Spring Airs

"It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade."

- Charles Dickens

Hellebores which have seeded and hybridized

Early spring is a time of huge anticipation... and of almost equal disappointment as you step into the sunny garden only to feel your skin being sliced by a vicious north wind. It's a good idea to take a brisk walk to acclimatise your poor body, before subjecting those dormant muscles to any gardening work in the cold!

An early hoopoe spotted beside
the Gironde estuary

Fortunately our front garden is south-facing and protected by hedges, so we can often eat lunch on the terrace in March as long as we don't have anyone staying in our adjoining lettings cottage.

In the far corner under a lilac tree, where the sun doesn't penetrate until mid-morning, we have a patch of hellebores which have been left to hybridize over the past few years.

With the sun shining through them from behind they make quite a pretty display even though the flowers are going over after a month in bloom. Left to their own devices, they'll continue to scatter seed until they fill the entire corner, probably blotting out any bulbs in the process!

New Arrivals

It's almost uncanny how migratory birds seem to know when we reach the middle of March. Quite often we see the first swallow on March 15th, but this year it was a pair of hoopoes which arrived on that date. We managed to photograph them taking a break on one of the fishing huts in the Estuary.

Small tortoiseshell and peacock butterflies

A day later, whilst walking down our back lane, we came across these two handsome specimens which must have just come out of hibernation - they looked so perfect and unscathed. Tortoiseshells are attracted to nettles, which are already billowing on either side of the path, and both butterflies seemed drawn to the yellow hawkbits currently in flower.

Penduline tit

I believe these dainty Penduline tits (Remiz pendulinus) are down on the marshes all year round but we only manage to find them flitting around on bright sunny days, before the trees come into leaf.

Yesterday we scrambled down a cliff and followed a hunting path through the blackthorn in order to catch a glimpse of them. Like longtailed tits, they travel in families and alert you with a high-pitched twittering as they move from branch to branch.

Pair of nesting storks braving the elements

Another bird which has taken up permanent residence in recent years is the white stork (Ciconia ciconia). 

We have a pair nesting on a platform not far from here and they'll soon be laying their eggs. (As they're both standing up in this picture, I'm assuming they haven't done so already!)

Early Bulbs

Star of Bethlehem
(Ornithogalum umbellatum)

Back in our garden, we're seeing the last few crocus fade away, to be replaced by other small flowers such as Chionodoxa and Ornithogalum umbellatum, which has obligingly spread itself into some of the dry and inhospitable areas under trees, where it shares residence with cyclamen.

I think most gardeners are happy for bulbs to naturalise where they don't interfere too much with other plants, and to that end we prefer using the smaller species tulips which can be slotted in between pinks, geraniums, herbs and other sun-lovers.

Tulipa clusiana

The clusiana tulip is one of my favourites as it stays in bud for a while, looking effortlessly elegant while it sways in the wind before rewarding you with a slow-reveal of its pink and white flowers as the sun warms up.

Next to the grey-green foliage of dianthus or lavender it looks very classy.

Another species tulip which comes out even earlier, with several flower-heads on its stem, is Tulipa turkestanica. Reaching a height of only 20cm, it's eye-catching at the front of the border and will naturalise easily in a free-draining soil.

Tulipa turkestanica
with a naturally sunny dsposition!

Sallows or Osiers?

A type of Salix... but which one?

Much as I love trees, and particularly those which provide us with catkins in spring, I must admit to being ignorant as to the different types of pussy willow growing along the streams and channels near here.

The one on the left closely resembles the Great Sallow (Salix caprea) as illustrated in my English book of trees. Sallows are broad-leaved willows, it says, which are shade-tolerant and less restricted to wet places than most of the Salix family. (A glance at Google Images confirms that there are several varieties suitable for the garden.) 

This one on the right might be a male version of the above Salix... in time the catkins will get fluffier as they develop. The only way I'll really be able to identify these is by checking out the leaves when they unfurl.

If it turns out to have long narrow leaves, then it's probably some kind of osier. Confused...??

