Second Spring

Autumn plant fair at Blaye (Gironde)

After the dryness of high summer, it's a relief to have some rain and the opportunity to move plants into different places.  If she's not rearranging furniture in the sitting room, Christina enjoys nothing more than a good garden makeover - or a 'relooking' as they would term it over here!

Despite producing a quantity of peas and beans earlier in the year, our potager is just too small and shaded to be really successful as a veg plot; so we've decided to concentrate on herbs - those wonderful hyssops and salvias I wrote about last month - retaining a little area for raspberries. 

Christina inclines towards the architectural side of gardening, and is much handier with a spade than me, so she started by digging out a proper gravelled path around the back of our new herb bed.  It cuts down on growing space but makes it much easier to trim the hedge and access all parts of the new bed.

We'd already set aside a number of flowering herbs which would be suitable for this area, but of course we couldn't resist the lure of a local plant fair to find a few more candidates...

There are always some interesting stands at the Autumn foire aux plantes in Blaye, held inside the 17th century citadel overlooking the Gironde estuary, which is like a medieval village within the town, its rough stone and plaster walls providing a backdrop for seductive displays of plants and garden crafts.

The plant-sellers are drawn mainly from neighbouring departments and have become more practised at presentation over the years, ensuring that their specimens are well-labelled and even providing a photograph if there isn't an actual flower on show.  Many of these horticultural enterprises now have informative websites and their plantsmen (and women) are always happy to talk at length to interested buyers - sometimes too happy it seems when you're left awkwardly clutching several pots, ready to hand over your cash whilst a long-winded discussion on soil types continues unabated, seemingly oblivious to impatient clients!

Eragrostis trichoides "Summer Strain"

One of the grasses we chose was a delicate Eragrostis which has now taken its place next to the stone bird bath, a central feature of our new herb bed.  When the early-morning sun shines through its seed heads, these elegant wands almost look like fine sprays of glittering water.

Another grass which catches the light beautifully is Pennisetum alopecuroides, or Chinese Fountain Grass, which is increasingly used to good effect in municipal flowerbeds and seems to come in varying shades of purple and brown.

Pennisetum alopecuroides "National Arboretum"

Much as I like to see the garden filled to overflowing with greenery, it's worth being brave and cutting back a lot of extraneous foliage on hardy geraniums; most of them have finished flowering by now and very few of ours produce any autumn tints before their leaves shrivel and go brown.

After clearing away this tide of green, we can take the opportunity to turn the soil, add some home-made compost or leafmould, and tidy up the beds by re-defining their edges.  Suddenly everything  looks much sharper and the dazzling autumnal light really picks out those grasses.

Bright candy-pink sedums and deep blue plumbago flowers continue to dominate our borders; but as the sun sinks lower in the sky, there are more areas remaining in shade for much of the day and it's important to try and light up these darker corners.

This is where plants with variegated leaves come into their own, together with the berries of shrubs such as pyracantha - we have three varieities currently showcasing their berries: in scarlet, orange and yellow.  Birds love them and they will probably all be devoured by Christmas.

Sternbergia lutea with Pyracanthus and Eleagnus pungens 'Maculata'

Despite intimations of autumn, the garden does feel quite springlike in this moist but warm season, and it never fails to surprise us when bulbs like Sternbergia suddenly burst forth.  Dormant for much of the year, their yellow crocus flowers light up the dry soil under trees and hedges; they quickly multiply and produce a great deal of glossy foliage - which is why they're probably better kept in out-of-the-way places!

Shrub of the Month - I would definitely nominate our Caryopteris clandonensis variegata (right) which has been in flower for most of September and is a magnet for bees.  I took some seeds from this plant last year and grew three plants - two of them had plain green leaves and are flowering well, but the third one just has yellowish leaves and not a single flower.

Which probably goes to prove that I know nothing at all about Botany!!

But we do know how to keep our insects happy and have another 'nectar bar' in the mini-forest of Verbena bonariensis, which grows happily in the chalky base of our driveway.  One late afternoon I counted four types of butterflies and one moth feasting on the bushy flowers, which are still going strong after eight weeks.

