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~ A garden set in the Wye Valley

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Category Archives: Ornamental grasses

‘Lamprothyrsus hieronymi!’ A Grassy Magic Spell for NGS Day

19 Monday Jun 2017

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 14 Comments

One of the most graceful and glamorous of the early summer flowering ornamental grasses in my garden is Lamprothyrsus hieronymi. Apparently, the genus name comes from the Greek “lampros” and ‘thyrsos’ meaning ‘splendid ornamental wand’ and, as far as I know, this grass is rare in having no other common name.

NGS poster 2017

Who knows, with a wand in hand, we might enjoy a dry, sunny but not too hot NGS day this year. So, this plant profile is by way of a bit of grassy wand-waving.

Close of lamprothyrus hieronymi inflorescence

The nodding, feathery flower spikes are made up of a mass of light reflecting filaments that are silky to the touch. From June to July they are produced in such generous quantities that the whole plant seems to sparkle across the garden. Held atop slender 4′ long wand-like stems that flex in the breeze, the 12″ long spikelets shimmer in a most beguiling way.

Lamprothyrsus Hieronymus, Phlomis fructosa, and cotinus

With a weeping habit this grass in full flower has the 8′ wingspan of an albatros. Even so, it doesn’t swamp the shrubby neighbours enveloping the grass or the pot in which it’s grown. To the left is a usefully lax form of Phlomis fructicosa I got from Waterperry Gardens, and, to the right an elderly burgundy coloured cotinus inherited with the garden.

Lamprothyrsus hieronymi

By August, with seed spent, the grass assumes a less showy silhouette. The 2′ by 3′ tightly compact mound of evergreen foliage droops to conceal the 50 litre terracotta planter. The glossy leaves are about 3′ long, narrow and coloured a bright, fresh green. Unlike some evergreen grasses, the surface and edges of these leaves are smooth. Over winter a few naturally die back but come spring these require little more than a quick tug to tidy them up along with the wispy spent flowering stems. Sadly, so far, there are no signs of any self-seeded babies😔.

Like many grasses, this South American beauty prefers well-drained soil and to be grown in a reasonably sunny, open site. Despite its exotic looks, this grass has proved fully hardy to -10 C, even when grown in a pot which usually makes a plant more susceptible by -5 degrees. In my garden this grass grows well in a west facing spot. As this area is overshadowed by tall trees it benefits from only 4 hours of direct afternoon sunlight.

Catalogue description of this grass (CFG, Bob Brown).

Bob Brown scores this grass a whopping 9/10.

Given the extraordinary beauty of this grass I am surprised it’s so seldom seen in cultivation, really it should rank alongside other early summer flowering beauties like Stipa gigantea or Chionochloa conspicua. Nor, does there seem to be much written about it – even on the internet, references and images are frustratingly few and far between. In the Cotswold Garden Flowers catalogue shown above, Bob Brown notes that Lamprothyrsus is a “dwarf pampas grass”. Maybe this attribution stems from the labelling of Enrico Banfi’s images as Cortaderia hieronymi? Gazing at the details of this grass, the botanical allusion escapes little old me. Whatever the case, my inspiration for squeezing this very light, airy and beautiful grass into a porous pot came from reading Noel Kingsbury’s post Salta Province – Argentina’s California? (December 2012). There’s even a fab photo of it growing in the wild, tumbling en masse down a steep sided slope. Noel recommends Lamprothyrsus hieronymi to be a “really good grass”, and, I agree. I think it’s well worth tracking one down via the RHS Plant Finder.  Living in South Gloucestershire, my closest supplier stocking this choice grass in 2017 is Nick Macer of Pan Global Plants : 

Elegant pampas grass relative from South America, only 1metre tall and hugely more refined ….

Growing improbably large, erstwhile “refined” plants for an improbable number of years in outsized pots is one of my passions. If quizzed by horrified horticulturalist about how I get away with such mistreatment, I admit that while this can be a challenge it’s one that I’ve long enjoyed. Depending on the plant in question, ongoing maintenance can be an issue, especially in the summer months. I think that these challenges can be addressed by the addition of a few lucky charms at the preparation stage.

Lamprothyrsus hieronymii in its full glory on midsummer's day 2016

Over the last several years, this museum quality specimen was repotted – but only  twice – just frequently enough to get a good sized root ball going. Once established it was repotted for a third time into its ‘forever home’. For mature grasses in general, I use a 3 to 1 mix of weed-free, sterile loam, plus a generous helping of fine horticultural grit and a couple of trowels of slow release feed. Finally, the plant is treated to a top-dressing of grit.

Hydroleca pebbles

Tip : hydroleca should be pre- soaked to hydrate the pebbles before use. 😉

Rather than use gloopy hydrating gel, which I think sours soil/compost forever, I fill the bottom third of planters with magical clay pebbles as an additional drainage layer above an inch of crocks. The hydroponic properties of products like Hydroleca are incredibly useful for any plant indefinitely confined to pot life because the malteser-like balls act as a reservoir for both moisture and nutrients. (This lightweight product is much better value if ordered in 75 litre sacks, and, as it can be washed for reuse, it’s a good investment too.)

Lamprothyrsus

If picked at this freshly opened stage, grasses make fine dried flowers too.

With Sunday’s weather in mind, perhaps I should wander off flourishing this splendid grassy wand while intoning “Lamprothyrsus hieronymi!” with the same gusto as “Abracadabra!'”? I shall let you know whether or not the spell worked next week 😉.

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Wordless Wednesday : Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Red Head’

21 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 27 Comments

Pennisetum red head

Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Red Head’ (to our right of Lily the cat) started flowering in early September.

Pennisetum red head

Not only is it floriferous and long-lived, it’s fully hardy even when grown in a pot.

Pennisetum alopecuroides 'Red Head'

Richly coloured before the large panicles fully open.

Pennisetum redhead

Fully open 7″ long panicles are designed to trap moisture be it dew, mist, rain or frost.

The secret is said to be in its three sets of bristles …

Pennisetum red head
At the base of the developing, still green seeds a mass of dark, whiskery bristles.

Pennisetum red head
In cross-section a star shaped structure is apparent.

Pennisetum 'Red Head'
A fibre tip pen points towards sparkling stigmas and golden anthers

Pennisetum red head

Against a dark background, a fuzz of white down can be seen coating the intricate central stem structures too.

Pennisetum red head

Conjuring moisture from thin air is a pretty neat trick!

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Wordless Wednesday : Stipa gigantea Going for Gold

03 Wednesday Aug 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 16 Comments

Stipa gigantea Stipa gigantea

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Wordless Wednesday : Hanging by a Thread

08 Wednesday Jun 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 23 Comments

Stipa gigantea June

From a distance Stipa gigantea looks like a golden fountain.

Stipa gigantea flower

Masses of airy flowers suspended on fine filaments glint in the light.

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Springtime Sport in the Meadow

08 Sunday May 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Molinia caerulea subsp.'Claerwen', Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea, Molinia caerulea subsp.caerulea 'Camarthan', Molinia caerulea subsp.caerulea 'Variegata'

Last week I set out to inspect the little stylised meadow for weeds, I was curious to see if anything more interesting than creeping buttercups had popped up. Among the swathes of fresh grassy growth I secretly hoped I to find opium poppy seedlings in the gritty mulch. Their blood-red blooms were beautiful last summer.