Shining filaments of pussy willow

All I know is they make a pretty picture on a sunny day, especially with the light behind them.

What I find remarkable - and rather poignant - is how pussy willow and other kinds of blossom continue to open as nature intended even when the parent tree has been cruelly uprooted and is lying on its side. Fallen trees seem determined to seed themselves no matter what.

Back garden in mid-March

Most shrubs have now been trimmed
and the medlar tree (centre) has had its branches thinned out

Mixed border with a rather
yellowed diascia in the foreground.
Bought as an annual in the UK,
it survives winter planted out -
even producing flowers.

It's noticeable that perennials are spreading out day by day and less soil is visible between them. I still keep plucking out the odd weed as it's so much easier to do when they're tiny and shallow-rooted.

If we had more ready-made compost, then now would be the time to spread it between plants; but we're waiting for a mild day with no wind in order to turn the compost heap and take out some fresh stuff.

In the meantime, where leaves are looking a bit yellow in our limey soil, I'll mix up a solution of chelated iron to water in. This is particularly important for some shrubs like roses and hydrangeas which are susceptible to yellowing. 

Out on the Marais...

Wind passes over the reedbeds as if they were a pale ocean lapping at the base of those mysterious chalk cliffs, known as les falaises mortes.

A pair of horses were left out to fend for themselves without shelter over the entire winter and we worried about their welfare when high tides turned much of their grassland into churned up mud.

However, they seem to have emerged from the long cold nights looking quite fit and healthy - if in need of a good brushing!

These extensive reedbeds are a sensitive environment, carefully protected by the government and other agencies like the LPO - our equivalent of the RSPB - who send out a team in April to ring certain birds and take an inventory.

Photographing small birds in the reeds is quite a challenge and we've yet to catch sight of the bluethroats which arrive in April. Maybe this year...?

Blackthorn producing clouds of creamy blossom over the marais

Winter Colour

"One can find so many pains when the rain is falling."

- John Steinbeck

Winter's brushwork painted on a watery landscape

The past three months have been unusually mild and wet; in that respect it's not been a lot different to the UK, where an array of plants have reportedly been flowering out of season. Here the mimosas bloomed early and shrubs like Coronilla have been in flower for several weeks.

Viburnum x bodnantense

Perhaps it was all that added moisture which caused our Viburnum x bodnantense to produce such a multitude of blooms all the way down its stems?

This was a welcome sight back in January when there was precious little to gladden our hearts in the rear garden, tortured as it is by north-easterly winds blowing across a flat expanse of marais.

This viburnum is a hardy fellow, easy to grow and maintain with very little pruning required. Its leaves aren't the most attractive as they tend to get wind-scorched, but if grown alongside other types of hedging it does fade into the background when rival shrubs get going in spring.

Iberis sempervirens
'Snowflake'

Another useful plant which began opening its flowers in February is Iberis sempervirens, grown from seed supplied by Chiltern Seeds. This cultivar is called 'Snowflake' and has the RHS award of merit.

I like the fact that it's drought-tolerant and evergreen - sempervirens means 'always green' - providing quite a neat edge to beds and borders. Later in spring it should be completely covered in snowy blooms.

Back garden in February

Here you can see where we've used lumps of local chalk to divide the lawn from our planting areas.

This has a practical purpose in that I'm tired of forever pulling up weeds which have seeded in the beds as a result of my grass strimming. It doesn't completely solve the problem as strimmed offcuts can fly quite high, but at least there's a bit of a barrier to halt the insidious weed-creep!

Linaria purpurea 'Canon Went'

Cutting the lawn in winter is a messy task as it never really dries out and one has to clean off the strimmer as well as rake up mounds of damp grass to avoid trekking it indoors. Still, I enjoy the much-needed exercise and it does mean we can rid the lawn of a fair bit of moss at the same time.

Another little plant which has survived winter in good shape is the cultivated toadflax, Linaria purpurea, which also came from Chiltern Seeds and whose grey-green foliage is not unlike a delicate euphorbia in the way it displays raindrops. 

