Acers to Excess

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Acers, maples, sycamores

My favourite tree in the entire world was a maple growing in a garden on the road to Preston. The trunk had a diameter of some 10 feet (3 metres), squished up against a tiny cottage cum gatehouse which it was pushing inexorably off its foundations. The crown of foliage was so huge that all light was excluded beneath and with the rustling of millions of leaves, the residents of the building must have felt as if they were living in a black bin bag. This summer they cut it down; they have gained a garden but I’ve lost a dear friend. Local streets have been planted injudiciously with bog standard Acer pseudoplatanus, which are forest trees. Eventually the Council will intervene to save the drains, pavements and pedestrians but until they stir their stumps, the autumn avenues are bedecked with golden glory. This is the time for sycamores to come into their kingdom.

Acer palmatum (Amoenum Group) ‘Bloodgood’

The common sycamores are promiscuous sluts. Even when chopped down, the roots will resprout unless hideous toxic chemicals are injected into the remains. The winged seeds will germinate with little provocation and the tiny seedlings turn into strapping specimens in moments. A log burning stove and chainsaw gardening may well be the only option.
Better mannered examples abound, with no plan for world domination, a nifty line in prettily shaped wind gossiping leaves and ruby heart break seasonal colour.

Acer palmatum (Amoenum Group) ‘Osakazuki’

Acer palmatum (Japanese maple) is most popular and widely available. As you would expect with prima donnas, they are picky about their treatment, preferring slightly acidic soil. The worst trouble is caused by wind damage, followed by sun scorch, or over watering. I grow my specimens in pots, surrounded by walls in an east facing courtyard, protected from the prevailing wind. For many years they have thrived in purchased compost mixed with pea gravel and bone meal. Most are much too big for re-potting so I top dress every few years with homemade compost and well rotted horse manure. I keep pruning to an absolute minimum, since the plants seem to know what they are doing. Stick to removing dead twigs and crossing branches at an early stage. Any cutting should be done when they are dormant from November to April and you should not slice into old wood.

Acer palmatum dissectum atropurpureum (purple cut-leaved Japanese maple)

Despite the words of caution, I have found my mini jungle denizens to be remarkably forgiving of terrible indignities foisted upon them. I made a pity purchase of an Acer aconitifolium with a broken leader. I pulled a side shoot to a vertical position and strapped it upright against a bamboo cane with bonsai wire, leaving it corseted in place for twelve months. The tree is now as tall and straight as my husband but unlike him, delicate. An older treasure, A. osakazuki had stuffed its taproot out of the drainage hole and was swimming with water. In passing, I mentioned the matter to Attila the Gardener and went to make tea to cogitate at leisure. Upon returning to the garden fifteen minutes later, I found that he had taken his trusty Black and Decker and drilled out the obstruction with extreme prejudice. The plant has taken several years to recover from such tough love and I feel a great deal of sisterly sympathy for the victim of a man on a mission, wishing to be helpful. He’s offered to fix a few of my personal problems with power tools up to and including dentistry and I have always declined. I wonder why.

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Happiness is Hard Wood

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late season cuttings

Best time of year for it; nights are drawing in, nothing on the TV and the charms of crochet seem over-rated. My mother used to tell me that those who asked won’t get and those who don’t ask didn’t want. Despite this early introduction to the unfairness of the world, I have persevered with requesting plants for free and occasionally have been successful. From now until late winter is a good time to take hardwood cuttings, just after the leaves have fallen and before new buds burst open, so get your ass out into the garden with your secateurs clutched to your chest.

Vitis vinifera ‘Purpurea’ (ornamental vine)

This technique works for lots of deciduous shrubs including Buddleia (butterfly bush), Cornus (dogwood) Philadelphus (mock orange), Rosa, and Viburnum (not the stinky one that the beetles like, who wants more of that?) Climbers to try; Clematis, Vitis (grape vine) and Lonicera (honeysuckle). Fruits include gooseberries, fig and any of the currants. Take healthy stems from current year’s growth, making a straight cut at the bottom below a bud and a slanted incision at the top to differentiate, since upside down specimens will never, ever make roots. Put your bits of stick into separate bags with a label, to prevent later loss of temper.

