Long, long ago the garden here at Barn House was a productive orchard. The house itself started as a humble apple barn, built in 1780, the telltale steps leading to the second storey loading platform still remain today.

Over the following hundred years a few workers cottages were tagged on in a row, the fruit they grew supplied a local cider maker.

Barn House 2014

The sole remaining door with the storm porch is now our front door but you can still see where the other doors would have been from outlines in the stonework. Over the last century quite a lot has changed in the garden. In 2011 we terraced the once rocky slope in front of the house to create a bold, contemporary but naturalistic garden that we hoped would suit the warmly wooded setting of the surrounding countryside.

First propagated in the mid-19th century, Bramley’s Seedling enjoyed great success and won many awards. (*please see footnote below)

A dozen well-spaced fruit trees remain to remind us of times past. Apart from four stand alone Bramleys, probably dating back to this variety’s heyday of the 1940s, most of the apple and pear trees are either unproductive or less than palatable. Nevertheless, they deserve to be cherished. If nothing else, they reward the bees with a show of blossom in spring, and, in the autumn, flocks of ground feeding birds feast on the windfalls leaving neatly scooped out apple skin shells in their wake.

Most of the smaller trees in the little orchard in the back garden are standards with a traditional, upright vase shape. As are three of the four enormous but useful Bramley’s : two serve to screen out the unsightly service poles that have marched through the garden since the 1950s; and, one acts as a climbing frame for a rampant rambling rose. For many reasons, the fourth is rather special.

One unexpected bonus of felling the big blue cedar is an unobstructed view of the dome of the apple tree across the garden, especially at this time of year while the grasses are low. The giant Malteser-like sphere marks the spot where the conifer stood, fortuitously this turned out to be right in the line-of-sight from the kitchen breakfast table window.

This umbrella shaped specimen, is by far the loveliest of all the fruit trees in the garden. Standing beside the seating area in the dogs’ paddock and casting shade or shadows on the lawn, we have enjoyed so many happy times in its proximity.

Spared from wind and rain, this year’s show of cerise pink buds opening into rock striped blooms is nigh on perfect. With sighs we sat there yesterday, in awe of the tree’s renewed health and vigour. You see, when we moved here in 2006 the branches were so bald and barren that we feared the worst. Nor could we tell what sort of apple tree we thought we might lose.

When we remodelled the garden in 2011 the appleless tree’s graceful framework spared it from the axe plus we liked the sense of history that such an old tree, even in decline, can lend to a garden.

We also adored the shaggy patchwork of moss and lichen covering the network of elderly limbs.

Remarkably, the tree has served as more than a just Jungle Gym for the cats. In early winter 2014, when the water mains situated nearby sprang a massive leak the mysterious decline of the tree was explained. A metre length section of ancient pipe that ran under the stone wall was a careless way to connect the blue plastic, modern pipes between the mains and house. It must have been seeping for a very long time. What was dug up was as rusty, perforated, and so, as fit for purpose as a brandy snap. To our amazement the dear old tree, which must have been drowning by degrees, recovered in just one season. Last year’s first show of blossom was such a joyous sight.

Then came the lazy days of late autumn when the garden visitors had gone, there was such a prolific quantity of fruit that Hitesh spared a few ‘edible balls’ to play a game of fetch with Poppy. Two months before she’d lost her right eye to a very nasty secondary cancer, but like the tree, delighted us by quickly regaining her zest for life.

By the huge, flat bottomed fruit whose sunny side ripens to a rosy red and clings on right through until the end of November, the tree revealed itself to be the cook’s, cider maker’s and blackbird’s favourite : a tough skinned, tart fleshed, Bramley’s Seedling.

So many times have I leant wonderingly against a favourite padded bough thinking about all we owe to the skilful hands of long ago and thanking them for shaping this dear old tree with such knowledge, love and care.

* Footnote :

Nancy Harrison, proud owner of the historic tree in Southwell, Nottingham (July 2016).

The saga of the mother of all Bramley’s Seedling apples, which was planted more than two hundred years ago, and this historic tree’s subsequent pomological adventures is quite fascinating.

Between 1809 and 1815 Miss Mary Anne Brailsford planted a very special apple pip in her Southwell garden ….

If you’d like to know why the Bramley apple tree should really be called ‘Miss Brailsford’s Seedling’ you can read about it here.

Spending most weekdays commuting to London doesn’t leave Hitesh much time to help in the garden these days. Luckily, there’s a merry band of helpers I call on when the going gets tough. Before we went away on holiday just one look at the To-do list was enough to leave me feeling exhausted so I lined up two half days of help in the run up to Christmas.

