For Your Eyes Only

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Poisonous plants

Most plants will make you feel unwell if consumed, rather than just admired. How else do you account for the popularity of salads? Lettuce contains a soporific but in such small measures that you need to be rabbit sized to feel the sleepy effects. Tomato, aubergine and potato are members of the Solanum family, which includes Atropa belladonna or deadly nightshade. Conium maculatum (hemlock) is a dangerous denizen of the carrot clan which can paralyse the lungs until you pass in your chips, rumoured to be the dose of choice of infamous killer Dr. Crippen and which saw off Socrates, long before. A little research is necessary before browsing on anything other than known flowers, fruit or vegetables growing in the garden. I have Hygrocybe conica (blackening wax cap, witch’s hat) toadstools emerging from my lawn. They are said to taste revolting as well as being possibly toxic, so I’m not going to try them in soup anytime soon. The same goes for any fungus arriving in the kitchen without a grocer’s wrapper.

Brugmansia (angel’s trumpet)

Most people know that Aconitum (monkshood, wolfsbane) is poisonous to consume and some say, even to touch. Ah, but the blossom is heart stoppingly beautiful. Symptoms after ingestion include nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea and numbness of face and limbs, pain and palpitations. Difficult to say which you would rather expire from. Berries of Arum maculatum (cuckoo pint) look appetising but cause swelling, throbbing and breathing problems. Euphorbias (spurge) have irritant sap designed to deter the munchies in all but the hungriest of diners. Humans may experience photosensitivity after exposure. Heracleum mantegazzianum (hogweed) has the same effect, not to mention the attractive extensive contact blisters and enduring scars.

Aconitum napellus (monkshood)

Some of the plants with sinister reputations have proven to be quite helpful. Phytolacca americana (pokeweed) berries will make you die but were used by native Americans to make deep red dye. In ancient Greece, the physician Hippocrates wrote about the medicinal properties of willow bark in the fifth century BC. Nowadays we use it in the manufacture of Aspirin. Digitalis (foxglove) will make you wish for death if ingested but parts are used for the treatment of heart conditions. Hyoscamus niger (henbane) is another member of the Solanacae which was used in medieval times as a remedy for toothache, because the seed heads resemble the shape of a jaw bone. It is, of course, lethal. Bane means a source of harm or ruin, not an association with a good time. Makes you wonder how many patients gave up the ghost in search of a cure.

Phytolacca americana (pokeweed)

Nobody likes Urtica dioica (stinging nettle) and the painful, persistent itchy rash inflicted is caused by localised toxins injected into the skin of the unwary. You don’t know you’ve lived until you try an alfresco bathroom break in a stand of the beastly things. On the same wild moor land, Pteridium aquilinum (bracken) is a fern of short term toxicity which is carcinogenic in the long run, if you make it that far without kicking the bucket. Just reading about this is making me want to scratch. If you are hungry for more, try realgardeners.co.uk/poisonousplants for an exhaustive list. Products of Theobroma cacao (cocoa tree) are safe to eat, given a little restraint. I believe that for humans, 20 lbs (10 kilos) could be a fatal amount. Enjoy your chocolate this weekend and have a happy Halloween.

Infernal Desire

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Ferns

Without much fuss, plants are going about their business, spreading themselves about the garden. True, some announce their intentions loudly with spires of blossom, followed by seed heads that rattle like a couple of old gardeners over a fence. Others eschew flowers as being too nouveau riche, too bling, too new kids on the block. Ferns have been beavering away at world domination for 340 million years. They spread by windblown spores which settle in a moist place and grow into a tiny gametophyte. These release male swimmers which reach the female parts of another, which thus fertilised, forms a new plant. This alternation of generations may be the reason that they haven’t taken over the planet, apart from the plots of those of you who have a kink for tree ferns.

Woodwardia fimbriata (giant chain fern)

I’ve been growing Athyrium (lady fern) varieties for a long time. Like most sophisticated women, they are elegant and well behaved, as long as you give them what they want. They are patient with my dry soil, provided that they are shaded. The lack of moisture means that I have no rush of infants requiring homes or brutal eviction. They are polite and civil to their neighbours, thereby encouraging me to make enquiries about their relatives. Friends, this is the thin edge of the wedge. Now I’m feeling greedy.

North facing fern border

When Cineraria was small, I taught her to say Polystichum setiferum divisilobum densum. Latin is good for children, it makes them grateful for English. This is the soft shield fern with fabulous filigreed fronds and a spectacular name which gives the spellchecker pause for thought. Asplenium scolopendrium is the hart’s tongue which grows wild in north facing walls. When dug out and given a little care, it forms a basket of fresh green beauty. Blechnum (hard fern) Dryopteris (male fern) and Asplenium (spleenwort) are all English natives, to which the plant breeders have added some glitter. I find them irresistible and have to admit that the difficult, desiccated border in the lee of a tall wall is becoming a dedicated fernery. Splotches of brightly leaved Heuchera (coral flower) and Arum italicum marmoratum (Italian arum) are making it less of an exercise for anoraks.