Linaria purpurea 'Canon Went'

It grows to about a meter tall, with an upright but feathery habit which mixes in well with other plants.

The pale pink flowers appear in August, at the same time as the hydrangea blooms shown here. Happy in partial sun or shade, it's a useful filler and we also grow a purple-flowering variety which has seeded itself in a couple of shady spaces.

Crocus vernus 'Pickwick'

For some real colour at this time of year one inevitably comes to rely on bulbs.

I make no excuse for featuring pictures of this Dutch hybrid every year because it's both early and robust, standing up to the rainy onslaught when some of its more delicate cousins just fall by the wayside. It also combines well with the silver-leaved dianthus, of which we have rather a lot these days ...

Heavily perfumed hyacinths
- a passing lizard takes a sniff!

Nor can we ever get enough of hyacinths during those dark months when it seems too extravagant to keep buying cut flowers and yet you need a living reminder that spring will come eventually!

Sometimes, though, their scent is just too powerful in a small room and it's preferable to keep a few outdoors under shelter. This terracotta planter is sited beneath an overhanging shed roof and can be admired from our sitting room window -
that hyacinth perfume envelops me each time I fetch something from the tool shed.

Once their foliage has died down, we usually find a spot to plant out the bulbs so they can liven up another dreary season.

Those waxy blooms make delicious cut flowers too 

Calendula officinalis growing in the verge

However much we try to cultivate marigolds, they always seem to do better in the wild or where they have self-seeded in other people's gardens.

I'm talking about the Calendula varieties, known as 'pot marigolds', rather than the so-called French or African marigolds which are varieties of Tagetes.

They seem to prefer an open, sunny aspect - even in rough grass - and will happily flower throughout the winter.

Iris sibirica flowering in February

Most types of iris will thrive in poor, almost non-existent soil, as long as their bulbs can be baked by the sun.

They do best when planted by themselves against a wall where their colour and shape can be shown off to full advantage.

Mixing them with other plants in a richer soil tends to encourage slugs and snails, particularly with the more fleshy types. There's nothing sadder than finding an iris flower which has been munched by molluscs!

Ammi visnaga

Foxglove leaves are also full of holes caused by the tiny snails which abound in our garden. Thank heavens for hellebores whose tough foliage is pretty immune to such depredations, although they benefit from removal of their old leathery leaves which can detract from the beauty of their flowers and serve no useful purpose.

Similarly, it pays to tidy up our geum plants where last season's faded leaves spoil the look of their fresh new rosettes.

Freshest of all are the new plants coming from seed, such as Ammi visnaga - already quite tall and bushy - and a multitude of larkspur and nigella which have spread themselves all over the place, along with forget-me-nots. The latter are worth thinning out and transplanting to fill in a few gaps.

Although our local paths and meadows are still too muddy for walking, we hope those heavy downpours will soon dissipate to spring showers, enabling us to lose ourselves in the blossoming landscape. Gardens are calling - along with the birds - and we long to get back to work! 

Mist through the reeds down our back lane

Moisture lifting off fields in the early sun

Autumn Gardens

"Leaves rustle and spill yourselves

Ever more splendidly, ever more recklessly..."

- Boris Pasternak

Our neighbour's lake, with lichen-decorated ash trees

As I write this, on a foggy day in mid-November, most of the glorious autumn colour has already fallen from our trees and is collecting in layers on the ground to provide nutritious leaf-mould for next year.

Birches mingling with maple
on the lakeside

Our neighbour, Robert, always encourages us to wander around the lake and river on his property where he and Aurelien, his son, have toiled to grow many different trees and shrubs over the past decade.

Sadly, his son died of cancer over a year ago now, but their maturing arboretum stands testimony to Aurelien's enthusiasm for growing and grafting new trees to produce an amazing palette of colours for all of us to enjoy.

I see him every time I walk through the watery landscape that inspired him, whilst trying in vain to remember all the names he gave me for his trees and cultivars...

Paperbark birch

He's left us an important legacy, especially now we see that ash-dieback disease has reached this part of France.

