CABAHS members share photos from their gardens.
Members, please send in photos of your garden or a particular plant or flower in your garden, to be included here.
Two years ago my daughter bought me a houseplant which she had seen in a shop, but which she had not got a name for. It also didn’t look like anything I had seen before. Despite its rather delicate appearance, through the heat of summer 2020 it did extremely well in a south facing room, even much better than I had expected, but I was still no closer to identifying it.
Then, recently, while trawling through some photos of houseplants, I came across one of my plant! It is called Asparagus falcatus. Described thus: ‘Often known by the name, Sicklethorn, Asparagus falcatus is a variety of asparagus fern. It is a robust creeper, which is covered with thorns. The roots of this plant form swollen tubers that resemble sweet potatoes. This South African plant climbs rapidly by means of the sharp spines on its stems and is often used in that country as an impenetrable barrier.
Having finally identified the plant, the name now puzzled me. It looks nothing like asparagus and I wondered how it had acquired the designation.
And now, in March, I find a shoot has come up from the compost. It is brown and quite thin and whippy, with what look like small thorns the length of the stem, but which are not in fact spiky at all. What’s more, the tip looks very much like asparagus!
So there I have it: Asparagus falcatus is named for this tender stem which looks like an asparagus spear and which has ‘thorns’ along its length – ‘falcatus’ means sickle shaped or hooked.
I have spent some time over the past two days trying to protect the more tender plants I still have outside. The greenhouse is full and there is nowhere else for anything to go, short of bringing everything indoors! I therefore have varying layers of fleece and old sheets propped up with canes to keep them clear of the plants and all looking very ugly. With a weather forecast now predicting temperatures of -6 I have added blankets.
I look with envy to countries like Japan who so effectively seem to support their plants, making the supporting structure a thing of beauty in itself. The technique below is called yakitsuri and I first saw it in a Monty Don television series. This is designed to stop the weight of the snow from breaking the branches of the trees.
Similarly, the woven willow used to support border plants through the summer in our own gardens such as Great Dixter is not only functional, but looks nice.
When Pat and I visited in a brief respite from lockdown in 2020, to protect dahlias from slugs at Great Dixter, they had used sheep’s wool spread out over the soil at the base of plants. Where this was dark brown it worked, but the white sheep’s wool was not in the least appealing and detracted from the overall beauty of the borders.
(Photo NOT from Great Dixter, just an example.)
There is an art to protecting your plants in winter (or summer) in a way that looks attractive, or at the very least not as offensive as my own efforts and is which not damaging to the environment. I have yet to master it.
CABAHS Committee member Paula has been grateful for the distraction of wildlife-watching during the lockdown, and has been reading up about it. Paula’s garden style is “not manicured” but she does like to keep things under control – things such as ivy. She says that ivy can cover a multitude of sins and like it or not, it certainly helps out the local wildlife. Plus it is evergreen and makes a lovely backdrop about now, when everything else has lost its colour. She was intrigued to learn that there is an Ivy Bee, one to watch out for this year. The Wildlife Trust says that ivy bees are recent arrivals to the UK, being first recorded in 2001 and slowly spreading North. They look like honey bees and feed mainly on ivy nectar. There doesn’t seem to be anything bad known about them so at the moment they are welcome!
Paula has also been bird watching and says another “new” arrival to our gardens is the Collared Dove, a less bulky version of the native Wood Pigeon.
They are normally seen in pairs (a good Valentine omen maybe!) and come to bird feeding stations sometimes. They are not native but arrived from the Middle East in the 1950’s – a bit like the Green Parakeets that are now all over the South East, although not such a pest. They are mainly seed and berry eaters and if they raise a brood successfully they often return to the same nest site.
If you would like to find out more, try these links:
Winter aconites and snowdrops looking happy in Vija’s garden. (For once, an example of some flowers that are blooming at the right time of year!)
Something to look forward to: Jillian has lots of babies off her Billbergia nutans, which she has potted up for sale to members, for when we can finally meet again. It’s common name is Queen’s Tears or Friendship Plant. She thinks the small plants should be big enough to flower this year. This isn’t a picture of her own plant, but something to aspire to! A challenge..
Some unusual flowers out in Angela’s garden – here is a Penstemon thinking it’s still summer, and the Anisodontea, African Mallow, has ignored the recent frosts and carried on.
Maggie has been out and about on her daily walks, and says that the daffodils down near the O2 are all coming out. A lovely sign of Spring, and a good walk along the Thames side.