Polystichum setiferum “Divisilobum Densum” (soft shield fern)

I wanted more. I tried to flirt with a Woodwardia (chain fern) at the flower show. The other gardeners were flocking around like vultures on a dead cow. Without dinner or so much as a box of chocolates, I was helpless in its grasp. I beat off the other suitors and carried it away to a comfortable bed. This one needs damp soil but I’m prepared to make an effort for such a pretty toy. I don’t regard myself as insatiable but within hours I was on the internet, demanding additional thrills. I can report considerable satisfaction from Shady Plants mail order nursery, who boast an exciting catalogue. They dispatched lovely specimens from Ireland at a reasonable price, with an unexpected freebie for a modest order. Now I have ferns in the garden, conservatory, bathroom and hall. They ooze over the edge of pots, charm in the border and effervesce from high containers. Talk among yourselves, here’s some pocket money for a movie, I’m having a moment.

Whimsy In Abundance

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Autumn harvest

A few blackberry seasons ago, I used to buy Egremont Russet apples from the grocer by my school. Since then, no other fruit has reached that peak of juicy, nutty crispness. An empty patch appeared in the edible garden and when Attila asked what I wanted to grow, I had only one answer. He dredged the internet with his finding foo switched on and his dowsing antennae erect and fully functioning, finally locating a decent sapling at a fair price. I sent it into the soil with fish, blood and bone, homemade compost and a lot of hope. I’ve staked the trunk against wind rock, watered it in dry spells, weeded the immediate neighbourhood like I meant it and this year, picked three beautiful fruit.

Cynara cardunculus var. scolymus (globe artichoke, seed heads)

They say you should never try to re-visit a memory and that crossing the same river twice is an exercise in soggy trousers. I sank my teeth into the perfumed bronze skin and was sent back decades, to a blue gingham dress and short socks. The apple tasted as wonderful as I recalled, perhaps better for my own effort. Buoyed by my success, I went back out for other harvests. The courgettes were a complete failure this year, probably because I moved the hot box and the green waste within dissolved into mush at an alarming rate. The plant was left without proper sustenance and became swamped by nasturtiums. Poot, I don’t like zucchini, anyway. Rhubarb and redcurrants have been plentiful. The raspberries have been prolific as always, making my husband’s rigorous muesli edible, if not interesting.

Sorbus aucuparia (rowan in bonsai)

Seeds are setting everywhere, some well worth saving for special attention. Dierama pulcherrimum (angel’s fishing rod) seedlings look like grass and are prone to being hoicked out with no mercy. I stripped the stems and spread the produce in a tray full of compost for winter’s cold treatment. Eryngium giganteum (Miss Willmott’s ghost) needs similar stratifying but I’ve found that it germinates much better if sprinkled over a sunny border. This seems to suit them, rather than being fussed over in a cold frame which has never yielded a result for me. Euphorbia mellifera (honey spurge) is scattering love children without conscience, with infants turning up in the oddest places. None of the species are easy in arrangements, since they bleed irritant sap. Pretty E. amygdaloides rubra looks wonderful in a vase if the stems are scalded but the blooms go over quickly and the capsules explode, to land on the hearth with a pitter-pat. If you sit quietly reading a book, amid the silence they sound like tiny footsteps. Not good, if you are of a nervous disposition.

Arum maculatum (lords & ladies, cuckoopint)

Birch trees sprout where they will, to be torn from their chosen bed, chopped in half, wired and the roots stuffed into bijou accommodation for bonsai. I’ve had some joy with Sorbus (rowan), since the leaves shrink down quickly, giving me a miniature specimen with good proportions. I’ve taken to scrounging around town, looking for cultivars with different coloured berries. I’ve tried to explain to my resident computer whizz, that there is a difference between orange, crimson and ruby. My excuses for grubbing around municipal car parks, rending the air with shrill cries of triumph bearing scarlet prizes aloft, are falling on stony ground.

Toys For The Boys

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Autumn clearing

Attila went to the shop for vegetables and yoghurt. He returned with all of the above, together with a piece of kit. His face alight with enthusiasm, he displayed a combined leaf blower and vacuum in a fairly small box. The equipment required an hour of web surfing for instructions and shed raiding for tools of assembly. When the job was done, the contraption looked terrifying. I think that you could fit a small car down the business end of the tube and the electric cable would stretch to the far end of the street. It came with a neck strap and wheels to bear the weight whilst in operation. I can’t imagine how all of that packed into a relatively modest container. I can safely say that it won’t go back in again.