Meadow may 2016

The meadow, emerald green in early May 2016

At this time of year it’s the fresh new growth of the semi-evergreen Deschampsia cespitosa that catches the eye, at least, from a distance. In my search for tiny poppy seedlings I was peering at the mulch of horticultural grit around the forty or so molinias which otherwise go unnoticed at this time of year. All except one of them looked the usual dull and uniformly mid-green.

Variegated Molinia April 2016

Much to my surprise this one contained a rash of stripy leaves.

Molinia variegation spring 2016
Molinia variegation spring 2016

Looking at the rogue more closely, the leaves in question range from a simple white striped vein to a sporty profusion worthy of a George Melly suit.

Molinia rootball lifted from meadow

I dug up the four year old plant in order to divide the variegated and plain green portions. The rootball was a good size.

Molinia roots may 2016

Separating the plant revealed the shaggy mass of tough, wiry roots.

This was the best I could do at this time of year, it’s getting a bit late to divide cool season grasses, especially those with a cespitose or tightly bunched, clump forming habit.

Molinia crown showing abscission layer

Molinia crown showing new shoots and the nubs of last year’s flowering stems, severed at the characteristic abscission* layer.

As there’s more growth to come I shall continue pinching out the plain green shoots as they appear. Next year early spring will be the time to divide the plant again using the little electric saw. I imagine it takes many years, not to mention probable losses, to produce a predominantly variegated plant in this fashion. Still, it will be fun to give it a go.

Variegtaed division in large pot

Potted up into a snug fitting 15 litre pot for now.

As with so many of my little grassy adventures one thing leads to another. In rummaging through online sources and reference books I’ve discovered lots of things I didn’t know about cream-green variegated dwarf molinias. According to Seedaholic there are four variegated clonal cultivars, one of which is widely available and well known, Molinia caerulea subspecies caerulea ‘Variegata’ (AGM). Less commonly seen cultivars are ‘Camarthan’ and ‘Claerwen’. Presumably, they originated in Wales. Beth Chatto and Marchants nurseries both list at least one of them in addition to ‘Variegata’. Marchants lists both of the rarer ones and describes ‘Claerwen’ as being the “choicest” form. Roger Grounds compares it to ‘Variegata’ as being “similar but more subtly coloured and distinct in its narrow, almost black panicles” (RHS Grasses : Choosing and Using these Ornamental Plants in the Garden, Quadrille 2006). It sounds wonderful!

Molinia caerulea 'Variegata'

CCPlants image : Molinia caerulea subspecies caerulea ‘Variegata’ AGM (dwarf) which is more readily available.

Prior to my discovery in the meadow, I’d have glanced at the image above without thinking too much about it. Now that my interest in the patterns of variegation in molinias has been piqued it’s a different story. In the lower right hand section there’s one green leaf as well as two green flowering stems – the rest of the flowering stems are cream coloured.

Dandelion seed head

The first battalions of yellow creeping buttercups and dandelion clocks are timely reminders that next week I really must get back to the more serious business of weeding the meadow. If I get a bit of free time next week I’ll pop back and do the links to websites.

*It seems the serrated looking abscission layers explain why the flowering stems of these grasses tend to topple in December. According to Bob Brown’s notes in his Cotswold Garden Flowers website the dwarf cultivar ‘Dark Defender’ doesn’t develop this layer and so stands throughout the winter.

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Evergreen grasses : to cut or not to cut?

08 Friday Apr 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 27 Comments

Tags

Anemanthele lessoniana, Chionochloa 'Rubra', grooming evergreen grasses, stipa gigantea

Unlike their deciduous cousins, which once established can be cut right down to the ground in late winter/early spring, evergreen grasses grow throughout the seasons so they won’t thank you for treating them in the same way. Here are three of the several evergreens I grow, each is groomed in different ways according to the instructiions on their care labels. Given the right conditions none are hard to grow, I’ve rated the annual effort it takes to keep them looking good.

Chionochloa rubra : easy

C.rubra March 2016 Around millstone

Chionochloa rubra is the lowest maintenance grass I grow, since planting it in 2011 I haven’t laid a finger on it. Chilly weather enhances the foxy-red tints in its foliage. Thatchy strands blend in, as do spent flowering stems.

Flowering in July 2015

Last year this group flowered rather inconspicuously for the first time alongside the opium poppies and red valerian. Noticeably, in mid-summer, tussocks look greener than in winter.

Weaker division

Unlike many grasses Chionochloa rubra doesn’t divide happily, let alone romp away. Five years ago a 0.5 litre division struggled to establish, this is what it looks like today. At a third of the size of the ones bought as larger plants from Pan Global Plants a year later, this is slow progress.

Foliage C.rubra 2016

Admittedly, conditions are much more favourable down in the sheltered yard, the plants growing in gravel in an open sunny spot are much stronger as a result. Even so, I’d hesitate to risk one of these tightly bunched mature specimens. So far, seed hasn’t germinated. All of which suggests that sourcing good-sized plants from a specialist nursery is a sound investment.

Stipa gigantea : medium

New growth Stipa gigantea late winter 2016

These days I’d say Stipa gigantea is a close second to being ultra-low maintenance. Since finding them a sunny, sheltered, and spacious spot in well-drained soil they’ve thrived on very little attention from me. Having sulked in four other positions in this as well as my last garden, I’d almost given up on them. Since 2012 the original three at the front of the border did so well that I added a further five in 2013.

Dogs racing past backlit Stipa summer 2015

Orientating them to catch the sun pays off, tall airy flowered grasses look amazing backlit, here by the mellow evening sun in high summer.

Iris and Stipa early June 2015

Much earlier in the year, planted a metre apart on centre allows room for clumps of Iris sibirica ‘Tropic Nights’ to be squeezed in between them, both flower early in May so any tidying of the stipa has to be done sooner rather than later in the spring. There’s not much to do, the flowering spikes fall by December here, which only leaves snipping out the woody stubs of last year’s stems in early April. If they’re looking thatchy I might lightly rake them through either using a spring tine rake or by running my hands through from the base of the plant. Stipa leaves are leathery, for me gloves are a must. Showa gloves are great for gently grooming grasses by hand, designed to be slightly tacky loose leaves stick to them. Three of these plants are now in their twelfth year, remarkably they’re still looking good, I’d expect them to be getting a little bald and nobbly in the centre. I haven’t tried it, but I’m told mature clumps divide well.

Ground grown Stipa seedlings April 2016
Second year seedlings April 2016
Stipa seedlings April 2016
Second year seedling April 2016

To my utter delight and amazement, the once miserable plants self-seed profusely now. The above images of seedlings lifted from the gravel path were either potted-up or planted in a nursery bed last spring. Seedlings take two years to grow a good root system, only then do they make sturdy plants for spacing in the border. Until then they’re top-heavy and, although stipa doesn’t like to be overcrowded, they work well from a young age with early summer flowering bulbs like alliums. Stipa gigantea comes in a range of sizes, from the shortest ‘Pixie’ to the tallest ‘Gold Fontaene’, last year Neil Lucas introduced ‘Goldilocks’ which is of medium height.

