The potted garden

holly & ivy, Whichford

This summer, I must stop in at Whichford Pottery for a visit and to admire more of their fabulous work in terra cotta. I have several Whichford pots – Country Garden Antiques in Wapato carries them, and they usually have a booth at the Northwest Flower & Garden Show (where were they this year?). Whichford pots are sturdy, do not succumb to frost or feeze damage, and come in wonderfully traditional shapes (long toms, auricula pots) and many sizes. They are worth every penny.

Smith College had a wonderful exhibition on the pot. Much of the information is still online. Guy Wolff, an American potter – I have some of his pots, too – was part of the exhibition.

What IS that plant?

I was just out dismantling an elderberry – it’s Sambucus nigra ‘Guincho Purple’, now starting to get that apricot look to the foliage before it drops.  It’s not that I don’t like the plant, I love elderberries, but I have a fabulous buckthorn to put there: Rhamnus alaternus ‘Argenteovariegata’.  It’ll be a brighter look to the corner, and it’s not like I’ll be without the European elderberry.  I have f. lacinata in back, and its marketed purple-leaf selection ‘Black Lace’ in a pot; I also have a weak-growing variegated selection whose name escapes me at the moment.

Elderberries are wonderful shrubs and so forgiving of being whacked back (I expect ‘Guincho Purple’ to come back, and I’ll probably keep it a 3-foot shrub size instead of the 15 feet it has reached).  Working on the elderberry at this time of year inevitably made me think of when we usually see it in its native habitat:  May in England.  The hedgerows are full of white blooms, from the plate-shaped elderberry to bunches of hawthorn to the lacecap look of Viburnum opulus.  It’s a beautiful site, even alongside A roads, which can be quite freewaylike, although not as much as M roads.

I’d be able to pick out an elderberry at almost any time of year, but some plants can get me stumped if I’ve only seen them, for example, on late-spring tours of England or Ireland.  The first time I saw Luma apiculata, I was amazed.  We were in a private garden in County Wexford that is no longer open.  It was June.  A small tree with multiple trunks (such an elegant look) caught our eye; the bark was patchy and fuzzy – like a staghorn sumac.  It was gorgeous.

Fast-forward to a visit to Dan Hinkley’s garden Windcliff last July.  I was taking the Ladew folks around, and as we walked down the drive, there was a lovely shrub that had small sparkly white flowers.  Of course people wanted to know what it was; I stared at it and thought “I know what you are…what are you?”

Fast-forward again to about a month ago, when suddenly, unbidden, it came to me:  I had seen a small Luma apiculata without its fuzzy bark (it actually goes through a period where it sheds its bark) and in bloom.  I’m so proud of myself.  If I had a Luma apiculata, I could see each and every one of its seasons.  I wonder where I’d plant it.

The Writer in Somebody Else’s Garden

With apologies to Jane Garmey, editor of The Writer in the Garden, an anthology of garden-related literature.  I read many works about gardens and gardening, and enjoy some more than others.  Among my favorites:  Jenny Uglow’s light hand at heavy subjects (A Little History of British Gardening tops my list), Christopher Lloyd’s acerbic wit and Ursula Buchan brisk style.

            Writers are told that what they read will influence what they write.  It isn’t only garden writers I look to, but good writing in general, in the hope of getting an idea across in an entertaining, insightful and knowledgeable manner without wasting a word.  I’m irritated when reading a book and find myself editing it for style, syntax and word choice.  Some books, both fiction and nonfiction, start with a great idea and they may be full of interesting elements, but overall the writing is thin at best.  Naturally, I always wonder how in the world these books get in print.

            If I’m to try my best at writing about the gardens we visit — be it the famous Hidcote Manor or a private garden open through the National Garden Scheme — then I need to surround myself with good writing.  Without even trying, I came up with three writers who excel at their craft:

Jo Rowling — I don’t write fiction, but if I did I would want to write dialogue like she does.  No wasted words anywhere, and every turn of phrase evokes time, place and character.

Erik Larson — I’m just finishing Thunderstruck.  He’s precise in his research, and careful about not interpreting past events through modern eyes.  It’s true, I did have to skim over the details of the murder, just as I had to skim over a few paragraphs in Devil in the White City, but I admire him for his unsentimental (and unsensational) approach, while holding my interest through all the details.

Ray Bradbury — A deep thanks to the master.  I do not write science fiction or fantasy, but I will be forever grateful to Ray Bradbury, his imagination, and his enthusiasm for writing and for others who write.  I’ve attended four of his talks, the first when I was in 7^th grade (more than 40 years ago), the last just a few years ago.  He’s an inspiration.

Gardeners Share the Wealth

I just got an e-mail from Derry Watkins at Special Plants Nursery in Wiltshire with her seed list as of this month — she put me on this list, because we’re going to visit her next May.  As much as I’d love to order some, such as the mousie-cute Cuphea viscossisima (with the annoying common name of “clammy cuphea”) or the gorgeous Tropaeolum speciosum, the scarlet nasturtium vine, which I dearly love, I’ll not bother with the problems of international seed and plant exchange.

            The Royal Horticultural Society sends its seed list out, too, but I think they are big enough to get most of the phyto certificates for you.  At least I think they still send the seed list out — I’m a member, but haven’t noticed any mention of seeds in the latest journal The Garden.

            Selling seeds for such minimal costs is one way gardeners share.  Exchanging plants and cuttings is another way.  This, of course, is done with permission, and not just when you’re walking down the road and see a plant you like.  Visiting a garden and coming home with your pockets full of bits of plants surreptitiously nabbed is NOT a good thing.

