Today, I’ve been sweltering in the heat at the Hampton Court Palace Flower Show. So many exciting plants to see, but one of the first that caught my eye was Salvia ‘Amistad’. Tall, purplish stems are topped with large, tubular violet-blue flowers emerging from almost black buds. Combined with fiery orange and yellow dahlias it would make quite a statement in a summer border.
There comes a point every year when I begin to lose sight of our London garden. It’s nothing to do with my failing vision (although I do like to sport a natty pair of specs), or exuberant foliage, but everything to do with the shortening day-length. Come October there may be a few precious moments of daylight before I leave for the office, but already it’s dark by the time I get home.
The next three weeks will be spent in Hong Kong and China. When I return the clocks will have changed, effectively ending my gardening season in London and plunging me into four months of perpetual darkness.
Begonias, nasturtiums and Abutilon ‘Nabob’ are still going strong despite the cooler nights
The occasional day spent at home in autumn reveals our garden in a different light. This Saturday, for example, dawned dank and dispiriting; leaves, flowers and vegetables showing their first signs of senility. Quickly the weather sharpened up its act to offer a crisp, warm autumn day, perfect for tidying and bulb planting. Having had success this year, I am planting more Lilium martagon ‘Album’ and Narcissus ‘W.P. Milner’ wherever there’s a little gap to fill.
Fading fast, the leaves of Hosta ‘Patriot’
Our neighbours, vocal Italians who seem to have a penchant for rampant climbers, provide us with a backdrop of Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) intertwined with equally pernicious Russian vine (Fallopia baldschuanica) and Clematis armandii. The long, wandering stems of the creeper, invisible until autumn, now appear bright, ruby-red against the white flowers of the vine and glossy foliage of the clematis. A dazzling combination when lit by the mid-morning sun.
For just a few weeks every year, our neighbours’ jumble of climbers becomes a feature worth looking at
With flowers of the truest blue you’ll find in a flower, Salvia patens is looking terrific right now, even in low light. I planted eight of them in August to replace mildew-ridden sweet peas, alongside frothy Gaura lindheimerii. The late-flowering duo will need to make way soon for a colourful planting of tulips and wallflowers, which will duly be replaced by more sweet peas in spring.
Salvia patens brightens up a dank, dark autumn morning
Hidden in the shadows beneath a magnolia is a lovely variegated form of the toad lily, Tricyrtis hirta ‘Variegata’. The cream-coloured leaf borders are very minimal so won’t offend anyone who dislikes strong variegation. Long, slightly angled stems, reminiscent of willow gentian (Gentiana asclepiadea), produce lots of plum-freckled, starry white flowers. It’s worth pushing on through the undergrowth and a carpet of Cyclamen hederifolium to find them.
Toad in the hole. Tricyrtis hirta ‘Variegata’ is tolerant of any level of shade
Daylight hours at home during winter offer precious gardening opportunities. Keeping up with fallen leaves is a chore, but it’s essential they are kept out of the pond. The vegetable garden has already been cleared of anything that’s ceased to be productive so that the rain and frost can get to the soil. The last tasks of the year, reserved for a fine day in November, will be planting tulip bulbs and clearing away faded perennials. Before we know it the snowdrops will be pushing their thin, silvery shoots into the cold air and the cycle will begin again.
Bought as a tiny plant from Homebase, ‘David’ the tree fern now produces fronds 4ft long
That’s it. I have readied both gardens for October, packed my bags and left Him Indoors in charge. I am now on the other side of the world. Anything could happen …… and it probably will.
Bidding farewell to our seaside garden was particularly tough this year. There were gingers coming into bloom, dahlias still setting the world alight, cuttings begging to be taken and mountains of bulbs left to plant. I didn’t quite finish renovating the greenhouse which meant many plants would have to hold on until November to take cover. Thank heavens we enjoy a mild and merciful microclimate in both Broadstairs and London.
I shall miss three weeks of precious gardening time and return home just in time to sling the last tulip bulbs into pots and tidy up before winter begins. In my suitcase there are seed catalogues, destined never to be read, along with several back copies of The Garden. I lay them out in my hotel room in the vain hope that one evening I may have the time and inclination to read them.
It may sound odd, but what I find hardest about travelling is the disconnection with my garden. I can cope with leaving friends and family behind: they will not have moved on in the space of three weeks. In contrast the garden will have altered irreversibly as the nights draw in and temperatures drop. I never know quite what to expect on my return, but always wish I had prepared better for my absence.