Anemanthele lessoniana : harder

Anemanthele March 2026
Row of Anemanthele March 2016

Perhaps it’s the third of the evergreens that’s trickiest to grow well. The regime can seem complicated, especially where greater numbers of plants are involved. Anemanthele is a stunning subject for mass planting but as a short-lived New Zealand native the key is a steady supply of new plants. Fifty of them are planted a metre apart formimg a low hedge beside the drive which then curves back in a loop around the Acer griseum. Planted in three waves, they don’t need replacing all in one go. This grass doesn’t flower fully until its third year, after which a steady supply of seedlings are available to keep the structured planting going.

Anemanthele flowering summer 2015
Summer
Late winter
April 2016
Early spring

It took me a while to work out that young plants thrive best on relative neglect while older plants can be treated more ruthlessly. Part of my winter reading was Lawrie Metcalf’s The Cultivation of New Zealand Native Grasses. I was whooping in agreement when I read his authoritative cultivation notes : anemanthele should never be cut right back to ground level. The veteran group above planted around the acer are due for retirement next year – April 2016 was their last haircut. I reduced them by 30%.

A plant cut back in March

In our exposed garden overwintering foliage tips are first tinted, then dried by frosts as well as by desiccating winds, cutting them back too soon risks the new foliage too. Prolonged cold and wet spring weather can also put off them off. This year the younger and more vigorous row beside the more sheltered cedar path were cut back by 50%. For a while the blunted ends may look unsightly but as long as the tightly bunched foliage is green and lush the plants should recover.

Weak plants in April

Once the centre of the plant looks this thatchy it’s time to replace them with seedlings coming into their third year. I don’t mind the extra bit of work because between the third and fifth year the impact of the continuous mass of flowers is sublimely beautiful.

Anemanthele with day lily stems August 2015

Spent day lily stems in a mass of anemanthele inflorescence

The longevity of grasses versus their seeding or growth habits fascinates me, I can see that some are much lower maintenance for being truly perennial than others. For me short-lived, free-flowering, self-seeding grasses are useful, even if their habits have to be controlled. In 1998 Metcalf warned that in optimum conditions NZ landscapers should be aware of anemanthele’s propensity to become a self-seeding nuisance, the gossamer sprays of infloresences are loaded with fine seed held on arching wiry stems intent on being tracked by hoof or boot rather than being windborne. In a garden setting this   makes it easier to deal with unwanted seedlings.

Lifting first year Anemanthele seedlings March 2016
Crates of Anemanthele seedlings March 2016

To curtail wayward seedlings I deadhead anemanthele, preferably on a damp day before the seed sets. I also site them where either the mower or passing cars will check their spread. Come spring I hunt out the remaining seedlings, they’re usually huddled close to the parents, then pot them up.

Combing a weaker Anemanthele March 2016
Brian Skeys tip – dog comb
Combed grass March 2016
It works.

Based on my experience, anemanthele does well for at least five years, more perhaps depending on the conditions in which it’s grown. Above is the runt of the driveside plants, ticking over in a very inhospitable spot this one deserves a little extra TLC, hence time with a wide-toothed dog comb. Anemanthele is a likeable chameleon, in a dry sunny spot the orange tints are sharpest, in damp shade foliage is more olive-green. In either extreme flowering seems to be restricted. Come summer I move first-year seedlings into a shady spot in the nursery area, second-year seedlings are grown on in a shadier nursery bed.

C.rubra yard

Imagine hundreds drifting down a sunny slope ….

Brian Skeys also grows grasses, among them beautiful Chionochloa rubra. Thanks to a top-tip from him I’ve recently discovered an inspirational planting of this easy-going grass in Devon. Googling Chinonchloa rubra along with The Garden House will transport you to designer Sophie Dixon’s oh so tempting images of what can be achieved planting this grass en masse. Alas, I don’t have an extensive sheltered, sunny slope for such an ambitious planting here, a late summer sortee to Buckland Monachorum will have to do. Meanwhile, I shall enjoy the small group of zero maintainance grasses planted in the sun trap of the yard.

 

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Bringing In the Sheaves

24 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Calamagrostis xacutiflora 'Karl Foerster' and 'Overdam', Deschampsia cespitosa, Maintenance of ornamental grasses, Miscanthus sinensis 'Malepartus' and 'Starlight', Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea, Seslaria autumnalis

A couple of week’s ago we were glued to the telly, eyes agog, watching the nation’s favourite gardener wading about knee deep in a mass of grassy leaf litter.

Monty Don grass border

Bless you Monty, for reminding me of “jobs you can be getting on with this weekend”.

Grasses are very low maintenance plants yet what needs doing, needs doing in good time. Monty was right to remind me to pick up the pace. Faced with three mass plantings containing hundreds of grasses one solution is to bring in a couple of helpers armed with power tools and to stock up on chocolate biscuits. Each year we get a few steps closer to getting the job done as quickly, neatly, and efficiently as possible.

The meadow : Deschampsia cespitosa and Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea

Meadow March

Meadow : deschampsia mid-March

The little meadow has just had its first birthday. As expected Deschampsia cespitosa* is looking a little more urchin-like than it did last year. There’s no sign of the molinia, as the only truly deciduous native grass we grow in UK gardens it collapses in a heap in the run-up to Christmas, then likes a long lie-in until soil temperatures rise. Knowing this, there were two plans. Plan A was to treat it to a severe haircut once we’d cleared the spent molinia. Plan B was to leave the remains of the deschampsia to see how it stood over the winter months. Curiousity got the better of me, through the later part of the winter I watched how the remains of the light and airy deschampsia fared as weekly storms swept through the garden.

Ollie strimming meadow

Strimming the meadow mid-February

In mid-February they looked like a pile of Pick-Up Sticks, so as soon as we had a break in the weather, out came the strimmer. Deschampsia is a native semi-evergreen grass, it was already in active growth. A 5″ cut was as low as seemed sensible. The stubborn thatch held at the base of the plant ducked below the strimmer blades.

Deschampsia rough grass February 2016

Frosted deschampsia planted in rough grass February 2016

In comparison, a test patch of deschampsia planted in turf under the walnut trees looked emerald green in February. These were strimmed to ground level back in late November along with the rough grass. As a result they have recovered well and are now showing as much neater, tufty mounds.

Pot in the remains of the remain mid Fenduary

The meadow just before it was cut in February : Molinia is the straw coloured one, front right

All things considered, I think it best to stick to Plan A : to strim them sooner rather than later. Weeding may be easier too, goodness knows what’s lurking beneath the thatchy mats. Although a combination of tall forms of molinia underplanted with airy deschampsia works brilliantly throughout the spring, summer and autumn, being blitzed by the winter Breacon Blasts proves too much for airy stems.

For total staying power through to early spring I depend on fail-safe cultivars of Calamagrostis and Miscanthus sinensis, they look so good in their late winter finery that I sigh when the time comes to cut them down.