Brown Argus

Hummingbird Hawkmoth

Decorative Herbs

Salvia uliginosa (not "patens" as captioned before!)

After a massive storm at the start of August - thunder, lightning and hail, causing widespread destruction across our wine regions - there's scarcely been any rain since and the soil is quite parched.  This is when late-flowering herbs such as sages and fennel really come into their own, requiring a minimum of attention.

I'm guessing at the variety shown above because it's not one I grew from seed and I've long since lost the label... a common problem!  What I can say is that it's pretty vigorous, bordering on the thuggish, and spreads like wildfire unless kept in check ("patens" does mean spreading, apparently).  Nevertheless it's great for filling dry areas along walls and you can be ruthless in yanking out unwanted stems.*

Another one we bought at a plant fair, which I think I've correctly identified, is Salvia guarantica 'Black & Blue' - it's name is fairly self-explanatory when you see the dark stems next to those lovely gentian flowers.

It's been in bloom for almost a month now and I shall certainly be on the look out for seeds so that I can raise more plants next year.  Some of these more colourful sages are from Mexico and can be a little tender if temperatures dip below -5'C, so it's worth taking cuttings if you have the means to over-winter them.  (As we're a bit limited on space, using a cold-frame rather than a greenhouse, I tend to go for the seed option.)

Culinary herbs are also thriving and, thanks to a tip from Monty on Gardeners World, we bought a pot of basil from the supermarket and planted up a number of rooted pieces into our container of tomato plants.  He said that the two crops complemented one another, presumably because they appreciate regular watering and feeding, and he's not lying - it's worked really well in our plastic trough and we've enjoyed endless tomato and basil salads!

Wild fennel fanning the shores of the Gironde

One herb which is both statuesque and edible is Foeniculum vulgare aka wild fennel, which grows like a weed on verges and along the Estuary.  I'm not sure how this plant differs from the giant fennel (Ferula communis) which is more typical in Britain... maybe it's just the Mediterranean version, which is a bit shorter?  The one in our garden came from a stray seed and is a couple of meters high, effectively filling the void left by our cypress tree which upped and died earlier this year.

Another maritime herb much in evidence on the cliffs and shoreline is wild marjoram (Origanum vulgare) seen here with its bedfellow, the sea holly (Eryngium maritimum), which appears to grow in chalk as well as on sand. 

Spot the sunflowers..!

Farmers of sunflowers must be tearing their hair out this year as the wet Spring has led to their fields being invaded by some kind of hedge parsley, as well as the usual crop of thistles and wild datura.  Looking up Latin names in my trusty plant book, I was interested to find that hedge parsley (Torilis arvensis) is a member of the same botanical family as fennel and sea holly - ie: Umbelliferae, or carrot!

A farmer's nightmare can equally be a pretty picture to the rest of us and it's great to see such a proliferation of wild flowers.  Cycling through vineyards, we pass patches of bright blue on the sunny downland, signifying clumps of wild chicory (Cichorium intybus) which is related to the endive and radicchio used in salads.

There's another cultivated variety we grow in our chalky driveway - Cupid's Dart or Catanache caerulea - which flowers in June and then provides the most stunning seedheads.  They have a metallic sheen and in bright sun you can almost believe they're fashioned out of silver or pewter rather than being just light and papery husks... a clever optical illusion.

* Correction, I've just seen a photo of Salvia uliginosa, the so-called 'bog sage', and I'm convinced that this is the one!  It starts flowering now and carries on until November, which would be right.  Despite being called bog sage, it seems quite happy in a dry spot - give it a damp position and I have a feeling it would probably go mad!

Dog Days

Agrostemma githago 'Milas Purple Queen' (corncockle)

I may have mentioned before that French garden centres - in our area at least - tend to stock only those stalwart plant varieties that we’ve all seen before, thus leaving little scope for imagination and invention.  When I first became interested in growing things, I loved to turn the pages of Bressingham’s catalogue because it was so bountifully illustrated with appealing images of species I’d never seen before.