In the meantime I shall bask in Hong Kong’s balmy autumn sunshine. The temperatures are in the mid twenties here; a lovely soft, caressing heat that I could happily endure for a while longer. I shall try to bring a little of that subtropical warmth back with me to banish my travelling blues.
Today, I’ve been sweltering in the heat at the Hampton Court Palace Flower Show. So many exciting plants to see, but one of the first that caught my eye was Salvia ‘Amistad’. Tall, purplish stems are topped with large, tubular violet-blue flowers emerging from almost black buds. Combined with fiery orange and yellow dahlias it would make quite a statement in a summer border.
Every visit to Great Dixter is a treat, but when the additional carrot of a plant fair is dangled in front of my face, that treat becomes an irresistible temptation. And so it was, having hauled myself out of bed at the crack of dawn to complete my domestic duties, I set off towards the farthest corner of Kent and across the border into East Sussex. Passing through Biddenden, Rolvenden and Tenterden, enjoying the gentle countryside in between, I quickly became part of the picture-perfect world of oasts, orchards and weatherboarded cottages which typify this part of England.
Despite arriving a little early, I was not the first; not by a long stretch. Having been ushered into a parking space by Fergus Garrett, Great Dixter’s Head Gardener, I slid out of the car to the sound of people earnestly and eagerly buying plants.
Fergus, in a neon-orange hat, complimented me on my parking, which I thought was kind given we were in the middle of a field. Having not attended one of Dixter’s bijou plant fairs before I was not exactly sure what to expect, but my guess was that it would be a classy affair. I was not disappointed. The set up was so rustic it could almost have been the set of Darling Buds of May; all rough-hewn poles and sack-cloth awnings, hay bales covered in ticking and blackthorn branches for decoration. It was wonderfully low-tech and utterly delightful. Most of the fair-goers, myself included, had got the memo, donning themselves in tweed jackets, oversized knitwear, waistcoats, fitted jeans and posh wellies. I rarely have occasion to wear my sloppy indigo-dyed sweater, but here was the perfect event for it.
The early birds were not about to leave any worms for those tardy types who aren’t prepared to tip out of bed until lunchtime. Two friends who I haven’t seen in years temporarily suspended themselves from our surprise reunion in order to bag the best of Cotswold Garden Plants’ tender exotics table. By the time I had organised my camera and taken a deep breath, they had already filled an apple crate with all manner of goodies for their garden and were guarding it against other plant plunderers. Even in these rarified surroundings plant shopping can be a cutthroat business.
I promised myself that I would not get drawn into the feeding frenzy, but within minutes I had my hands on Salvia aurea ‘Kirstenbosch’ which I had first admired in Arit Anderson’s ‘Near Future Garden’ at Hampton Court Flower show, and then forgotten about. I seem to be drawn to curiosities at the moment, and this is no exception. A native of South Africa, Salvia aurea ‘Kirstenbosch’ has small, silvery, clove-scented leaves and extraordinary rust-brown flowers that, admittedly, look half dead from some angles. I thought it would look pleasing alongside plum and orange tulips in my bulb theatre this spring. Out of the corner of my eye I could see someone else eyeing up the one and only plant, so I snatched it up and held on firmly whilst continuing to browse the rest of the table.
I managed to steer myself away from the pleione being offered by Binny Plants, but fell promptly at the next hurdle. Alongside a wide variety of bulbous plant, French nursery F. comme Fleurs had brought along a small selection of very choice spring flowering plants, including a solitary pot sheltering Viola chaerophylloides ‘Beni Zuru’. I don’t often fall in love with violas, easy as that is, since they tend to jilt me pretty quickly. However, this one is the prettiest thing you ever did see and I had to have it. Viola ‘Beni Zuru’ is of Japanese origin and produces reddish-pink flowers on long, burgundy stems, hovering over unusual filigree foliage. I even purchased a pricey Whichford Pottery pot to show my viola off to best advantage. Let’s see how long the relationship lasts this time.
Having been to The Salutation the previous week I thought I had seen everything they had to offer, but Steve Edney had kept a few things back for this special event. I purchased a 2″ chunk of Impatiens flanaganae root, sitting exposed ontop of a pot of rich compost. By late summer I am promised stems a metre tall, topped with candy-pink flowers …. and lots more roots to propagate from. To keep the impatiens company I popped in a cutting of Justicia carnea, the Brazilian Plume Flower, which should flower at a similar time.