The terrace : Calamagrostis xacutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’ and ‘Overdam’

Cutting back Calamagrostis February 2016

Cutting Calamagrostis in mid-Febrary it showed green growth

Three weeks ago it was the terrace’s turn. After a bit of deliberation, two extra pairs of hands armed with snippers helped me cut back the banks of calamagrostis. Even though the job was done by hand it only took until coffee time. The hedge cutter’s heavy duty blades chewed up the fine dried flowering stalks and spat them everywhere. Investing in a set of handy, lightweight rechargeable electric clippers would be a good idea, they’d work better on the fine, brittle stems. I’m told a saw-edged grass hook does a good job too.

Calamagrostis regrowth mid March

Lily checking the re growth mid-March

Now that the grassy screen is gone Lily is missing her games of hide-and-seek with the voles.

Phlomis seed head and bleached grass

I’m missing the combination of Phlomis fruiticosa seed heads against the feather reed grass.

The miscanthus hedges : Miscanthus sinensis ‘Malepartus’ and ‘Starlight’

Fluffy Miscanthus seedhead
Miscanthus and rudbeckia
Miscanthus and hydrangea paniculata
Miscanthus seedhead

Luckily for me, Miscanthus is a warm season sleepyhead, slumbering until light levels and soil temperatures rise. All the better for me, I can leave cutting it back for even longer.

image

Background tall hedge of Miscanthus ‘Malepartus’, foreground dwarf hedge M.’Starlight’

When the day came to cut the miscanthus down I was out bright and early to tie up two hundred-odd stands of tall stems of Miscanthus ‘Malepartus’ into tepees. On such a beautiful morning I knew I was in for a final treat. The hazy sunlight filtering through the trees set the fluffy plumes alight like a row of flaming torches.

Cutting the hedge
Rows of stubble
Miscanthus crown after pruning

Heavy duty hedge cutters are the perfect solution for cutting tall stands of stout-caned grasses. In a couple of hours the miscanthus hedge was cleared and cut into mulch sized lengths (the sheaves were laid across the log saw horse). The results were a neat buzz cut, very little debris to clear from the crowns, plus two builder’s bags full of straw.

There’s a 19 second video (January 2015) which shows how the McBrides at Sussex Prairies clear their vast mass plantings which were designed to be razed by fire. (I hope the link will play.)This method is explained by Pauline in her post ‘A Burning Question’. The motto of their garden which is set in several acres of former farmland is “Daring to Disturb the Universe”. The big question for me is, dare I disturb the neighbours? 😉

*Deschampsia cespitosa is a prolific self-seeder, it’s a beautiful, short-lived grass. In time I  may replace it with divisions of Seslaria autumnalis that I’m growing-on in nursery beds. At this time of year the two semi-evergreen grasses look very similar and can be strimmed in the same way. In the first meadow image there is one Seslaria on the left hand corner.

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Chionochloa : A Case of Mistaken Identity

12 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

Chionochloa 'Rubra', Chionochloa conspicua, evergreen grasses, Lawrie Metcalf

New Zealand Snow Tussock grasses are among the most beautiful evergreen grasses, especially in winter. Yet these grasses are rarely seen for sale in the UK and it seems that growing them from seed can be a bit of a lottery.

“I see again the upland wilds, stern, rugged, bleak and bare;
The strong winds sweep o’er hill sides steep
And the tussocks toss in the icy air,
Silver and gold in the changing light,
Gold and silver far-up on height
Of the mountain wild and bare.”

David McKee Wright (1869-1928) was an Irish-born journalist, on his arrival in New Zealand he worked on two farming stations in South Island’s Otago region. This extract from his nostalgic poem The Open Country recalls the magestic sight of vast, wild colonies of these grasses. Clearly, he was badly smitten.

Wild colony of c. rubra

Chionochloa rubra : Ricke Darke The Encyclopedia of Grasses for Livable Landscapes (Timber Press, 2007)

Just gazing at jaw-dropping images such as the one above, I fell for their charms.

Chionochloa rubra in gravel

Chionochloa rubra ‘red’ leaved form March 2016 (bought as 2 litre plants from Pan Global Plants, 2011)

My much more modest version, a group of five down in the yard, have yet to reach square-metre maturity. I wrote about them last year in a post Easy Evergreen Grasses. At that time I grew two snow tussock grasses, one red and one green leaved form.

Chionochloa conspicua in large pots

Chionochloa (green leaved form) March 2016

These magnificent two-metre tall specimens were a generous gift from a friend, they’d been grown from NZ seed supplied as Chionochloa flavicans. Even in late winter their flowers are stunning.

Chioncochloa flowers late winter
Chionochloa conspicua infloresences March
Close up of the same
Close up of the same

Throughout the course of 2015 it became apparent that they may in fact be an entirely different species of chionochloa, the alternative green leaved species being flavescens or conspicua. Perhaps there was a clue in the specific epithet itself?

Chionochloa conspicua, Metcalf

Chionochloa conspicua subsp.conspicua, Metcalf (1998)

Conspicua possesses the most conspicuously showy flowers. In February, a seriously grassy minded friend lent me an excellent handbook, Lawrie Metcalf’s The Cultivation of Native New Zealand Grasses (Godwit, 1998). As well as containing good quality plates of mature specimens, it’s packed full of useful information about lots of NZ grasses many of which are widely known in the UK. It’s a shame that the second edition of 2008 is unavailable in the UK.

Metcalf's image chioncochloa flavescans
C.flavescens, Metcalf (1998)
Metcalf's image of Chioncohloa flavicans
C.flavicans, Metcalf (1998)

These are the other two green leaved forms. At a glance they look less similar to the ones gracing my patio steps, and, the closer you look, the greater the differences between them.

Allan Cunningham (1791-1839) botanist and plant hunter

Allan Cunningham (1791-1839) Botanist and plant hunter

Metcalf’s botanically detailed observations plus line drawings have been very helpful, he describes two subspecies of conspicua, one of which is named ‘cunninghamii’.

Hairy leaf sheath

The nitty gritty : hairy ligules?

Metcalf states that Chionochloa conspicua subsp.conspicua is distinguished from C.c.subsp.cunninghamii “by the basal leaf-sheaths being rather flattened and silky-hairy, while those of the latter are more rounded and smooth.”. This was exciting news to me.

Chionochloa c.cunninghamii
Chionochloa conspicua cunninghamii, Pinetum Park (Winter Garden) December 2015

Chionochloa conspicua cunninghamii label, as above

Especially as I bumped into a lovely one bearing a proper (if broken) label in a bona fide planstwoman’s garden back in December. I wrote a post about my visit to this garden, Pinetum Park and Pine Lodge Gardens here. What I thought, pre Metcalf and the all important hairy ligules, was that the flowers looked different from those I had at home. The panicles were more upright and the flowering spikelet airier … the leaves looked broader too.