Agastache aurantiaca

Since then, I’ve moved on to raising my own perennials from seed and look forward to the arrival of the annual 200-page booklet from Chiltern Seeds.  What it lacks in photo’s, it more than makes up in the diversity of plants on offer, presented in a witty and informative way, inspiring me to order lots of little packets through the post!

I'd never even thought of growing a herb called hyssop until I read their glowing descriptions and decided to start with the small, orange-flowered Agastache aurantiaca, which grows about a foot high and flowers the first year from seed.  (In the above picture, its colour is heightened by a stray seedling of Cosmos sulphureus which happened to come out at the same time!)

Agastache 'Liquorice Blue'

Another variety that has since seeded itself in the garden is Agastache 'Liquorice Blue', so-called because its leaves really do smell of liquorice.

Agastache mexicana 'Sangria'

 








Rather more colourful and dramatic is my favourite Agastache mexicana 'Sangria', which has lemon-scented leaves (useful for salads) and the most gorgeous magenta flowers.  Grown in an open area with plenty of sun, it can reach over a meter in height.

I’m a huge fan of salvias, which come in all shapes and sizes from every corner of the world and are generally quite easy to grow.  (Chiltern Seeds latest catalogue lists over 40 varieties and I should think I’m only up to number eight!)  Being a herb, they usually have pleasantly aromatic leaves which can be added to salads, and striking flowers in shades of red, white, purple or blue, which can really perk up a border at this time of year.

Anenome japonica 'Honorine Jobert'

In the damp shade of a high barn wall, a cluster of white anenomes is coming into bloom.  For some reason, I had difficulty raising a decent clump of these in England but always admired them in other people's gardens where they lit up a shady corner in early Autumn, looking as pure and crisp as royal icing against the darker foliage.

Here in Charente Maritime, however, some varieties can run amok and we rue the day that we planted a pink-flowered anenome nearby; now the shoots have popped up everywhere and it's nigh impossible to eradicate, insinuating itself between the roots of gentler plants.

On the other hand, there are a few choice hybrids to be found, including this darker pink double Anenome hupehensis, which is slightly more demanding than 'Honorine Jobert' but with no nasty habits.

Another mainstay of the semi-shaded border at this time of year is the sedum family, especially good old Sedum spectabile which looks so wonderful next to the ground-cover plumbago, Ceratostigma plumbaginoides, with its gentian-blue flowers. 

Sedum with Ceratostigma

There are two versions of this hardy plumbago in our garden: the rather invasive but extremely useful low-growing form in this photo, and the taller (90cm) Ceratostigma plumbaginoides Willmottianum, which is a more restrained back-of-the-border plant.  Both types have leaves which gain some bold red tints when the cold weather arrives.

Larger sedums have the unfortunate habit of collapsing under the weight of their blooms, leaving an unsightly gap in the middle.  Some brave souls give them a 'Chelsea Chop' midway through their growth cycle, but this year we've re-used the mesh shelves from some old wire and plastic staging.  Just bend the metal into a 'V' and push it under the plant for support - I find I can gently tip them up with my foot when strimming the grass underneath!

Back on the subject of seeds, I was a bit slow in sowing some love-in-the-mist ordered from Chiltern's and they've only recently come into flower, long after the ordinary blue ones are dried and papery.

The exotic Nigella hispanica "African Bride'

Last but not least, why is this end of Summer sometimes referred to as 'Dog Days'??  Apparently the saying goes back to Greek and Roman times, when Summer turned sultry and "the Sea boiled, the Wine turned sour, Dogs grew mad and all other creatures became languid..."      

Phew, I'm off to have a siesta!

Warm winds at last



 

A roadside bank of Stipa tenuissima - with poppies!

 Another very difficult month for weather, with more than the average number of cool, wet days.  I'm quite relieved that June is over, despite the huge range of plants which have come into bloom all at once, making it a memorable month for roses in particular - we've never picked so many for the house, trying to save some of the bigger trusses before they were savaged by wind and rain. 