Sambucus nigra ‘Black Lace’ (elderberry)

Dig a slit trench in a quiet part of the garden, free of child traffic and far from where Tibbles, Fido or Killer goes to commune with nature. Pet poop from meat eaters can harbour disease, is unpleasant whenever it is encountered and sticks to anything it touches, as I can attest. The days of rabbit wrangling and hamster husbandry are behind me but I pay good money for well seasoned horse muck, which is still too much for rooting purposes. Put sand or grit in the bottom of the trench and stir it about in a desultory manner unless like me, your garden is basically inland beach. Trim each cutting to about 8 inches (20 cm), taking off any soft growth at the tip. Place them in the soil, two thirds underground, straight cut downwards, around 4 inches (10 cm) apart. Label the buggers now or you won’t know what your garden will be full of in ten years’ time; optimism is a big part of being green fingered.

Phytolacca americana (pokeweed)

Snuggle the earth around the stems, water well and settle in for a long linger; you will have a year before you may expect confirmation of success or failure and whichever awaits, you will have to keep a casual eye on progress to fend off drought, weeds or Rover’s keen attention. This time next year dig up your twigs with care, to avoid damaging the mass of roots. If the plant is still fragile, small and spreedy, then pot it up for further nurturing until it’s ready for the hurly burly of flower beds or borders. If it looks like a strapping specimen, get it in the ground before you relax your vigilance and you forget about it. This is a method which requires no specialist equipment and little arcane knowledge, just some patience and the chutzpah to give it a go. Take a chance and you might get lucky.

Bulbs for Beginners.

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Spring bulbs

The shops are full of packets of temptation. Before you spend your heirs’ patrimony on spring bulbs, beware of the pitfalls, to make sure that your children are starving for a good reason. Manufacturers fiddle with the photographs to suggest the most unlikely colours and although the cultivation instructions will be fairly accurate, they will not tell you if your prize may be liable to rot, scrot, mange and heat prostration. Tulips should wait until November for planting and apart from the miniatures, may not return after flowering unless you dig them up, ripen them in a dry shed and replant next autumn. You’re kidding, right? Daffodils and crocus are stalwarts; you have to be fairly inept to discourage them from a recurring performance. Get them in the ground now, so that the roots establish as soon as possible. Some of the more unusual stuff is striking and tough. Try Erythronium (dog’s tooth violet), Eranthis (winter aconite) or Camassia (quamash), for something to make spectators stare. Most bulbs prefer dry soil and sunshine but there is always an exception, for example Fritillaria meleagris (snakeshead fritillary) which grows wild in water meadows.

Helianthus ‘Lemon Queen’ (perennial sunflower)

Buy cheap in bulk, to give a decent show. Stick to a colour scheme, so that the one tulip that survives will not clash with next year’s plantings. If they all turn up repeatedly, you are fortunate and will have a silk petalled symphony. At the front of the display put clumps of more expensive, showy types. Please do not throw bulbs on the ground and plant them where they fall, as Gardener’s World suggests, or your spring garden will appear thin, mean and rash infested. I prefer to dig an amoeba shape, to a depth of 6 inches (15 cm) or at least twice the height of the bulb. Stir some bone meal into the bottom of the hole and plant the whole packet of bulbs therein, three inches apart, less for small bulbs. Put them in the right way up; the pointy end should usually face skywards. My way, you will get a clump of colour that looks as if it has been there for years. Congested clusters can be split into lumps and spread about in the future.

Helleborus foetidus ‘Wester Flisk’ (stinking hellebore)

If you want to plant in the lawn, I say good luck to you. If you use one of those metal tubes on a stick to dig a plug, you will end up with unusable hands, a contorted spine, a craving for cups of tea and a spotty lawn. I suggest peeling back the turf and planting in groups, as before. Since the leaves must be left to bulk up the bulbs for next year, you will thank me for saving you from mowing around individual plants. Or you can close cut the whole lot and forget the damned fool idea.