I’d never come across Iris bucharica before, but several nurseries were offering generous potfuls. Having browsed around I decided to buy my plants from Great Dixter’s own nursery. Back at home I planted them in a low, Whichford Pottery bowl (come on, I couldn’t buy one on its own) in a mixture of potting compost, grit and gravel. Iris bucharica hails from Central Asia and enjoys sun and sharp drainage. Flowering early in the year it’s going to make a great companion for late flowering daffodils and early flowering tulips and has already taken up a front row seat in my bulb theatre.
Although Great Dixter is nearly two hours drive from Broadstairs, it was worth making a day of it. Entry to the gardens was included in the price of admittance to the plant fair. I spent a good three hours milling around, taking photographs, enjoying the sound of birdsong and the perfume of a thousand scented flowers. I’ll be posting a full report shortly. As treats go, this was my favourite kind, and in October I’ll be returning for more.
Great Dixter’s Autumn Plant Fair will be held on Saturday 7th & Sunday 8th October 2017, 11am-4pm.
Lathyrus vernus – Swallowfields Nursery
Iris bucharica – Great Dixter Nursery
Salvia aurea ‘Kirstenbosch’ – Cotswold Garden Flowers
Viola ‘Beni Zuru’ – F. comme Fleurs
Salvia ‘Royal Bumble’ – Cotswold Garden Flowers
Bergenia ‘Overture’ – Pelham Plants
Anemone ranunculoides – Swallowfields Nursery
Omphalodes verna ‘Alba’ – Swallowfields Nursery
Impatiens flanaganae – The Salutation Gardens
Justicia carnea – The Salutation Gardens
My last hurrah before departing for India was a trip aross Kent to the Great Dixter Autumn Plant Fair. I neither had the time nor the need to buy more plants, but I went anyway, prepared to be abstemious: I was feeling brave. I have never visited Great Dixter as late in the year as October, and besides, it was a rare opportunity for me to meet up with my friends Beth and Dan, who are rarely sighted outside Cornwall, let alone as far away as East Sussex.
It takes an indecently long time to get from Broadstairs to Great Dixter, but it’s a pleasant drive. I had not counted on Tenterden hosting a road-clogging Folk Festival. The one in Broadstairs brings me into close proximity with enough Morris Dancers to last me a lifetime. I’d mind less if they looked like they were enjoying all that jingling and flailing about.
The appeal of the Great Dixter Plant Fair lies not in the plants, although they are many and varied, but in the charming way it’s organised. The most manufactured material on site is corrugated iron, but even this has an appropriately agricultural feel. Elsewhere seating, display benches and counters are fashioned from straw bales, trestles, softwood poles and logs covered with thick layers of hessian. The use of natural and weathered materials creates the impression that one might have wandered onto the set of a period drama rather than into a plant sale. It’s wonderfully simple – retail stripped back to basics – although the rusticity does not go as far as declining plastic cards.
Whether by design or by accident, visitors to the fair tend to dress the part. You will not spot a single red cagoule or trendy blouson sported by these plant connoisseurs. Barbour jackets, hunter wellies, walking boots, buttock-hugging jeans (mainly on the ladies) and home knits are de-rigueur, with the occasional, description-defying theatrical garment worn nonchalantly by someone long past caring what others think. (I look forward to reaching this point in my life and am already accruing several eccentric pieces in readiness.) I did not dress correctly for the spring fair, so planned ahead for autumn and donned a mustard yellow fisherman’s smock. Beth commented on how well I blended with Dixter’s exuberant borders. I’ll accept that as a compliment.
Following my trip to Cornwall, where I managed to pack a car so full of plants I could barely see out, I exercised remarkable restraint. In all, I purchased just four plants. From Edulis Nursery came Hedychium ‘Helen Dillon’, named by Crûg Farm Plants for the famous plantswoman (I was told Helen doesn’t actually approve of the selection, which is a little unfortunate) and Pteris tremula, aka shaking brake, a fresh-green fern from Australia. Both have come straight into the garden room, where the bright, cool conditions should suit them perfectly. The scent from the hedychium is wonderful to have so close to my writing desk.