            That being said, it always reminds me of dear Mrs. Rosemary Brown at Graigeconna near Bray (just south of Dublin).  She told us great stories as she led us around her garden, which had been planted by her grandfather (and Mrs. Brown as in her 90s when we were there).

            We came up to a large Podocarpus macrophyllus, and as we were admiring it, she turned to us, Podocarpus to her back, and said “You know you should never take a cutting from someone’s garden without permission.”  We sensed a “but …” coming.

            Come to find out Mrs. Brown had nipped a bit of this Podocarpus from the Queen’s garden somewhere (or was it the Queen Mum’s garden?).  Shhhh, don’t tell anyone.

A good read

            Gardens, gardeners and plants figure sporadically into novels.  Several years ago when I was still volunteering at the Miller Library (a fabulous gardening library at the University of Washington’s Center for Urban Horticulture), I helped librarian Brian Thompson create a list of mostly fictional books where gardening was at least a part of the story.  It ranged from Nero Wolfe’s orchids to Miss Marple, who wisely said: “Gardening is the best disguise”.

            Gardening is often woven into English writing, showing it’s more ingrained in the lives of the English than it is ours in the U.S.  You can’t turn a page in the Harry Potter series without Jo Rowling mentioning plants and gardens, from someone tripping over an aspidistra to a description of the rhododendrons in the Weasley garden (let alone what goes on in the greenhouses at Hogwarts).

            So, it’s no wonder it was a Brit who came up with the English Garden Mystery series.  Our friends and fellow anglophiles Holly and Gerry Wilson told us about the books.  The author, Anthony Eglin (who now lives in California) has three books out with a fourth expected next spring.  I’m reading them in order, just in case I need to know something about protagonist/gardener Lawrence Kingston (there’s a good physical description of Kingston in the first book, The Blue Rose, but if you need a visual aid, check out the author’s photo on the inside back cover).

            What fun to see Hidcote Manor Garden featured so prominently in The Lost Gardens (as well as a good short history of Heligan).  Plants, gardens and garden history take center stage here, and the author, a rose specialist, takes great pleasure in making the plot turn on some horticultural aspect.  (Just this one small misstep:  In The Blue Rose, the author mentions “clematis tendrils.”  Clematis don’t have tendrils — grapes have tendrils, sweet peas have tendrils, clematis climb by twining their petioles — leaf stems — around a support.)

            I’m about halfway through The Lost Gardens, which takes place in Somerset (as did The Blue Rose); I await my afternoon cup of tea to find out what will happen next at Wickersham.

Gardens Open Today

Two weeks since the Hardy Plant Study Weekend in Eugene, and I’m just now assimilating what I saw.  First, gosh aren’t these people brave to open their private gardens to a hoard (probably 200 people or so, total) of opinionated, know-it-alls like us?  And yet, there they were, greeting visitors who arrived by car or in the tour bus.  We scanned the properties, each of us looking for our own interests. 

            I’ve never seen so many roses in my life.  Portland may be the city of roses, but the whole state seems to have adopted the flower as its symbol.  All in bloom, without a hint of blackspot.  At that moment, anyway.

            Small formal water features attracted me.  Huge, naturalistic ponds and enormous waterfalls just seem weird in landscaped gardens, so I prefer the contained water with its cooling sound, reflective qualities and intentional design.  I loved the glass balls floating in the still birdbaths at the garden of Bryan and Cassandra Barrett — overall, a fabulous garden for color and form.  Formal lines and views were softened by billowing plants in a Northwest English sort of way.

            My other favorite garden was somewhere out of town — thank goodness dear friend and fellow garden writer Mary-Kate Mackey was driving us around.  The owners of this garden wanted to remain anonymous, and I’m surprised they even let the garden be on the tour.  The owner has a great eye for interesting selections, including the little-known Penstemon ‘Margarita BOP’; its blue flowers have a sort of neon quality.  This garden did have a big, natural pond, but I said nothing and paid no attention.

            Because, really, I’m sure there would be copious amounts of things for people to dislike about my garden.  Fortunately, it’s unlikely I’ll ever find out what they are.

How many gardeners do you have?

We visit gardens large and small, public and private, tidy and wild — and always ask the same question: “How many gardeners do you have?”

I was reminded of this last Friday, as I weeded the parking strip in preparation for a group of about 20 coming over on Saturday afternoon.  It was a reunion for our Charleston and Savannah trip at the end of March; the last time these folks had seen the garden it was February at our planning meeting — surely it could look better than that?

One gardener (me), that’s my answer to the question, although, of course, Leighton helps wherever he can and wherever I’ll let him.  That’s sometimes the answer we get in private gardens we visit, but if we ask another way (“You do all this work yourself?”) then often we’ll hear that there’s a man half-day a week or something.

My favorite answer to the question was from Mrs. Cartwright-Hignett at Iford Manor.  When we asked her how many gardeners she had to maintain the landscape, which was designed and built by Harold Peto in the early part of the 20^th century, she said “We have two gardeners and a husband.”  And that’s quite a feat, because the garden is fabulous, even though they have had to shore up the hillside and rebuilt a long gravel walk so that the whole thing doesn’t slide into the Frome River.

Next month, I’ll be leading a garden tour in my own backyard, so to speak.  I’m taking a group from the Ladew Topiary Gardens around to Seattle-area gardens.  We’ll visit Tina Dixon’s garden, which is a real treat.  Beautifully landscaped beds, funky artwork and a surprise around every turn.  Tina owns Plants a la Cart, a container gardening business.  To help keep her own garden in top shape, she employs a gardener.  I love this:  a gardener with a gardener.  I guess that’s my goal.