Metcalf's book
2008 edition
Metcalf's book
Metcalf : Tawapou Coastal Natives Nusery, 2015
Male Companions badge
New Zealand Queen’s Service Order badge of honour

All of this might seem a bit dry and dusty, but it raises some important questions for an amateur collector like me. Who’s say-so or what information can I trust? I assume trusting Metcalf is a safe bet, he is pre-eminent in the world of hebes in particular and an authority on New Zealand flora in general. His outstanding contribution to horticulture is internationally recognised : he was awarded the prestigious RHS Veitch Gold Medal of Honour in 1991. Then, in 2010, he was appointed as a Companion of the Queen’s Service Order (QSO) for his community service in posts such as Assistant Director of Christchurch Botanic gardens. Ever helpful, Wikipedia has a link for an NZ government page which explains the symbolism of the modern QSO badge : inscribed above the native Manuka flower is the commendation ‘For Service – Mō Nga Mahi Nui’ ; it’s suspended on a ribbon in traditional Maori colours (black, white and red); and, while the stepped pattern refers to the steps of service it’s also happens to be a common Maori motif for the steps to heaven.

Chionochloa conspicua

Rechristened : Chionochloa conspicua (possibly) subsp.conspicua March 2016

I’ve really enjoyed my winter reading odyssey, I’ve come across lots of interesting stuff along the way. Based on Metcalf’s observations, I’m updating last year’s post to Chionchloa conspicua. Armed with a hand lense, sleuthing for botanical clues in my own plants was fun. However, on a fine spring day watching the way the remains of last year’s airy plumes nod in the warm breeze and catch the light remains the greater pleasure.

By way of a postscript : a good range of chioncohloa is available from Jelitto Seeds and Plant World Seeds.

With thanks to Tawapou Coastal Natives for the image of Lawrie Metcalf, here is a link to their post ‘A Visit from Lawrie Metcalf’, 1st September 2015.

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Pennisetum alopecuroides : a late winter friend

06 Saturday Feb 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

Beth Chatto, Christopher LLoyd, Pennisetum alopecuroides 'Black Beauty', Pennisetum alopecuroides viridescens, pennistum alopecuroides 'Red Head'

On the last Friday in January yet another storm tore through the valley leaving us with an extended power cut that made it hard to get on with much indoors. As a result I dipped into a well-indexed kindle edition of Dear Friend and Gardener a personal exchange of letters written over a two-year period between Beth Chatto and Christopher Lloyd that was first published in 1998. For an excellent review of the republished, newly illustrated edition of 2013 written by The Anxious Gardener, please click here.

The flower heads of the grass are almost black, dark, caterpillar like heads, with closely set, green seed cases enclosed in long, almost black hairs which protrude like cats’ whiskers, forming a filmy brush or tail more than 5cm (2″) across.

These are Beth Chatto’s observations of a late flowering grassy beauty, Pennisetum alopecuroides viridescens recorded in a letter to her ‘pen pal’ dated 22nd September 1997. Although the letters were written at the publisher’s behest, they contain a wealth of fascinating information, often about plants.

P.a. Black Beauty flower head

P.a.Black Beauty

Since planting an equally visually stunning cousin Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Black Beauty’, shown above, in my own garden, I have also become smitten with these knee to thigh high grasses. In 2014, I added ‘Hameln’, ‘Dark Desire’ and ‘Red Head’ to my collection, so far they are doing well whether grown in the ground or in a large pot.

P.a.'Red Head'
P.a. ‘Red Head’ late September, pot grown (20 l)
image

‘Red Head’, shown above, is one of the most distinctively coloured forms, typically, it fades as it ages, in this case to maroon. Others range from creamy buff to almost purplish black. I’ve yet to meet either the smallest of the cultivars, ‘Little Bunny’, or, the tallest of all Pennisetum alopecuroides, the straight species plant. This year, in mid autumn, I plan to collect and then sow seed while it’s still fresh, just for the fun of seeing how the seedlings vary. Seedaholic gives excellent advice while Marchant’s Hardy Plants’ garden notes advise marking seedlings as such, for instance, as Pennisietum alopecuroides ex ‘Black Beauty’.

Pennisetum viridescens

P.a.viridescens

The image above is of P.a. viridescens taken at Ouldolf Field last September where it is used to striking effect as repeated accents at the front and corners of borders. The garden is still quite young, perhaps the more characteristic flowing fountain shape is yet to develop. Had I dipped into Dear Friend and Gardener beforehand I’d have looked for the “silhouettes … repeated as shadows” falling on the grassy paths, as they do in autumn in the The Beth Chatto Gardens in Essex. Here it’s planted at the edges of a damp pondside border, mimicking conditions in which it often grows in the wild. In her garden, this pennisetum was also the key plant used to stabilise a reclaimed area of wasteland, combined with white rosebay willowherb and variegated ground elder which suggests a robust nature.

Pennisetum alopecuroides black beauty autumn

P.a. ‘Black Beauty’ October 2015

Visits to Ouldolf Field last autumn sent me scurrying home to scrutinise a close relative, Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Black Beauty’ planted in 2010 at the base of Prunus serrula. Last October saw an especially dazzling show of sharp orange/green leaf colour against the dusky flowers. Since the introduction of ‘Hameln’ many modern cultivars have been developed for improved hardiness and a freer flowering habit. In my garden I grow them in an open sunny spot in moist but well drained soil – builder’s rubble strewn infill augmented with sterile loam, for the first two years they were kept well watered along with the newly planted sapling.

Pennisteum and alliums

P.a.’Black Beauty’ early June 2015

By early June 2015, the mature clumps looked luxuriant, the uniform mid green colour complements the tree and, as they have a neat, compact habit, was a good choice for lining this narrow path. If well spaced, here at a metre apart on centre, clumps work well with Allium ‘Christophii’ and Geranium ‘Rozanne’. Pennisetum alopecuroides is a warm season grass, originating from Eastern Asia and Australia they may remain evergreen in warmer climates (and self seed). In more temperate gardens : they become dormant in winter, can be slow to get going in spring, and, in my garden, are the last to flower. That said, they’ve survived temperatures of -10 in the winters of 2010-12 plus prolonged spells of winter wet. Buying a good sized plant makes sense to me, they settle in more quickly. I have heard some sorry tales about smaller slips that establish poorly in open ground, if at all, which makes me think that growing young seedlings on under cover through winter would be a good idea.

P.a. 'Black Beauty' January
‘Black Beauty’ February 2016
P.a. 'Black beauty' January
Black Beauty February 2016

By late winter, thoughts of how to raise my own plants from seed must be set aside, despite the fluffy appearance of the dried flowerheads the seed is spent. Beth Chatto’s touching phrase “soft brown like sandalwood now” (January of the same year) describes the finale of desaturated colour, shortly followed by a guide to their winter party tricks. She reminded me to brave the weather and early starts while there’s time to catch them in action.

Pennisetum black beauty January
Black Beauty late January 2016
Mist black beauty
Black Beauty late January 2016

Pennisetum alopecuroides is special in having three sets of bristles that excel at snatching hints of moisture from thin air causing the the flowers to plump up. Following either autumn dew or, in this case, overnight winter mist delivered last Sunday morning, the minuscule beads are suspended along the elongated bristles.

P.a.black beauty mist

Close to … all I can ever manage is an ‘Oh me, oh my!’.