If one wants to bag the most special plants, then it pays to arrive early. As I drove in, an hour after the start, a long caterpillar of cars was already trying to squeeze itself down Dixter Lane. Inside these mobile Edens, travelled the pick of the bunch. A table marked ‘Unusual Plants’ at Cotswold Garden Flowers was almost bare by the time I had navigated through the crowd, but I was not too late to bag a small Kalanchoe beharensis ‘Fang’ which is a plant I first admired in Marrakech a year ago. This is definitely a plant for indoors during the winter and a hot spot in summer. My final purchase, Coronilla valentina subsp. glauca ‘Variegata’, will produce sunshine-yellow flowers in late winter when most plant can’t even be bothered to keep up appearances.
For the most part it was a dreary, grey day, but despite the occasional drizzle a walk around the gardens was not to be forfeited. We found them in fine fettle. The Exotic Garden was probably at its zenith, in terms of height certainly. I’ve seen it looking better, perhaps earlier in the year when the roses look fresher and one can see the wood for the trees, but it’s always a garden brimming with interest.
Some of the foliage plants had escaped onto the steps leading down from the Wall Garden. In spring this very same area was home to a riotous display of tulips. The transformative capability of grouped pots is so brilliantly illustrated at Great Dixter and is a constant source of inspiration to me. Just when I think I’d rather be able to dig and weed like other gardeners, I’m reminded that container gardening opens up so many possibilities, especially in a confined space.
Back in the Exotic Garden there is a lime-green persicaria that I lust after. Its leaved display burgundy blotches arranged like a flock of migrating geese. If anyone knows the name of this beautiful foliage plant, do tell.
The Long Border was still firing on all cylinders, fuelled by dahlias, asters, salvias, helianthus and grasses. Perhaps it was thanks to the low light levels, but I managed to capture some of the reds more accurately than normal, especially Dahlia ‘Bishop of Llandaff’ (below), which Christopher Lloyd transformed into such a popular garden plant.
The High Garden was a billowing mass of colour and texture. In the Peacock Garden one had to admire the planting combinations, which lesser gardeners might never have considered. Particularly striking was a partnership of burgundy amaranthus with acid-yellow evening primroses and mauve Michaelmas daisies.
Although it can be a slog to get there, a visit to Great Dixter is always worth the effort. In autumn one can appreciate the gardens in all their ebullient, overblown glory before the cold and wet causes them to shrink back into themselves. Over the next month or two the gardeners will beaver away to reveal the garden’s fine structure, and soon the cycle of adorning it will begin again.
When I left my garden, in early October, it was still a summer garden. By the time I returned, at the end of the month, it was definitely an autumn one. The change was subtle, yet profound; sad, yet inevitable. The point of no return had been reached and there was nothing for it other than to accept that it was time to prepare for the approach of winter.
I don’t think it rained significantly during the three weeks of my absence, as my dahlias had all succumbed to disfiguring mildew. Those that hadn’t did not escape the advance of a gazillion baby snails, which had reduced the leaves to skeletons. My dahlias were a huge disappointment this year, so much so that I have decided not to grow so many next year. I will concentrate on foliage plants instead, as these generally keep on giving whatever the weather. Despite their floral allure, dahlias offer little in the way of beautiful leaves. The dark ones are attractive enough, but when the flowers don’t come, dahlias really are party-poopers.
The majority of permanent plants at The Watch House were chosen to look good throughout the colder months. The selection is so good that it can be hard to tell what season it is, even in the depths of winter. Ever since the garden was built I have been fighting to introduce greater seasonality, which has mostly been achieved through the use of bulbs and semi-hardy plants in pots.
November is change-over month, when those potted plants requiring winter protection come indoors. The most attractive are re-homed in the garden room, from whence I write this blog; those that need light and shelter go into the cold greenhouse, and any that die down naturally, such as gingers and lilies, are stashed at the back of the garage, where they will be dry and frost-free. Before I relocate any potted plants I check them over for pests and diseases so as not to bring them inside and create myself ongoing problems. Miniature slugs and snails are the main nuisances I look out for. I also try to hold out for a dry period when the pots will be lighter and less back-breaking to move.
Some evergreen or ‘usually-green’ plants benefit from a September Shear; a bit like the Chelsea Chop, only later. This removes tired leaves and spent flowers, whilst encouraging the formation of tighter, more water-resistant crowns. Zantedeschias benefit from this treatment, as do the shrubby salvias such as S. ‘Hot Lips’. The latter is luxuriant and covered in flowers six weeks after being reduced to about 2ft, providing a last supper for the few bumble bees that have not gone into hibernation.
