Most of what I do professionally is biggish to big. I’ll be ordering perennials, for instance, with 150 or this and 200 of that, totaling in the thousands. I love using plants in vast, repeating sweeps, and wouldn’t have it any other way. Even at home, my preference would be to be planting up large spaces with low-diversity planting.
But that form is inherently limiting.
One of the truly great, anticipation-charged moments in the garden year looms. The first of the bulb catalogues has appeared. What’s on offer are brown, flaky, often ugly or even grotesque little packages of life, very nearly guaranteed to alchemically transform into big, fat, glorious flowers of unsurpassable colour. They’re horticultural hand-grenades, or floral fireworks, totally unprepossessing and deceptively inactive, until they explode.