Hoar frosted seed head

Black Beauty mid January 2016

Hoar frost etched the second set of inner bristles and bleaching them into a mass of sparkling wands for two days solid in mid January leaving me spellbound.

All-grass borders are generally evidence of a shortage of original thought.

Although Christopher LLoyd, the maestro of Great Dixter Gardens‘ famous succession planting,  didn’t reply specifically to Beth Chatto’s descriptions of her “good grass” he did make a few pithy comments about the uses of grasses in general. This one in particular raised a smile from me. I think we’ve benefitted from their combined wisdom and come a long way since then ….

 

 

 

 

 

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Touches of Frost

23 Saturday Jan 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 35 Comments

Tags

Calamagrostis, Eragrotis, Frost, Hakonechloa, Miscanthus sinensis, seed heads

As a preface to this entry to my garden journal I should say that on Monday I cancelled the ‘pop-up’ NGS day planned to take place on 14th February. Quite simply : the parking field is waterlogged. This is such a shame because despite being tested by wind and rain for two months solid, the grasses are in great shape.

Sky on a frosty morning

Hard on the heels of a disappointing decision two consecutive days of frost and dazzling sunshine created a very welcome change of scene in the garden. Tuesday and Wednesday started with wonderful predawn skies to the south.

January sunrise

Promising first light was followed by flamingo-pink sunrises to the east.

Sunrise grasses terrace in frost

An early morning moment spent watching the low angled winter sun filtering though the Thujas and illuminating the terrace in front of the house is my idea of wintry heaven.

Winter garden catching first rays

Transitory rays of sunlight struck two young birches in the winter garden behind the grasses, all too soon they’d moved on. One lone anemanthele in the row lining the drive was momentarily set ablaze.

Miscanthus hedge frost

At first glance the indefatigable miscanthus hedge looked untouched.

Miscanthus rudbeckia frost

At its knees a hint of frost lingered here long enough to add a lacy fringe to the seedheads.

Rudbeckia frosted
Rudbeckia rainbow in droplet

Among the crystals riming them the melt had begun, the droplets refracted the light daring me to capture them. The fuzzy results reveal a myriad of glistening rainbows.

Dogs paddock January

Sodden turf strewn with long shadows in the deserted dogs’ paddock made me shiver and sigh, beneath a crispy coating the clay will stay saturated like a sponge for weeks to come.

Split echinacea cone

Atop tangled stems, echinacea cones become more curiously ragged by the day revealing secrets of their structure. Does this one look like a miniature prehistoric monster?

Phlomis January frost
Rudbeckia frost crystals
Frosted leaf geranium sanne
Pot meadow frosted

Frosty shows like this have been in pitifully short supply this winter making their brief midweek cameos extra special.

View of frosted planting from back door

For two whole days the view through the north-facing boot room door remained heavily frosted until Thursday morning, reminding me to reach for the hat I hate wearing.

Patio with shadows cast by reflected light

In contrast to the east side of the house, here tall windows bounced light around to cast cunning shadows across the lower terrace. They had me outfoxed for a while – standing square-on and looking across the patio the sun was to my right, not left.

Pennisetum fairy tails frost January

In the back garden I put my winter blinkers on, in its smaller areas some of the planting is patchy. Among the things I enjoyed most this week were the pennisetums, especially the leafy mound of ‘Fairy Tails’ on sentry duty at the entrance to the orchard.

Hakonechloa January sunshine

But, the most memorable sight was the hakonechloa glorying in sunshine beneath the yellow bamboo canes. As with many grasses, slightly damp dried leaves show richer colours, even on a dull day.

NGS SNOWDROPS

In February over a hundred gardens across the country are opening for the NGS to take part in its very first Snowdrop Festival, including several on our muddy doorstep in Gloucestershire. Now we know why so few amateurs open their gardens in late winter, we’ll make the most of those who are brave enough to fling wide their gates in celebration of the heralds of Spring. And, we’ll really appreciate being able to park our car on firm ground.

 

 

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Happy New Year

03 Sunday Jan 2016

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

grasses terrace, Rain drops

With the holidays coming to an end and rain lashing at the windows, we spent a cosy morning listening to The Archers Omnibus while cooking a cauldron of chicken curry. Big questions for the never-ending radio soap opera this new year are : will David Archer loose the dairy herd and what are the Grundys up to now?

View of rainy garden from kitchen

An occasional glance through the rain spattered windows should have been enough for me to feel contentedly occupied with the pile of vegetables I’d been assigned to peel and chop ….

Raindrops on window pane and terrace of grasses

After all, at least at first glance, the wet and woolly garden outside was not an inspiring sight ….

Close of a gang of rain drops

I am not, nor will I ever be a good photographer : that these droplets were in focus at all was a sheer fluke. What I inadvertently captured reminded me of something I’ve come across in blogs this year – to look closer and closer still.

Raindrops reflected inversion of grasses terrace

To my delight, not only is the garden reflected in the lenses of the rain drops but it appears upside down. This is one of the many marvellous things I wouldn’t have thought to look for had I not started blogging this year. In this case, it was an exquisite image in a post  ‘The upside down world in raindrops’ by Frogend Dweller back in November 2015.

Close up of rain drop

So, I’d just like to say thank you to the bloggers I’ve enjoyed following this year, it has been such fun, I’ve learned a lot and seen some astonishing things along the way. Never mind The Archers, I can’t wait to see what you all get up to in 2016.

 

 

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Eragrostis curvula : African weeping love grass

28 Saturday Nov 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Eragrostis curvula, Eragrostis curvula 'Totnes Burgundy', Eragrostis curvula SH10

Five years ago, while the upper terrace was being built, I was sitting at the dining room table poring over the planting plan and dithering about what to use in the planting pockets to soften the expanse of stonework.

Bare stonework February

The wall pockets along the curving terrace wall spaced at two metre intervals (February, when the grasses are cut back)

Looking for a grass that would tolerate an impoverished life in shallow wall pockets introduced me to African weeping love grass.

Wild form of Eragrostis curvula

Clumps of Eragrostis curvula may look rather unprepossessing in the wild, but this grass has a reputation for being a resilient fodder crop and stabiliser of infertile, eroded, often sandy soils. As I was window shopping for a grass with a robust nature all this sounded promising.

Long, arching stems of steely grey flowers in summer, as in the type. The mature leaves are dark wine red from midway. Best in a sunny well drained site or large pot. It always looks best against gravel, wood, stone or silver foliage, not against green or earth. Surprisingly hardy if well drained.

A few years earlier an exciting and beautiful cultivar had been introduced, Eragrostis curvula ‘Totnes Burgundy’. Julian and Sarah Suttons’ excellent if image free 2011-12 catalogue of sought after plants was a great source of inspiration. The description of their then fairly newly released red leaved cultivar ticked a lot of boxes for me. As Desirable Plants in Devon is not open to the public, I had to go elsewhere to check it out for myself.

Knoll. Garden image Eragrotis Totnes Burgundy in a pot

Image : Designing with Grasses (Timber Press, 2011) by Neil Lucas

Knoll Gardens is home to this stunning specimen grown in a terracotta planter. The colour of the pot is a perfect compliment to the elongated gorgeous wine red summer foliage. The proportions of the 3′ tall long tom pot are well matched to the size and shape of the plant, this one is round but square ones work beautifully too. The decision was made : we came home with a crateful and a vision of gorgeous tinted leaves cascading down the pink and grey stonework.