Being elsewhere for the month of October means I must get ahead of myself in September, and that I will find myself playing catch up in November. I had planted all my narcissi before departing, but have hundreds of tulip bulbs still awaiting my attention in the garage. Adjusting to the cold and dark, I do not find the prospect of kneeling on a cold, drafty, concrete floor very appealing at the moment, but do it I must. The arrangements in my newly acquired garage are rather primitive at the moment, having blown my budget elsewhere, but I have promised myself a sturdy potting bench when I find the right one …. and an electric light would be handy too. TFG.
I returned from China to a garden clinging valiantly on to the glories of summer. It was a heart-warming homecoming, but the gift was short-lived. Last week the weather cooled significantly, sending some plants into terminal decline. Dahlias are blooming their final blooms and my coleus are starting to look decidedly limp and lacklustre. I’ve brought indoors the bromeliads, papyrus and philodendrons, taken umpteen coleus and geranium cuttings and sheltered half the gingers and colocasias in the workshop. The remainder soldier on outside, alongside bananas and aeoniums, and will have to take their chances until I get to them.
As Christmas approaches I find myself more than usually stretched for time. Work is getting busy and taking me away from home for a couple of nights each week. I’m packing more than I can reasonably expect to achieve into my weekends; my lists are reaching epic proportions. It’s not a great sign when one wakes up on a Sunday feeling queasy at the prospect of the week ahead, but one can only do so much. After today’s Archers Omnibus I shall get myself back out to the workshop to empty and clean pots before refilling them with spring bulbs.
Outside in the garden a handful of plants are still looking terrific. Fuchsia splendens always peaks in autumn and this year is no exception. The long, orange and apple-green trumpets greet me every day as I leave for work, illuminated by the floodlight by my front door. Salvias ‘Amistad’, ‘Black and Blue’ and ‘Hot Lips’ are going great guns, producing lots of flower with plenty more to come. Hedychium ‘Pradhan’ is attempting to bloom, although I suspect the cold has diminished the size and colour of its flowers. Nevertheless this Himalayan ginger has made a stately plant since I acquired it earlier this year.
I’ve had nerines flowering since late September. At this moment the stars are N. bowdenii and N. bowdenii ‘Isabel’, both excellent, reliable late-flowering bulbs for the garden. The lilies I planted in mid-July are still producing bloom, especially L. ‘Lionheart’. Next year I will plant a lot more in midsummer. In the greenhouse the borders are flooded with Plentranthus zuluensis, producing plenty of lilac-blue bottle-brush flower spikes. Rising above them is a ‘rescue’ Brugmansia, purchased in late September, which has been flowering non-stop ever since. Although the perfume is muted by cooler air, it’s still discernibly there.
The pressure is now on to get my bulbs planted. I have hundreds, still in their bags and boxes, which I am eager to get planted as soon as possible. In reality the process will continue well into December, and perhaps even into January. I have learnt from experience that this doesn’t have any adverse impact, except perhaps to delay flowering by a week or two: ultimately the weather is the greater decider. Today is a lovely day, the garden flooded with soft November sunlight, perfect for enjoying the last vestiges of autumn and providing no further excuses for inaction. TFG.
Late last summer we paid a flying visit to Dyson’s Nurseries at Great Comp near Sevenoaks in Kent. It was all rather unsatisfactory as we were short of time and had our pups Max and Millie in tow. We couldn’t take them into the garden (although I snuck in to use the loo, which was torture as I wanted a proper look) and we had to dash around the nursery like dervishes in order to stay on schedule. Fortunately it does not take either of us long to make a decision about buying a plant, so within ten minutes we had scooped up a number of them, plus a couple more as gifts for friends.
Dyson’s are legendary for their salvias. The nursery holds a collection which extends to over 250 species and cultivars. Many have scented foliage and most flower throughout the British summer and in to early winter. (My uncle’s Salvia ‘Amistad’ was still in fine fettle on Christmas Day.) Whilst perennial salvias will gaily bloom until late in the year, they are not necessarily hardy and some require winter protection.
One such salvia is S. leucocephala, the white-headed sage. A woody perennial, its tenderness is perhaps less surprising when one considers that it comes from Ecuador. Salvia leucocephala is rare both in the wild and in cultivation and I had not seen plants offered for sale before. I made my purchase based purely on the alluring description: the plain green foliage gives very little away.