Unlike Christina, who adores roses - especially the old fashioned ones that we obtain via mail order - I have mixed feelings because of the amount of work they entail and the number of times I'm attacked by thorns as I endeavour to keep them under control (yes, I know I'm a spoilsport...) 

Rose training in early Spring

We have a few moss roses with rather untidy habits but in springtime Christina is careful to tie down the stems, making an arch from which will sprout lots of flower-bearing side shoots.  

Moss roses are unusual because of the green or brown "fuzz" which encases the buds, and the flowers themselves are sometimes too heavy for their delicate stems; but they are gloriously scented and have an old-world charm of their own.

"Shailer's White" moss rose

In their favour, I have to say that roses of all types tend to perform a lot better in this climate than back in England.  They're definitely sun-worshippers and although the blooms may not last as long, there are twice or three times as many. 

We occasionally get aphids but the birds make short work of them and our roses are otherwise pretty pest-free.  As long as they are well-planted, with the addition of some blood, fish & bone (or hoof & horn in France) and kept reasonably moist for the first season, they will reward you with loads of flowers.  Bucket-loads, in some cases!

Whilst the strong sunlight of midsummer causes some flowers to fade quickly, it definitely adds burnish to the ornamental grasses and we've grown about four different types, all of which bring a golden hue to the gardens. 

Stipa gigantea or 'oat grass'

Most members of the Stipa family come easily from seed and can totally transform a mixed border, adding movement and a subtle veil through which other plants can be glimpsed.  This is especially true of Stipa tenuissima, an effective foil for Verbena bonariensis, larkspur and long-stemmed prairie plants. 

 

Stipa tenuissima and blue cranesbills

Here the grass has become intermingled with a clump of blue geraniums planted under a shady tree; as the grasses reach out for light, they create a sort of cascade effect over the edge of the terrace.

Stipa tenuissima is a prolific self-seeder, particularly in our gravel driveway, and has produced wonderful waving vistas quite by accident!

Grasses are also invaluable when you have to cope with dry conditions and for this reason we've used them for under-planting a number of trees, in combination with crocus and other spring bulbs. 

Briza maxima

Here we've planted Briza maxima, or quaking grass, all around the base of an olive tree to try and simulate a Greek meadow.  This only grows to about 45cm and, looking at the picture, I can't help thinking it would be fun to intersperse some field poppies - Papaver rhoeas - which are available in subtle shades of pink, white and apricot as well as the more common crimson.

Finding plants which tolerate arid conditions and unrelenting sun is even more of a challenge.  Friends nearby are planning to retile the area around their swimming pool; at present there are two date palms growing out of dry, thin soil which is surrounded by concrete.  Not a good look...

Base of palm tree in spring

For ages we kept weeding around the base of these poor palms, trying to decide what would tolerate such difficult terrain.  At the end of winter, when it was still relatively cool and damp, we planted some small lavender cuttings together with some equally minute evening primrose seedlings.  (Babies with strong roots are easier to transplant than mature plants which need more moisture.)

As the garden and pool are basically dug out of a chalky cliffside, we had no difficulty finding lumps of chalk chippings to use as a mulch, holding in what little moisture there was and refracting sunlight.

Oenothera 'Apricot Delight'

The result has been quite dramatic, even though the lavender flowers have flattened themselves against the concrete rather than standing upright like the evening primroses.  (This could well be due to some of the heavy showers we've had recently!)

At any rate, it's a low-maintenance option for breaking up this expanse of concrete and won't result in leaves or petals falling into the water.  Many types of herbs are suitable for landscaping around swimming pools.

A plant which is particularly statuesque at this time of year is Acanthus mollis, or "bear's breeches", which has proved to be a real thug in our garden.  I love its sharp-cut, papery flowers, but if you grow it alongside other plants in a border with fairly rich soil, you run the risk that it will take over and you'll never be rid of its fleshy, underground shoots.  Be warned!