Eragrostis Totnes Burgundy

Eragrostis Totnes Burgundy (July 2015)

In many respects the dozen eragrostis I came home with have excelled : they cope really well with the dry conditions in summer which are then followed by cold wet winters. The grass works with the sandstone and the planting, especially the blue green leaves of Nepeta Six Hills Giant and the mahogany red of Sedum ‘Voodoo’. The mid height mounded shape is also a good contrast to the upright Calamagrostis x acutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’ and ‘Overdam’.

Eragrostis Totnes Burgundy

‘Totnes Burgundy’ in wall pockets on right hand side (August 2014)

However, ‘Totnes Burgundy’ is a clonal cultivar from a fast growing species, the dozen I planted should have developed a more dramatically draping habit than this by now. I’d still describe them as arching but the leaves are about a foot shorter than expected.

Eragrostis Totnes burgundy
Eragrostis Totnes Burgundy

The closer you get the easier it is to see the red tints that develop from the tips as they mature in late summer. When Neil Lucas visited the garden earlier this autumn, when they should have been at their peak, we discussed where I’d gone wrong. He advised removing the flowering stems as they appear, before they set seed. Denuding a grass of flowers might seem an odd thing to do, but when it comes to this particular grass, I think this may be a good idea. It’s often suggested in reference books, but the reason for doing so is not always explained. Apparently, the draping habit relies on a dense basal cluster of leaves, depriving the grass of its flowers encourages more foliage and so an improved habit.

Eragrostis curvula flowers against sky
Eragrostis Totnes Burgundy flowers
Wall pockets Eragrostis curvula

Although the desirable cultivar is often described as having ‘insignificant’ flowers I still find them attractive, I would miss them, even in November when most of the seed is spent. Yet, there might be another reason to remove them : seedlings revert to the species type.

Eragrostis seedling
Eragrostis seedling roots

The stonework and gravel paths landscaping the west-facing sunny bank in front of the house are a microclimate for warm climate self-seeders that would usually require a propagator to germinate. Stipa gigantea, Nasella tenuissima and Eragostis curvula favour the gravel but because it is laid over stout driveway grade membrane, sand and slabs of shelving rock they never come to much. They are easily weeded out. However, as the mortar weathers and moss gathers an opportunity arises for weeds of all sorts to creep in, those with penetrating roots are able to take hold and do some damage. First year seedlings are removed promptly, the strong mat forming root system is quite impressive – they grow on well if potted up. Those that seed back into the pockets are much more vigorous than the parent plants, this is a tricky situation which calls for the referee’s whistle to be blown, only the progeny are not the only ones potted up for time out. This year I have five ‘Totnes Burgundy’ recuperating in the nursery.

Eragrostis curvula above cornerstone drying out after heavy rain

Eragrostis above cornerstone with Nassella tenuissima planted at base

In a few of the pockets the plain green form does a better job than its more colourful parent and I’m inclined to let them stay put. For instance, the group of invaders above the cornerstone are much stronger plants, they make more of a visual impact and I like the way the pendulous flowering stems nod to greet me above the path to the front door.

Eragrostis and nepeta

The linear quality of the stonger flowering stems of the green form looks good as details among the catmint.

Eragrotis SH10 with agave

Pan Global Plants catalogue image Eragrostis curvula SH10

Earlier in the year, Nick Macer of Pan Global was singing the praises of the only other cultivar avaiable in the UK, Eragrostis curvula SH10, on The Great British Garden Revival – the programme is on YouTube, Nick’s slot is 51 minutes in. He uses eragrostis as a striking contrast to the tense architectural form of Agaves and describes a mass of them in full flower as a ‘misty cloud’.

Eragrostis curvula

Species plant on the top of cornerstone, N. tenuissima below (June 2015)

Due to my mismanagement of ‘Totnes Burgundy’ I now have the species type dotted in a line along the wall top, the effect is sparse but I can see how good they’d look en masse. The airy panicles have a light catching pale olive-grey tint and seem to be produced more abundantly than the red leaved cultivar throughout the growing season.

Eragrostis in January
Eragrostis January

Eragrostis curvula is a splendid grass not least for retaining its poise throughout the winter – I think, minus the distracting hoorah of the more colourful perennials, this is when weeping love grass has a well deserved chance to shine. If I want the dreamy tresses of burgundy foliage I may well have to invest in some equally elegant planters and treat it to a little extra TLC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Tall purple moor-grass : Molinia caerulea subsp. arundinacea

07 Saturday Nov 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Molinia 'Bergfreund', Molinia 'Transparent', Molinia 'Windspiel', Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea

If Molinia caerulea subspecies arundinacea seems a mouthful of marbles of a name, the ornamental grasses it belongs to is as lithe and graceful as a catwalk super model. This is the perfect time to see them strut their stuff in the autumn borders.

Stamp Juan Ignacio Molinia

According to the excellent website seedaholic, the genus is named after Juan Ignacio Molina, a 19th century Chilean scientist and naturalist. As a Jesuit priest he was exiled in 1768 and settled in Bologna.

Close up of mo,India flowers

‘Caerulea’ simply means deep blue and describes the colour of the florets. The spikelets are made up of masses of these minute true flowers, hence the common name purple moor-grass. However, in the autumn as seed sets and ripens they turn a rich buttery yellow, soon after stems and foliage follow suit.

Taller forms at about 2 metres or more are named ‘arundinacea’ as in arundo for being reed-like, although many are found in damp and acidic heath or moorlands they happily tolerate all but the driest soils. There are two main types of tall purple moor grass, they either have a pronounced upright or arching habit. Both have distinctive flowers arranged in panicles held high above a metre high mound of mid green foliage.

Molinia ‘Windspiel’

Molinia windspiel paddock

Upright forms in autumn look like amber Roman candles and make good vertical accents. They have densely packed flowering heads of elongated seeds. Of the many fine cultivars the classic is ‘Karl Foerster’ but tallest of all is ‘Skyracer’, the one I grow in large numbers is ‘Windspiel’. These are one of the best grasses for exposed sites or squeezing into tight spaces. A band of them encircles the seating area in the paddock, it acts as a light raised screen behind the low hedge of dwarf Miscanthus ‘Starlight’.

Molinia windspiel

From within the seating area the slim tubular stems create an impression of seclusion without enclosing the space. The lower growing miscanthus conceals the mound of leaves once they start to look a bit bedraggled, this also hides the gaps in the planting once the molinia is cut back in December. Many deciduous grasses have excellent winter presence, alas molinia is not one of them, but the autumn finale is dazzling.

Molinia windspiel

Part of the fun of using them is siting them to allow glimpses of views or planting beyond. A wide range of uniformly coloured light or dark backgrounds help set it off, one of the simplest and most effective contrasts I’ve seen is in a friend’s garden where molinia is planted to be seen against a black shed.

Molinia windspiel

The row in full sun in the nursery are bronzed from top to toe by late October, interplanted with Verbena bonariensis makes for a bold combination at this time of year.