On returning home we placed our entire haul in the greenhouse and forgot about it. The first salvia to start flowering was Salvia dombeyi, the giant Bolivian sage. Clusters of pendulous, scarlet flowers emerging from glossy black calyces appeared continuously from November until February. This pleased us both no end and the plant continues to be in rude health. Then, as winter came to a mild and soggy end, Salvia leucocephala started to produce little pyramids of white, wooly calyces at the end of each stem. Finally these opened to reveal striking, maroon flowers, which have lasted several weeks already. Our plant is extremely lanky so we are having to support it using neighbouring plants such as Impatiens balansae and Zantedeschia ‘Hercules’.
As the days get longer and warmer we will now have to start ventilating the greenhouse on sunny days otherwise grey mould (botrytis) will set in. The plants are packed in close, which is a recipe for disaster if the conditions get too stuffy. My greenhouse is not heated, but ideally Salvia leucocephala would like more winter warmth. I also observe that it needs excellent light to stop it from becoming too leggy, as does Salvia dombeyi. Experts advise pruning after flowering, which I will do before repotting and standing the plant outside for summer.
Salvia leucocephala would look sensational planted in a well-drained gravel garden or in a large pot on a hot, sunny terrace with herbs and olives. Stake it well or provide with a shrubby companion to scramble through. Then provide warmth and shelter in the winter and you’ll be turning heads in February and March when everyone else is reliant on daffodils and forsythia for excitement. TFG.
Today, I’ve been sweltering in the heat at the Hampton Court Palace Flower Show. So many exciting plants to see, but one of the first that caught my eye was Salvia ‘Amistad’. Tall, purplish stems are topped with large, tubular violet-blue flowers emerging from almost black buds. Combined with fiery orange and yellow dahlias it would make quite a statement in a summer border.
There comes a point every year when I begin to lose sight of our London garden. It’s nothing to do with my failing vision (although I do like to sport a natty pair of specs), or exuberant foliage, but everything to do with the shortening day-length. Come October there may be a few precious moments of daylight before I leave for the office, but already it’s dark by the time I get home.
The next three weeks will be spent in Hong Kong and China. When I return the clocks will have changed, effectively ending my gardening season in London and plunging me into four months of perpetual darkness.
The occasional day spent at home in autumn reveals our garden in a different light. This Saturday, for example, dawned dank and dispiriting; leaves, flowers and vegetables showing their first signs of senility. Quickly the weather sharpened up its act to offer a crisp, warm autumn day, perfect for tidying and bulb planting. Having had success this year, I am planting more Lilium martagon ‘Album’ and Narcissus ‘W.P. Milner’ wherever there’s a little gap to fill.
Our neighbours, vocal Italians who seem to have a penchant for rampant climbers, provide us with a backdrop of Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) intertwined with equally pernicious Russian vine (Fallopia baldschuanica) and Clematis armandii. The long, wandering stems of the creeper, invisible until autumn, now appear bright, ruby-red against the white flowers of the vine and glossy foliage of the clematis. A dazzling combination when lit by the mid-morning sun.
With flowers of the truest blue you’ll find in a flower, Salvia patens is looking terrific right now, even in low light. I planted eight of them in August to replace mildew-ridden sweet peas, alongside frothy Gaura lindheimerii. The late-flowering duo will need to make way soon for a colourful planting of tulips and wallflowers, which will duly be replaced by more sweet peas in spring.
Hidden in the shadows beneath a magnolia is a lovely variegated form of the toad lily, Tricyrtis hirta ‘Variegata’. The cream-coloured leaf borders are very minimal so won’t offend anyone who dislikes strong variegation. Long, slightly angled stems, reminiscent of willow gentian (Gentiana asclepiadea), produce lots of plum-freckled, starry white flowers. It’s worth pushing on through the undergrowth and a carpet of Cyclamen hederifolium to find them.
Daylight hours at home during winter offer precious gardening opportunities. Keeping up with fallen leaves is a chore, but it’s essential they are kept out of the pond. The vegetable garden has already been cleared of anything that’s ceased to be productive so that the rain and frost can get to the soil. The last tasks of the year, reserved for a fine day in November, will be planting tulip bulbs and clearing away faded perennials. Before we know it the snowdrops will be pushing their thin, silvery shoots into the cold air and the cycle will begin again.