However, grown by itself in full sun, it makes a very pretty picture...

Acanthus mollis in exactly the right place

Summer Meadows



Predominant hues are orange and blue

It's been a few weeks since my last posting and the weather is partly to blame, having continued cool and wet throughout May, prompting some lush growth - especially of grass and weeds.  An inordinate amount of time is spent on cutting back, mowing, strimming and pulling out weeds by the bucketful.

But then comes the spectacle of seeing our carefully nurtured canvasses come to life!  Here's a picture of the back garden which you can compare to the one I posted back in March. 

Border in early June

Foxgloves have been in flower for a couple of weeks, providing some vertical interest until the hollyhocks get going later this month. 
We've probably got three different strains of digitalis, grown from seed at different times, and although I try to place them at strategic points they're happiest growing wherever the seeds happen to fall.

Echium vulgare

Another plant which has been in bloom for some time, blissfully unaffected by wind or rain, is the wild flower known as Vipers Bugloss (Echium vulgare).  You can see it on the left of the border above and we originally found it running to seed in a roadside planting near here.  That gentian blue is certainly eyecatching, even when you're driving past at 70 kph! 

This is a robust perennial, drought-tolerant, which adds colour and architecture to the back of the border.   It mixes well with the vivid Californian poppy and the large marigolds which flower so abundantly in early summer.

 

Oenothera odorata

Yellow accents are currently provided by the evening primrose which is another prolific self-seeder, from the same family as Gaura lindheimeri which we've frequently used to brighten up dry and inhospitable places.
 

I love this plant for the fact that its stems are tinged with red, whilst the saucer-shaped blooms fade to orange.  When fully open, both petals and stamens are a pure lemony yellow which really glow at dusk. 

In another garden we've used it as underplanting for a date palm, in a hot sunny position where there was very little soil, but it does equally well in semi-shade.  The flowers are delicately scented.

I might have mentioned that we arrived from England some ten years ago with a small garden already planted up in pots.  It wasn't deliberate but there was space in the removal van and the chaps were happy to load up a few shrubs and other containers from our old garden in Hampshire.  Most of the plants have thrived, including one little cerinthe seedling which has since spread itself throughout several gardens in the Charente Maritime! 

Cerinthe major

Every spring I pull out handfuls from the front bed where it's particularly well-established, but there's something about its glaucous curving stems that makes me leave a few specimens to contrast with dark tulips and Californian poppies, as seen here.  Bees seem to like it even though the flowers are rather well hidden.

And talking of bees, I have to nominate Deutzia as my shrub of the moment because it's absolutely 'clappered' in flowers (as Christina would say) and I should think there are at least 50 bees and hoverflies buzzing around it at any one time. 



Deutzia x magnificum




Close-up of blooms



What it lacks in scent, it makes up for in its graceful arching habit.  We cut down the euphorbias growing underneath so that nothing would detract from its moment of glory!

In the surrounding countryside this blossoming is echoed in swags of elderflowers down the lanes and white clouds of hedge bedstraw in the verges... their scent fills the air along with mown hay from the fields, evoking memories of childhood and damp summers in England.

Hedge Bedstraw & Scabious

It's a testament to how much rain has fallen in recent months that we're enjoying all this extra flowering.  Normally there would be just the odd pocket of Hedge Bedstraw (Galium molugo), which is a type of woodruff producing tiny sprays of white flowers, scented like honey, that eventually turn into small sticky burrs.

On a recent visit to Bordeaux at the end of May, we came across this municipal planting made up of hot, mounded colours which look so effective in bright light.  I didn't have a chance for close inspection but I think that wallflowers made up the orange sections - no doubt I'll be on the lookout for seeds we can grow ourselves!

A 'massif' in the Parc Bordeaux!







Still 'Springing' ?



First leaves on a walnut tree

We've reached a point in nature's cycle when I'm unsure whether this is 'late Spring' or 'early Summer'...?  In our south-facing garden it's definitely the latter, and there have been plenty of swimmers at the beach already, celebrating half-term break; but if you're waking up to a north-east wind, it can still feel like a fresh Spring day. 