The photo below might remind us all to ensure there are gaps under the fences in our gardens. There is a trend to use concrete gravel boards at the base of new fences, and while they are wonderfully sturdy and long-lasting, spare a thought for the wildlife! Frogs and toads need to travel between gardens and water sources. It’s really easy to push a trowel under the gravel board and make a little underpass for them, it makes all the difference.
Happy Dahlias, in bed for the winter, covered with a lovely blanket of Christmas tree branches!
What’s in flower in YOUR garden? All these in Kathy’s garden on January 3rd 2021, they don’t seem to know it’s winter. Although it’s a bit tatty, there is even a blue Lobelia flower, what’s that about? If you have more, send them in to feature here.
Clockwise from top left: Hellebore, Mexican fleabane, Cobea Cup & Saucer, Clematis Wisley Cream, Bergenia, Geranium “Pino”, Rose Bonica, Fuchsia Hawshead, Geranium Regal
Salvias: Neon, Black & Blue, Tangerine, Hotlips, Pineapple and Amistad
Teucrium, Wallflower, Parahebe, Lobelia and Primrose
Like Francis Griffiths and Elsie Wright, as a child I believed there were fairies at the bottom of my garden. Unlike Francis and Elsie, I didn’t take this any further. The story of the Cottingley Fairies went on to become one of the greatest hoaxes of the twentieth century.
When Elsie’s mother showed the photographs to the local Theosophical Society, it set in motion a chain of events that led Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to conclude that the photographs were authentic.
Then in 1920, when Conan Doyle wrote an article on fairy life, fairy fever gripped the nation.
But there are other reasons to go to the bottom of your garden!
In one of the December entries in his book The Ivington Diaries, Monty Don writes that, in order to feed his chickens, he has to walk right to the end of the garden and back, ‘which means that whatever the weather … I am obliged to have a good look at things’. There is no doubt that, in the depths of winter, having to get from one end of your garden is quite an education. You can make all kind of assessments in terms of use of space and structure, when everything is so bare.
And there are, of course, additional benefits. The scent of the Viburnum bodnantense at the end of my garden is astonishing. It knocks me out every time. Perhaps even more so in winter when there is less competition. I think I should have it closer to the house, or perhaps I should get another one.
But I do like the idea of a little cluster of fairies whispering somewhere under the still green leaves of my nasturtiums at the bottom of my garden!
Kathy’s garden – a Fuchsia thymifolia which seems to bear its tiny flowers for 365 days a year and thrives in part-shade. What’s not to like? An added bonus that it is apparently slightly resistant to the gall mite too.
Anne R’s beautiful fully compostable wreath – ivy with osmanthus, rosemary, bay, honesty, rose hips, haws.
Primroses, snowdrops and Christmas rose out and doing their thing in Jan’s garden. Everything so early!
Lots of late colour in Chris B’s garden, Osteospermum, Pyracantha, Cotoneaster and a very pink Salvia.
This is Harry & Val’s Eucharis amazonica, which is flowering for them for the fourth time this year!
Here is Jean’s rose “Compassion”, still blooming away in November:
Penny has sent in a picture of her Cobea plant, which she says is sited in a cold part of her garden but still insisting on flowering in November. It is beautiful, and usually grows as an annual in this country, so it must love her!
Cobea scandens
Carolyn’s Salvia “Hotlips” is providing late colour and cheer in her garden, having been flowering all summer long.
Salvia Hotlips
Viv has sent in her star performers, Schizostylus coccinea in two colours. Or Hesperantha as I suppose we should call them. Also known as Kaffir Lily or River Lily.
It’s hard to believe that a whole year has passed since we moved into our new house in Mottingham. Many members will have visited our old house and garden, next door, whilst the new build was taking place. For those who don’t know though, after realising that we needed to downsize, as our family had flown the nest, we decided to knock down our garages and build a smaller house adjacent to our old one.
Going…Going…GONE!
Before the dividing fence went up between the two gardens a man came to us to erect a shed in, what appeared to him, to be the middle of our large rectangular lawn. I showed him the sticks I had placed to mark where I would like the shed to be built. He took his hat off, scratched his head and asked “Are you sure that’s where you want it? -It’s a bit random isn’t it?”
When the shed had been built a dividing fence was erected straight down the middle of our large rectangular lawn, between our old and the new gardens. I invited some friends around to see what was going on. Some even peered rather nervously through a gap in the new fence to hear what plans I was hatching for my new garden.
Whilst the house was going up I got cracking on creating a new garden.