During the past week Robert has had to cut down several of the trees bordering his lake but fortunately he can fill these gaps straight away with other saplings from his son's plantation.

Aurelien was particularly keen to cultivate North American varieties of ash and maple which would put on a great show of red and yellow leaves. He'd have been thrilled this year as the spectacle started early and just got better and better.

A small acer lights up a corner

I can hear his voice urging me to take more photos and record all his new specimens!

As someone who used to cycle around Kew Gardens on quiet autumn mornings, armed with a camera and tripod in search of vivid leaf tones, I've been inspired by this continuing play of light and movement and colour.
Bravo Aurelien!

A great autumn for berries too

Strawberry tree - Arbutus unedo
shaking off the latest shower

Back in our own rather more subdued garden, we also have a gift of berries on our three different pyracantha bushes - red, yellow and orange.

Plus we now have scarlet berries on the cotoneaster which arrived by bird from a neighbour's plot!

Our favourite, though, is probably the strawberry tree which manages to produce fruit and flowers at the same time.

Sudden rainstorm in early November

This is a month of changeable and contrasting weather: rain, then very bright sun; heavy grey skies, followed by strong wind; early morning mist and fog - we run the gamut, but mostly it has remained mild and provided excellent conditions for moving plants around the garden.

Pot with lobelia and nicotiana

Tidying away fallen leaves - into the leaf bin - allows us to see our perennials more clearly and decide how they can best be spread out, mixing and matching with other plants, trying new combinations.

There's virtually nothing that can't be moved at this time of year. And, of course, I always have a few potted-up seedlings which need to find a home.

Talking of seeds, four of the best examples I've grown recently can be seen in this photo, taken in an area of the back garden which still gets some sun

Behind the pot you can see the mauve heads of Dianthus superbus, which came into flower for the second time a few weeks ago. (This is just one of many excellent species we've grown from Chiltern Seeds and has been admired by several people.)

Feathery Dianthus superbus

To the right of that pot, the silvery foliage spilling out from our raised bed is another seed from Chiltern's - Cerastium tomentosum var. columnae - which flowered in May and spreads itself naturally across the gravel drive. It will eventually die down in cold, wet weather but comes back again in spring.

Back garden, still showing some colour from
leaves and berries

Lobelia 'Blue Fountain' has been gracing our pots since July, in tandem with Nicotiana 'Lime Green' - this particular flower came up from a seed deposited in the pot earlier this summer!

The other side of the garden gets very little sun in winter so its structure becomes all-important. As shrubs on the back border lose their leaves, we're compensated with a sunny view of the fields and hill beyond.

That unknown rose cutting I took less than a year ago continues to provide a succession of blooms and is gradually clambering up its new tripod.

Flowering alongside it is an unseasonal echinacea which has managed to perform despite a lack of direct sunlight.

Salvia elegans

These days, it's not unusual to hear gardeners say that their plants are flowering at odd times. In addition to leaves turning early this autumn, we noticed that our Mahonia japonica is already in full bloom - something we normally look forward to in midwinter.

On the other hand, exotic sages like Salvia elegans have been quite slow to flower and have only recently come into their prime.

It makes us appreciate them all the more now that they're holding sway over other retreating plants and providing slashes of vivid colour to compete with the berries.

Salvia elegans making a bold
statement in the cottage garden

Salvias like these are invaluable in late autumn because they radiate so much fiery energy in a gardenscape which is beginning to wilt and head downhill to winter.

The ones with red flowers are probably unmatched for their exuberance, come rain or shine, but the blue shades have a velvet intensity which I also find quite compelling.

Salvia 'Indigo Spires' has some of the longest flower spikes I've ever seen - well over a foot in many cases - and Salvia leucantha (purple and white flowers) has the fluffiest spikes imaginable.

I've photographed and written about all these sages in previous autumn  postings and they're deservedly popular plants for being long-flowering and trouble-free. Like many herbs, they come readily from cuttings and it's easy to increase your stock and put on a really dramatic show!