Osteospermum (Cape daisy)

I prefer a broom and dustpan for green waste collection but Techy Boy wouldn’t be gainsaid. He stalked around the lawn with a fearsome expression, Sasquatch with a sucker, loaded for bear. He had to make do with a few stray apple leaves, slurping the grass into a spiky punk hairdo. I was happy that he was content for the moment but fear what such a speed merchant would do with his plaything, come Dahlia de-bedding. I’ll have to keep a close watch, to ensure that my precious tender tubers don’t get evicted from the ground, to disappear down the machine’s gaping maw with a “llssufp” sound.

Autumn foliage around the pond

I hit the front borders with loppers, secateurs and scissors, to begin the autumn tidy. The Corylus avellana “Contorta” (twisted hazel) was sending out two fat suckers growing from the root stock which had to be removed, or the plant would put all of its energy into these, rather than the twirly grafted scion. I thrust myself into the thicket, intent on pruning. I could hear my husband’s progress behind the garage, with his new apparatus going at full belt. “Eeeeeeee”. I plunged into the heart of Physocarpus opulifolius ‘Diabolo’ (ninebark) to excise some reverted stems, to prevent the glorious burgundy foliage from being overtaken and back sliding to plain green. He busied himself and his tackle, cleaning vegetation from the drains. “Meeeaaah”.

Cotinus coggygria (smoke bush)

I like to commune with the natural world while I’m working outdoors. The sweet, crisp scent of the air, the calling of the birds, industrious in the undergrowth. The otherwise silence of the weekday morning, while children are at school and less fortunate souls are sweating over paid employment. I chopped down the spent brown stalks of the lilies and the tattered stems of Achillea millefolium “Gigantea” (giant yarrow). The heavy spiked seed heads of Acanthus (bear’s breeches) were ousted and sent to the council to recycle, since I don’t want them germinating in my poorly cooked compost. I pulled out great handfuls of grass and weeds, dropping them on the path and scattering soil in my wake. I turned around to clear the mess and he was standing behind me, with his gardening gear clutched proudly to his chest. All of the debris was gone. Aaah.

Spider Season

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Autumn

It’s that time of year when eight legged under gardeners spread their hawsers across important access paths. They carefully string their webs at nose height; if you walk into a cable, you place your face in danger from the wire like filament and risk an irritated occupant at close quarters, full of spleen. I squelched antipathy towards arachnids long ago, when I started gardening professionally. I used to stroke the largest examples when they appeared in the bath, to demonstrate their harmless nature to my children. Now the first nibble of autumn air brings a fascination with the plump patterned bodies lurking without motion, parcelling up a wasp or draining the catch dry. That is until I crash through one of their guy ropes at speed and get draped in spider silk and half eaten breakfast.

Dahlia posy

Flies still invade the house, if the back door is left open. They dive bomb computer nerds intent on electronic destruction, upsetting concentration. They seem immune to the blandishments of the Nepenthes (pitcher plant) in the kitchen and are indifferent to insecticide. Attila lost a game of noisy carnage due to the importuning of a particularly fat bluebottle. He got so excited, I could hear his pulse rattle from outside. He says that he wants a can of propane and a box of matches to make his own mobile flame thrower, wishing to watch the uninvited guest crash and burn. Well, that will be his karma kippered. I have learned to keep my big mouth shut when shearing a hedge above head height. Since becoming mostly vegetarian, I am even less inclined to consume anything with legs. I delight in watching my spouse career about in full-on arm flapping exterminator mode with the eerie quiet calm of a monk on morphine.

Cyclamen hederifolium (ivy leaved cyclamen)

In late September I get the sense that the garden is winding its neck in. Foliage is beginning to crisp at the edges preparatory to pulling on fall glory, which is when profound poetry sets in. Cyclamen are sparkling in the borders and although the Dahlias are still going strong, the first frost which spells their long sleep, is not far away. I find myself making familiar calculations as to how long I can leave tender scented leaf Pelargoniums (geraniums) to bask, before dragging them undercover and making the conservatory a crowded place.

Vitis purpurea (purple leaved grape vine)

The weeds remain a constant presence but I feel that their heart is no longer in the job. I’m still digging out the dock, ground elder and nettles, whilst acknowledging through gritted teeth that they will probably be back next year. Their corpses, stripped of seeds and such roots as I can reach, go onto the refuse heap, since compost is the groundswell of the whole performance. I crawl around the soil, grubbing out spurge seedlings and leaving the earth raked, neat, soft and smooth. The cat follows along behind, flinging herself at the bed like a teenaged bride. I shall ignore her presents and leave them as gifts for the worms.