Acer aconitifolium (sycamore sp. autumn colours)

The biggest lily that you can buy is summer’s Cardiocrinum giganteum. Before you are overcome with lust, greed and the desire to outdo your neighbours, you should remember that most good things must be paid for. This case requires blood, sweat and tears. The giant Himalayan lily is not hardy and will not tolerate too much heat. It will take seven years or more to flower from seed and after blooming the bulb dies. The plant does produce offsets and seeds, which will take at least another seven years to bring to bud. On the plus side, you can buy the bulbs online at huge expense, to cut down the wait to five years. The blossom is white, fragrant and seven feet high and will stop the postman in his tracks. A large, dribbling, incontinent dog with sharp white teeth would have the same effect and will be much less bother.

Glutton for Grasses

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bamboo, grasses

The flowering plants are beginning to die back and the deciduous trees are colouring up ready for leaf fall, prior to pissing off for months to come. The autumn breezes are searching for playmates. Perhaps you might consider giving them something to work with, studding, not larding your garden with ornamental bamboo and fancy grasses. A little research is a good idea. Some bamboos spread by underground rhizomes and may become difficult to control. Plant these by all means, if you have boundless energy for pruning, a huge garden or hate your neighbours. Otherwise choose clump forming species, including Bambusa, Chusquea, Fargesia, Himalayacalamus, Schizostachyum and Shibataea. Sorry about the litany of Latin but I am not about to dredge the internet for common names for that lot. If you want to ask for lacy fanny weed or whatever down at the garden centre, off you go; you can deal with the consequences. The RHS website is a mine of information: https://www.rhs.org.uk/advice/profile?PID=79

Phyllostachys (bamboo)

I brought the merest smear of root of Phyllostachys with me when I moved here. I show the picture as evidence of what can be achieved in a dry, almost sunless patch of unloved earth in twelve years. The rustle of the leaves is clearly audible in the bedroom, fifteen feet above ground level. Each spring I am slightly anxious that we will see new growth punching through the floor of the lounge but I am so enamoured of the shimmying canes and whispering leaves that I am resolved to deal with it when and if it happens. There is no plan B. This year I planted a pot full of Arundo donax (giant cane) in the same area. This can grow as high as twenty to thirty feet, with hollow stems an inch in diameter. It should give the bamboo pause for thought and if the two of them loft my home into the air, well, I always wanted a tree house.

Anemanthele lessoniana (pheasant’s tail grass)

Botanical Barbara gave me a wonderful clump of Anemanthele lessoniana (pheasant’s tail grass), which shows the importance of choosing best quality friends. Delicate tuffets of the murmuring stems have spread gently around the whole garden and add some cohesion to my erratic, greedy, plant addict style. When the fountain spew of stalks becomes excessive, it’s a simple matter of grabbing the surfeit and giving it a good yank. Make space for Miscanthus, with streaked leaves, or purple plumes. Perennial grasses come bedecked with columns, spumes and spires of subtly coloured fuzz. Annual varieties boast clouds, sprays and even rabbits’ tails (Lagurus ovatus). Hakonechloa macra (Japanese forest grass) forms a low, striped swaying partner to the big yellow daisies in a sunny bed and doesn’t spread by seed or root, even if I want it to. Sod’s law strikes again. Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’ (black lily turf) bears flowers, then berries, so it isn’t truly a grass. It looks like one and a striking beauty at that, so I’m putting it in the list.

Hakonechloa macra (Japanese forest grass)

I had become accustomed to the fact that my Cortaderia (pampas grass) was never going to flower. I talked myself into the view that the cascade of plain green was the perfect foil for an obelisk full of Humulus lupulus ‘Aureus’ (golden hop). Now the tufts of fluff are forming above my head, leaving me to hope that they are white; I tend to the view that the pink and blue varieties look as if they were sent ‘round in the washing machine at too high a temperature, with somebody’s coloured winter drawers. Apparently if you have this plant in your front garden, it indicates that you are a swinger. Let me make this absolutely clear; mine is in the back.