The wispy remains of deschampsia in the meadow February 2016

The first job was to clear the little meadow. The planting is a matrix of two native grasses, Molinia caerulea subsp. arundicea which collapses into an easy to scoop up heap in the second or third week of December, and Deschamspia cespitosa which can be left to stand through the winter. Last year I left the deschampsia to see how it fared. Let’s just say I didn’t sigh too much when I came to cut it down.

So, this winter the whole area has been cleared in one fell swoop using hedge cutters and strimmers. If all goes to plan the deschamspia will form neat green and tufty mounds by the time the snowdrops are out.

I’ve lined the horseshoe shaped access path with old cut off terracotta pots filled with compost, then sprinkled Papaver somniferum seeds mixed with fine horticultural grit over the top. There should be a scarlet ribbon of poppies floating above the silvery deschampsia, the first wave of grasses to flower in the meadow, in time for our NGS day on Sunday June 25th 2017.

The second task was phase one of regravelling the drive. It took four tonnes to do the turning and parking area at the bottom of the drive. Don’t worry, the pink dust will wash off over the next couple of weeks.

The third item on the list was to tackle ‘the dumpy blue pine’ which we inherited with the garden in 2006. I often look at the Pinus sylvestris ‘Chantry Blue’ and think that it looks like an enormous bowling ball, one that gets bigger and bigger as the years go by. Although it’s not my favourite tree in the garden there’s lots to be said for keeping it : the blue colour of the needles is rather attractive; the bulky form acts as both a sheltering nurse for Hitesh’s precious Acer griseum to one side and a foil for Stipa gigantea to the other; and, the dense canopy is popular with nesting birds.

After a lot of head scratching, which is inevitable when you’re crawling around in a tight space being showered by prickly pine needles, I decided which branches of the lower skirt might be pruned without completely ruining the shape of the tree. From a distance the tree looks the same, however, the scaly legs of the tree have been exposed. At close quarters it looks a bit odd but the plants at the edge of the dripline now have breathing space, at least for a year or two.

Between these last minute blitzes, there’s been good news to spur us on and something nice to read over our tea breaks : two lovely pieces about the garden have been published this month. The first, Carole Drake’s article ‘Winter Glow’ is featured in the January 2017 edition of Country Homes and Interiors magazine. (Apologies for the time it takes for the page to load.) The second, ‘Some grassy inspiration from Barn House Garden’ is a blogpost by local designer Lisa Cox and appears on her garden design website The Room Outside.

What a wonderful end to a busy gardening year. This week I can kick off my wellies and finally turn my thoughts towards Christmas.

Here’s to the holidays!

Over the last week or so I’ve been dismantling thirty odd patio pots at the south end of the house. Partly, to clear the decks for the painters who need access to the windows and, partly, in preparation for loading the containers into the greenhouse for the winter. As it marks the end of the season for this bit of the garden, it’s not a job I relish, especially when it still looks good. However, little did I know : this year I was in for a pleasant surprise.

On Thursday, with all the cutting back done well ahead of time, I took a deep breath and armed myself with the optimistic floor plan with which to brief the two strapping young men who were going to haul the pots of tender and borderline hardy exotics into the greenhouse.

This is not a job for the faint-hearted, the pot sizes for the Arundo donax and Muhlengergia dumosa are 75 litres apiece and the remainder average 50. Totally unfazed, they cheerfully got on with it leaving me to sweep up the bamboo leaf litter in front of the 8’x10′ greenhouse. Hidden under a cloak of summer greenery, it forms quite a deep layer around the pots of gingers and cautelyas.

As I reached for the broom I spotted a rash of startlingly blue mushrooms at the base of the bamboo stand to the right.

I just had to take a closer look ….

Newly emerged from the mixture of leaves and bark mulch, the rounded young caps looked distinctly slimy. Older caps are first scaly, then less smooth with traces of a white veil showing at the edges. Although the caps loose the lustrous appearance as they age they are still an interesting sea-green colour.

I couldn’t resist picking a couple for closer inspection. The details of the reverse sides are quite delicate and equally beautiful.

Turning the cap over the milky coffee-coloured gills are distinctly notched where they meet the stalk. The stalks are pretty too, with streaks of a more cobalt blue against a shiny white background. In the older mushrooms, faint traces of brown spores collect in a ring towards the base of the stalk, below that the surface is covered in scaly down and flecked with soil.

Wondering what they could be, I googled ‘blue mushrooms’ and came across a very helpful website, First Nature. Identifying mushrooms or toadstools can be a minefield  but as there are only a few blue mushrooms in the UK it wasn’t quite as hard as I expected. Of these, the ones in my garden are recognisable as either Stropharia caerulea Kreisel or Stropharia aeruginosa, although they look very similar, especially in colour, a good guide can help pinpoint the subtle differences between the two. It comes down to each species showing differences between the rim/gill and gill/stalk edges. These turned out to match the Blue Roundhead rather than the Verdigris Roundhead mushroom.

