rockery or alpine trough, but the species Saxifraga fortunei is a chunkier beast, and it and many varieties of it are excellent shade perennials. In September, knuckle-like buds may be seen appearing from beneath the mound of rounded leaves (themselves attractive, sometimes with red undersides, sometimes with bristly hairs on the top surface), and the following month multiple stems will send forth masses of frothy flowers in white or shades of pink. Interestingly each individual flower has petals of different lengths, as in ‘Pink Mist’, below.

Good, reliable cultivars include ‘Mount Nachi’ and ‘Wada’. Some varieties are less hardy, particularly those with unusually coloured foliage.

Another plant from the Saxifragacaea family, Peltoboykinia watanabei, is not the most flamboyant in this selection, but still worthy of inclusion in many shade gardens. Deep green rounded and deeply-lobed leaves are topped by flower stalks carrying a cluster of palest yellow flowers (below). Hails from southern Japan. Can form good ground cover if conditions are right.

My last two selections are from North America, and flowering earlier, the interest at this time of year is due to their fruit. Actaea pachypoda isn’t usually the most dramatic of its genus, but the clusters of berries that develop towards autumn show why one of its common names is “doll’s eyes”. Each fruit is glossy and white, with a black centre, making the fruiting head resemble some miniature Lovecraftian monstrosity when come across in a shady glade.

Maianthemum racemosum (previously Smilacina racemosa) has long been a sought-after woodlander, making a dramatic clump of foliage surmounted by fluffy white racemes of flowers. The flowers are followed by red speckled berries, and in the form shown below, have been thought sufficiently different from the species to be given a new cultivar name, ‘Wisley Spangles.’

A trip to the Glasshouse (formerly Oudolf) Borders at Wisley, on 31st August 2011. The title relates to the recent book on Piet Oudolf, Landscapes in Landscapes, where his different projects are classified by their areas (and which is written with Noel Kingsbury). Overall, the borders are still looking pretty good, as you might expect for features that are best known for their late-season interest.

One rather drab area is near the top of the slope, where Stachys ‘Hummelo’ has gone-over (right-hand foreground in the image below).

But there’s plenty more impressive sights and planting combinations. Below we have Eupatorium purpureum ‘Purple Bush’, with Calamagrostis brachytricha and a persicaria, backed by a golden-leaved willow. Indeed, the big purple-flowered eupatoriums are one of the star performers at the moment.

Some plants have finished flowering, but in some cases this leaves architectural seed heads standing. This is particularly the case with Phlomis tuberosa ‘Amazone’. The darkened whorls of old flower-heads provide good contrast, in this case (below) with eupatoriums.

Echinaceas, which have been major players in these borders, are now starting to fade. The view below shows purple and white purpurea varieties with a yellow helenium behind. In other areas E. pallida is already dropping its petals.

Grasses are very evident. Here’s a nice inter-planting of Calamagrostis brachytricha with Amsonia tabernaemonta var. salicifolia, the fluffy seed-heads of the grass popping up above the amsonia‘s willowy foliage

Sedums, with ‘Matrona’ as in this image (below) especially coming into its own, provide good shape combinations. The horizontal pale pink flower-heads of the sedums in this case are contrasted with the verticals of Veronicastrum stems.

Finally, two more grasses. Immediately below,  the arching stems and impressive paintbrush flower-heads of Pennisteum macrourum, and below that, a phalanx of Miscanthus that form a barrier at the top of the Glasshouse Borders.

Another of my favourite authors is Mr. Tim Richardson. Illuminating and often provocative, his columns in the Garden Design Journal or the Saturday Telegraph often miraculously deal with issues that I happen to have been thinking about myself. For example the question of why almost every Chelsea show garden designer feels the need to include some sort of garden structure or ‘super-shed’. I was mulling over this when I came across Tim’s GDJ piece addressing this very point, in his usual witty way.

As well as regular articles in the periodicals, from where his bunter-ish features smirk out at the reader, suggesting someone who likes to stir up debate as well as inform, this horticultural owl-of-the-remove has written a number of substantial tomes in the fields of design and garden history. And his latest project is coordinating the novel but why-didn’t-anyone-think-of-this-sooner ‘Chelsea Fringe‘, a range of events taking place around London to coincide with the ‘greatest flower show in the world’, obviously inspired by the Edinburgh Fringe.

But back to books, and Tim is the author (sorry, curator, according to the dust jacket) of a new volume examining the work of 50 of the world’s leading garden and landscape designers, Futurescapes. With the same format as his earlier Avant Gardeners, which looked at the wacky world of conceptual design, this volume gives me some optimism that tomorrow’s designed landscapes may be ones in which we’ll be happy to live.

Excellent photography backs up the text, and for UK readers there is insight into some smaller and farther-flung design practices than are normally covered in the media. We even get some new perspectives on familar names, such as the focus on Dan Pearson’s Japanese work, and the realisation that not all of Christopher Bradley-Hole’s projects are quite as minimal as his Chelsea gardens of some years ago. The designer profiles are leavened by three essays by Tim and two forums in which the future of landscape design is ruminated upon. The whole package is beautifully produced by Thames & Hudson.

There are a slew of euro-coffee-table-books on international landscape design on the market, but these seem to lack both character and critical judgement. As you might expect, this is definitely not the case with Futurescapes, surely a candidate for landscape book of the year.