The first thing I did was to lay a curvy hose on the lawn to plan my new bed layout. I placed long canes to indicate where I hoped to build the raised beds, compost etc. By running up and down the temporary staircase in the, by now, half built new house I could look out of the windows, then adjust the hose each time, and get a better idea of how the new flowerbeds would look. I found this quite exciting as I was fed up with my straight lines of the old garden.
Then we moved the arch from our old garden into the new one, taking care to move the rose and clematis it supported at the same time. None of the side flowerbeds have been made at this point.
I must confess, at this stage that two of my son’s friends were on hand to help with the arch and digging out the lawn to make flowerbeds. We barrowed all of the compost that I had been making in the old garden and set about improving the soil in our new beds. They also helped us to make two raised beds, from scaffolding planks, which quickly became temporary residences for extra plants that were in transit. Here they are with my beautiful Cercis siliquastrum flowering profusely in the background.
I do find that gardening is rather like decorating. You have to put in many hours of hard work before you can enjoy the easy bit.
The next task was to dig up and split all of my beloved treasures in our old garden. I planted half of each one back in the old garden and half in the new. I was thoroughly enjoying myself and I was barely buying any plants but by the end of the year but I had almost filled every bed. The job was made easier by removing a fence panel so that I could dash, laden with plants, from the old garden to the new.
As you can see by the next spring the garden was starting to shape. It’s simply amazing how things have grown. After just a year it almost looks like a mature garden.
Isn’t gardening wonderful? If you put a little work in you get so many rewards.
Since taking this photo I have created a dedicated iris bed with 7 different coloured irises. I’m worried that I’m becoming an iris addict!
During this year’s lockdown my projects were a bug hotel and very small pond.
I have also been trying to introduce some vertical planting which will hopefully cover the new fence that looks so bare. So far I have put in several climbing roses including Iceberg, Compassion, Danse du Feu and Golden Gate. I’ve also planted several other climbers like honeysuckles, clematis and Hardenbergia. This is a new plant to me. Apparently it’s similar to a Wisteria but less vigorous.
All of this has required rather a lot of trellis so I do hope that it all grows!
Clematis Pernille
In August I was glad to welcome many members to our open garden. We shared the day with Vija and Fran who also opened their gardens and made a whopping great £319 for cancer charities. I know that some society members could not come that day and so I thought I’d share a few photos of our progress over the year. Viv.
With apologies to Rod Liddle, writing in The Spectator!
I am sad that my Quince tree (the produce of which gave me the CABAHS “Best in Show” cup once upon a time!) has not managed to bring a single fruit to maturity this year. Squirrels and the dreaded brown rot have taken all.
Quinces were first grown in England by Edward I, the ‘Hammer of the Scots’, a man who would have made short work of Nicola Sturgeon. The fruit resembles a degenerate pear — a pear which has made bad choices in its life. Downy and squat. The tree from which it emerges is a delight, especially in early May when fecund with blossom, which is the time that famous perfume begins to emanate. That perfume stays with you — in the fruit bowl, when you are peeling it and, most of all, while it is being cooked.
Like all good food, the quince requires work, time and an appetite for deferred gratification. It is a beast to prepare. Peel and core a quince and you will find a swede can be sliced through like butter in comparison. The flesh of the quince is fibrously obstinate and the core intractable; be careful with that knife. When you have finished peeling and quartering, set the seeds aside in case someone you really don’t like comes over. They are rich in cyanide. Toast them and say to your adversary they are pumpkin seeds..
Anyway, cook those quarters gently. Either poach in a couple of inches of sugared water, a dash of honey and perhaps a strand of thyme in a saucepan on the stove top, or in a bath of the same in the oven. The recipe instructions vary as to how long you should do this — some suggest 40 minutes. Rubbish. You need at least two hours on a low heat. Only then will the quince reveal its magic — the gradual metamorphosis from a wan, pale yellow to a rich crimson, the anthocyanins doing their work. Add another hour or so if you’re making quince cheese from the pulp and then another six to rest, before straining and cooking again with added sugar. It will set just fine due to its natural load of pectin.
I prefer the quartered fruit to still have a little bite; five or six segments and the reserved cooking juice will transform your apple crumble with a gentle tartness. You can purée the red fruit into an accompaniment for duck, or simply serve as they are, with their gloriously red and sticky cooking juice, topped with cream. Either way, hurry: the quince season is nearly at an end.
Charlton and Blackheath Amateur Horticultural Society 