It’s stupid how long I’ve wanted the rose named ‘Graham Thomas’.
Check out the video below.
Piet Oudolf is a phenomenon. Not since William Robinson has a single figure given the gardening status quo such a shake-up, and drilled their way into the imagination of gardeners, recalibrating their dreaming.
It’s inexplicable, and wholly delightful.
You may remember, from earlier posts, my ‘steppe’ planting (a misnomer that will remain until something better presents itself) from November 2015. Back then it looked like this:
I have a sister (colourful, excitable, b. 1959) who used to describe some flavours as tasting exactly like the smell of something else. My Dad (v non-excitable, b. 1928) told her she was speaking a whole lot of tommyrot.
Yep. This morning the windscreen was iced over – the wipers frozen into immobility.
While much of the country has been sweltering, we down south in Victoria have been enjoying the most perfect summer.
Back on the 4th April, I gave a quick run down on my latest bit of trial planting of very low plants. I almost gave up on it in early spring, when it looked like being overrun with weeds, and I started to move taller stuff in. But a couple of friends stayed my hand, and insisted I stick to the plan. I’m glad they did, and that I had the good sense to listen to them.
I’m sitting up in bed, re-dawn, french doors open to the following view. Its morning number four and I’m yet to get bored with it.
I planted as I built my stone wall, following good Gertrude Jekyll principles.
Well-planted pots can pack a punch totally disproportionate to the number and volume of plants involved.
So the joys are shrinking.
At least they’re shrinking in physical size, but curiously without any diminution of their joy-level.