I think I’m past the plant snobbery phase. You kind of have to let it go when you observe yourself starting to really enjoy plants again that you once dismissed, and so accept what you’ve suspected for some time – that your opinions are highly unstable, and you may as well just adopt a default setting of more of less enjoying everything.
So you’ve seen organic mulch – you’ve almost certainly spread some, if not made some. You’d also have seen gravel mulch. But have you ever stumbled on monolith mulch?
It’s pretty widely known that zinnias (unlike the cosmos discussed in the post here, for which it’s never mentioned) are best when direct sown.
I really should have learned by now that the satisfaction/fun/pleasure returns from any particular job in the garden are nearly impossible to predict. I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve put off doing something – sometimes for an outrageous length of time – only to find that I’ve really enjoyed doing it when I finally faced it.
I ought to be ashamed of my cosmos. And I am.
When you know how good it can be; how tall, wide, strong – muscular, even – then you know that this is a pathetic effort, if not quite a total fail.
For several totally disconnected reasons I’m back in the zone of thinking about plant-driven gardens vs design-driven gardens. If you were here, I wouldn’t be able to resist telling you each of the reasons why I’m back on this, as I have a very firmly entrenched and irritating habit of wanting to explain all the thinking that led up to the current mind-set. The fact that you’re spared reading it all is not so much an act of mercy as an act of laziness. I just can’t be bothered writing it all. Just trying to be honest…
In the background of the main pic in my last post there was a fuzzy mix of Calamagrostis ‘Karl Foerster’ and the annual Ammi majus, known here as Queen Anne’s lace.
Some time in the next couple of weeks – if these berserk winds don’t blow it over first – I’ll flower, for the first time, the very proud and stately Verbascum splendidum. The build up has been richly satisfying itself, with the huge silver rosette bolting up to a great flower stem surrounded by wide clasping leaves with an elegant caudate tip that overlap like pointed titanium scales.
Just before Christmas I was telling a friend that I’d spotted and lusted over a stunning plant of Clematis x jackmanii ‘Superba’ in our local nursery, and, though I’d planned to plant one in this garden for a while, I hadn’t bought it, for reasons that I may or may not disclose later in this post (depending on whether I can work out how to make them sound less lame).
Just clipping my English box given the cool and cloudy weather, thus minimizing the post-clip burn that can decimate these otherwise bullet-proof plants. Box manifests in three forms here – spheres; long, lumpy curvaceous grubs; and low formal hedging forming arcs around raised veg beds.
A few years back I was checking out a stand of ornamental grasses at Chelsea Flower Show and was curious about the range of unfamiliar (and mostly evergreen) grasses on display. I liked them well enough – particularly when grown as well as you’d expect anything on display at Chelsea to be – but couldn’t help but wonder about the management of them, long term, which is generally much trickier than that required by deciduous grasses.
Just on a quick dash to the Adelaide Hills for a wedding today, and driving through Stirling this morning, there was an audible gasp from the drivers seat as this roundabout came into view. Couldn’t work out what I was looking at – what plant created this hovering laminar effect, about 1.5 above ground.