Most of our trees are now in leaf and/or in flower, with walnut being one of the last to come out.  Its exquisite coppery leaves and trailing catkins would lend themselves to a Chinese brush painting as they catch the morning light, delicately threaded with spiders' silk. 

Lemon-scented iris

 
Early this morning I cycled down our back lane to collect some fresh nettles from the woodland edge where they grow in damp soil.  I noticed that on one side of the lane the marshland ditches were dotted with yellow flag iris.  They reminded me of the fabulous cultivated iris, given to us by a French gardening friend who was passionate about collecting different colours.  Until we grew some of these ourselves, I'd never realised how subtly scented they are - yellow varieties, in particular, have a real citrusy tang.

Anyway, my reason for braving the nettle patch (with secateurs and a sturdy pair of gloves) was to make up a brew of 'nettle tea' to use as fertiliser for the container plants.  The nettles haven't yet flowered, so I picked about twenty stems and stuffed them into a plastic bag, still managing to sting my wrist which wasn't covered!  I was accompanied in this chore by a pair of nightingales singing to each other lustily from the depths of a nearby copse. 

Early vines

On my way home I passed a vineyard where the grapevines were also coming into leaf.  I love to watch their sculpted leaves unfurl, revealing downy buds tinged with pink in which you can almost discern bunches of grapes in miniature.

But my mission was to brew nettles not wine!  My method is to put leaves and stems into an old galvanised watering can, fill it up with water and cover the opening to keep heat inside.  The air temperature is warm enough now to make this brew ferment within a few days... it bubbles a little, smells fairly rank, but produces a soupy green liquid which can then be further diluted with water and used as a regular feed.

All you need for a nitrogen feed

I use a metal can to make and store the juice, but then pour about a quarter of the liquid into a normal plastic can and fill it up with water.  Top Tip - don't try watering with the rose on because its holes will soon get clogged up with bits of decomposing nettle!

My picture shows a bunch of fresh nettles on the right and  remains of the last brew on the left, destined for the compost heap.  I use it to feed most of our container shrubs, like Pieris and Camelia which have been doing a lot of work recently; also for the bamboo planted in a trough, which is throwing up new shoots and acts as a useful screen between us and the neighbour's upstairs window.

Viburnum opulus

Another star shrub of this season is Viburnum opulus - the 'snowball tree' - which is covered in perfect white blooms, some the size of tennis balls.  After a recent shower, it was positively swooning with the added weight of rainwater and I had to gently shake some moisture off its spindly arms.  (Many shrubs flower so freely that they end up breaking their own branches!)

But, I have to admit, this primadonna has now been trumped by our friend Ruth's magnificent viburnum 'Wedding Cake' (as we call it) which is one of those tiered confections with long-lasting pure white flowers, a bit like a lacecap hydrangea.  It really is a show-stopper and the canopy is now wide enough to hide her two naughty terriers!

Viburnum plicatum tomentosum

Many French gardens have at least one mauve or purple-flowering lilac, some of them bearing double or treble blooms which look really ebullient, and quite often you glimpse the slightly more vivid colour of a Judas tree, which can flower all the way along its naked branches - a somewhat strange effect, particularly if the tree hasn't been pruned carefully.

Cercis siliquastrum

I wasn't familiar with the Judas tree until we came here, although I think you can grow it in the south of England; it's much more popular in North America where it's known as Redbud.  To me, the colour is more magenta than red and looks good in association with a white flowering tree which helps to tone it down a bit.

All over the country brocantes are in full-swing now.  These are village flea-markets, usually held on Sundays or bank holidays, where you can bargain for interesting bits and pieces to adorn your house or garden.

Whether it's those galvanised watering cans (which weigh a ton even when empty) or an elegant étagère, there's usually some kind of container or artefact which can bring the essence of French 'rustique' to your garden.

Wooden 'brouette' showcasing auricula pots!