Like the vast majority of mushrooms, these are respectively noted as being inedible and, possibly, poisonous. They’re for ‘looking not cooking’.

As it seemed a shame to waste the ones I’d picked, I decided to see if I could catch a spore print. It’s not hard to do and is fun try : select a fresh, fully opened mushroom; place downturned caps on a sheet of stiff white paper; pop a glass/bowl over the top of them to stop the spores drifting in air currents; and, then leave undisturbed for at least a few hours, if not overnight for the print to develop. Damp conditions keep the caps moist and help with the release of the microscopic spores. I left mine outside under a heavy Pyrex pudding basin, but a damp swab of cotton wool works well too.

The following morning I rushed out to see if It had worked. Attempting to lift the first cap as carefully as I could by hand smudged the print, the second I skewered with pointed tweezers. I was amazed at the number of spores that had been released. Apparently, they can be fixed as a keepsake. Now, where’s the hairspray?

Cercis canadensis ‘Forest Pansy’ – heart shaped leaves glow like embers in the autumn sunshine.

‘How did you get to be on television then?’ asked a recent visitor as they gazed at some bindweed flowering in the miscanthus hedge. That’s a very good question. Without going into the subplot of how I have shamelessly waylaid any poor unsuspecting professional (or good garden blogger😉) who happened to be passing, in my quest to pick their brains about how I can improve upon my work, the answer is ‘Thanks to the NGS’. Horticultural journalists like Mandy Bradshaw with a critical eye for plants, design and the niggling details found us in The Yellow Book in 2013  – their flurry of articles sent us on our way.

© Western Daily Press. This was the hedge back in 2013, in July of this year Mandy noted how the rudbeckia is diminishing

Cotswold based, she recently ventured across The Severn Bridge and braved the narrow lanes, this time to visit Jackie Healy at nearby Greenfields. Since we last met Mandy has set up a great website, The Chatty Gardener.

I love this image of Jackie’s nasturtium hedge! © Mandy Bradshaw.

She has kindly posted two pieces, the second ‘Gardens on the edge 2#‘ is about how my grassy garden has developed over the years.

Bindweed drives me bonkers …..

The title made me laugh, perhaps she means ‘of reason’ too?

Sandwiched between the grasses terrace and the house is a sunny patio edged by Lavenders Munstead and Hidcote.

From left to right, clockwise, the cast of characterful ladies in lavender includes geraniums, with a cameo appearance by Clematis Petit Faucon.

‘Vision Light Pink’ and ‘Blue Sunrise’ win as many adoring glances from their fans as …

these two marvellous grand dames of the theatre.

Sunshine is the cue for a mesmerising array of extras to flit upon the lavender stage.

Today, being our twenty fifth wedding anniversary and so deserving of a special treat, we have booked front row seats from which to watch the high summer show.

Having planned for rather mixed weather today, I’m delighted to say not only is the sun is shining but the rain is likely to hold off at least until late afternoon. Finally, I have a few spare moments to sit down and write a brief post.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Thanks to the amazing plants we grow our Wye Valley garden is looking great this morning, there’s just enough of a gentle breeze to stir the grasses and keep us cool.

There are lots of lovely plants for sale, most of which have been donated by our dear friend and horticultural mentor Roger Grounds. We’re delighted that Roger will be here today to help greet our guests.

Roger has also generously donated a wonderful selection of books. Proceeds from both  plants and books will be given to the National Garden Scheme which supports a raft of deserving charities such as Marie Curie hospice care and Macmillan Nurses.

And, of course, the afternoon would be not be complete without a range of refreshments, delicious homemade cakes are floating in through the kitchen doors as I type. Paws crossed, there will be lots of friendly faces to help make the day a success.

Like all new NGS garden owners, Jackie and Fintan Healy, who live just down the lane, have been working extra hard to ensure that : the garden is up to scratch, easy to find, there’s ample parking and, most importantly, visitors can be assured of a very warm welcome come rain or come shine.

Phyllostachys aureosulcata f. aureolcaulis sharing its confined quarters with self-seeding Geranium oxonianum ‘Walter’s Gift’ and rhizomatous Euphorbia griffithii ‘Fireglow’.

Wild wood anemones creep into the garden from the hedgerows, most have between five and seven petals which are flushed pink on the reverse.

The occasional one has between eight and ten petals.

Curiously shaped shoe-like, hairy seed pods follow sulphur yellow flowers.

Update : A day or two after posting this I discovered these are not seed pods but unfurling new leaves.