Robert's sheep and goats grazing alongside the river

Marais Autumn

"I am a little world made cunningly

Of elements, and an angelic sprite" - John Donne

Horses enjoying the cool bright mornings

Now that so much of our garden is in shadow during the day, we find ourselves taking more shore walks, savouring the crisp air and squinting through bright sunshine to get a glimpse of migrating birds along the estuary.

Cranes... en route to Spain and beyond 

For a few days we're treated to the unmistakable 'call of the wild' as flocks of cranes arrive from north-east France, drawn to the silvery glint of the Gironde Estuary marking their pathway down south.

Sometimes it's just a few birds and, if we're lucky, they might decide to make an overnight stop near our neighbour's lake...

On other occasions, the sky can be wreathed with skeins of more than a hundred calling cranes. It's an unforgettable cry which makes the hairs stand up on your neck and has caused Christina to almost screech to a halt if she happens to hear them whilst driving!

Lapwings on the marais

Recently we've noticed that lapwings have begun gathering again in the fields after a summer break elsewhere.

We went out early the other morning and disturbed a flock of about fifty sitting quietly amongst the reddish tufts of samphire which spreads all over the nearby salt marsh.

I gather this is edible samphire, also known as glasswort from the time when it was used in the production of soda glass.

Salicornia europaea

This type of samphire (Salicornia europaea) turns deep red in autumn - the redder its colour, the more salt there is in the water apparently - and it's certainly noticeable in bright sunlight, transforming the marais from a green prairie into something more like an informal garden.

It's an exciting area to explore on a windy day when light dances off the standing pools of water and feathery reed heads.

Lapwings and other shore birds take wing in fright as you approach and their cries can be heard all along the shoreline.

Crithmum maritimum

The other, non-edible, type of samphire is Crithmum maritimum, an umbellifer from the Mediterranean which grows in crevices between the boulders lining the coast.

This also produces vivid florets in autumn and gives the impression of a well planted rock garden - complete with admiring lizard in this case!

Marsh samphire submerged at high tide

Elsewhere, the effect of a marais garden is enhanced by stands of driftwood washed up after a winter storm and left to weather in the sun.

We used to collect the more artistic pieces and bring them home to decorate our driveway - the cat enjoys sharpening his claws on these stumps, but it turns out they also attract groups of large woodland ants so we've stopped doing that now!

Aster tripolium or Tripolium pannonicum

Another common sight at this time of year is the sea aster (Tripolium pannonicum) which is also salt tolerant and grows in marshland and on the edge of brackish ponds.

Again, its red stems stand out from a watery background and its fluffy seedheads drift lazily on the breeze.

For years we noticed some particularly attractive shrubs in the salt marsh which produce masses of white blooms in autumn, followed by seeds like thistledown. We never knew what this was called until searching through photographs on Google Images...

Baccharis halimifolia
Sea Myrtle or Cotton Seed Tree

It turns out to be a plant native to North America, which was introduced to Europe many decades - or even centuries - ago and has become a bit of a thug due to the fact that its seeds can disperse and germinate so easily.

Baccharis is known by many names... Tree Groundsel or the much more apt 'Silverling' which conveys something of its graceful, light reflecting quality.

Baccharis halimifolia
Silvery seedheads next to a tamarisk plant

It's certainly an interesting shrub and the male version has creamier yellow flowers which attract pollinators, whilst the female has these downy seeds.

Being salt-tolerant even in standing water, they've been used to stabilise the shore in many areas and put on a stunning display in Autumn.

A meditative stroll through Nature's garden

Yucca filamentosa

Another introduction from the south-west US is the popular Yucca filamentosa, producing statuesque creamy blooms from late summer.

This is a plant which loves sand and looks best on the shore or grown in scrub where its spiky leaves aren't likely to attack the poor gardener. 

Yuccas can appear quite inoffensive when small, looking pristine in a pot at the garden centre; but inevitably the spikes become more lethal as it develops.

Its leathery leaves are hard to cut off when they are damaged or become shrivelled with age. Once established, you'll probably never get it out of your garden because the roots go deep and will keep producing new stems once the original is removed. Just enjoy it in the wild!

Salt marsh at Les Monards