Mo,India Windpseil verbena bonariensis

Before the transformation took place the effect was subtle, we’d had heavy rain that day, ‘Windspiel’ shrugged it off with aplomb.

Molinia windspiel November

Arrow straight, the flower spikes contrast dramatically with the more pendulous ‘Transparent’.

Molinia ‘Transparent’

Molinia spikelet against sky

Arching forms of Molinia have distinctly diaphanous charms, the most popular being ‘Transparent’ for its gauze of fine beads. The see-through quality makes them splendid front of border plants, part of their charm is the way they wheel above their neighbours in the wind.

Molinia transparent

A mature specimen laden with rain is a beautiful sight, in the right site they quickly dry and regain their poise. This one planted at a pinch point on the corner of the Round Bed has an endearing habit of embracing passers by, rather than move it or tie it up, I tend to snip off the front portion of the flowering stems.

Molinia transparent

Grown in full sun above makes for a more upright form compared with the one below.

Molinia Transparent at a pinch point

Grown in the shade of the big blue cedar this is one of two metre square clumps of ‘Transparent’ laden with rain. On days like this the veterans bow across the path and the drive.

Molinia transparent

Remarkably passing cars don’t bother them, they swish back into position just like a curtain.

Persicaria Molina Transparent

Practicalities aside, arching forms make the finest veils of all, without the curving stems the effect wouldn’t be as dreamily romantic.

Molinia Bergfreund

Molinia Bergfreund autumn

‘Bergfreund’ or ‘Mountain Friend’ has the most extreme arching form, I couldn’t resist the charming name. They’d look stunning tumbling down a boulder strewn slope ….

Molinia bergfreund

Mine overhang a retaining wall of modest height. They were planted quite roughly on top of the rubble infill with a token amount of loam, as with all new grasses they were watered when necessary for the first year or two. I’m surprised they’ve done so well, perhaps their substantial roots have found their way through to the underlying sticky clay. Here they’re interplanted with Rudbeckia deamii.

Molinia Bergfreund yellow Crocosmia

In late summer the substantial clumps of mid green foliage make a good foil for an unknown yellow crocosmia, in turn it is hemmed in between the edge of the wall and the stout hummocks of grass.

Seed raised molinia

Molinia seed raised

Molinia self seeds with gay abandon, especially in moist mulch, so raising large numbers from seed is very easy. Seed from ‘Transparent’ and ‘Windspiel’ was thinly sown in shallow trays in the autumn of 2012, grown on in 9cm pots then planted in nursery beds until this spring when they were transplanted to the meadow.

Molinia stems

Despite being raised from seed rather than by division, it’s still possible to spot the family resemblance from the flowering spikes. It will be another year before the arching starts in the beadier form. What is noticeable growing them side by side is that there is a further point of difference : those that are from Windspiel colour earlier, more quickly and more distinctly than those that are from Transparent.

Molina Meadow November

The meadow has been such a lot of fun this year and full of delightful surprises. The one drawback is that the molinia show will be over all too soon, leaving the pale understory of deschampsia to take us through the winter and me eagerly waiting for next year’s encore.

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Autumn musings : Lofty cultivars of Miscanthus sinensis

30 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Ernst Pagels, Gertrude Jekyll, Miscanthus 'Cosmopolitan', Miscanthus 'Gracilliumus', Miscanthus 'Kascade', Miscanthus 'Malepartus', Miscanthus 'Morning Light', Miscanthus 'Silberbeder', Miscanthus 'Zebrinus'

Of late public taste has been turned to the advantageous effect of grasses in landscape gardening. Ferns had the credit of first winning attention from colour to form, and grasses next stepped in to confirm the preference for grace and elegance over gaudy colouring….

So wrote Margaret Plues in her book British Grasses (1867) which just goes to show that ornamental grasses have been around for much longer than might be thought. Leafing through her book, grasses have certainly come a long way since then. Over a century later there’s a wider range available, in fact there’s a mind-boggling choice of garden worthy grasses on offer. Taller forms of Miscanthus sinensis have been grown for generations, but it wasn’t until the middle of the 20th Century that European gardeners could rely on a range bred for flowers as well as foliage.

Foliage cultivars

Jeykll's 'Equicateral Triangle'

‘Equicateral Triangle’

I used to think Gertrude Jekyll was a bit of a colour-fixated, humourless bossyboots until I came across her fun-loving doodles. Particularly this one : liking cats, I warmed to her. What’s always interested me is despite the fact that she had one foot in either century she used grasses with imagination. In her book Colour in the Flower Garden, (1908, page 113), Jekyll describes a couple of her own colour coordinated garden rooms at Munsted Wood in detail, border by border, plant by plant. The Blue garden contained the “great white-striped Japanese grass, Eulalia japonica striata [Miscanthus sinensis Variegatus] planted behind the delphiniums” and in the Green garden “in the angles again are Eulalias, but these are the variety zebrina [Zebrinus or Zebra grass] with the leaves barred across yellow”. Compared to how grasses were otherwise being grown this was quite progressive, at the time large grasses had curiosity value but tended to end up marooned in a lawn as isolated specimen plants or lumped together in a grassery. My impression is that in the UK this tradition lasted until at least the 1980s.

Play 'Bumps' poster

Jekyll employed miscanthus with flair beyond her garden gates, using the elegantly upright form of ‘Gracillimus’ as vertical accents in the Great Plat at Hestercombe, one of many gardens to enjoy her collaboration with the architect and fellow cartoonist Edward Lutyens. It seems they held each other in fond regard and had nicknames for each other, his for her was “Bumps” based on her “mother of all bulbs” figure, used for the title of a play by the same name. She must have had a soft spot for “Lut-Luts” for him to have got away with that.

'Morning Light'
‘Morning Light’
'Cosmopolitan'
‘Cosmopolitan’
'Zebrinus'
‘Zebrinus’

Modern British gardeners seduced by images of free flowering miscanthus may be disappointed to find that only in the most exceptional years will either older or modern variegated cultivars flower. From start to finish, 2014 was one such exception for three outstanding variegated ones shown in the image above, from left to right they are ‘Morning Light’, ‘Cosmopolitan’ (both American introductions from Japanese cultivars) and ‘Zebrinus’ (the antique favourite). All three flowered but I was so unsure I liked the effect that I was tempted to snip them off!

Cultivars bred for flower

Prior to the tireless work of one greatly determined man in the 1950s, there were only a few cultivars that could be counted on to flower in European climates. For some, the most famous of the traditional early flowering cultivars to predate his work ‘Silberfeder’ is still hard to beat.

Ernst Pagels

Ernst Pagels (1913-2007) is the hero of many garden worthy herbaceous perennials but it’s his pioneering work with Miscanthus sinensis that interests me most. His nursery in Leer on the Dutch-German border was ringed in grasses, I’d love to have seen it. He took ‘Gracillimus’ and wooed it not just to flower but to produce ripened seed under glass. Over many years his painstaking efforts with the variable seedlings resulted in numerous cultivars we recognise today, all were selected for hardiness combined with a free flowering habit. Among his lengthy honour roll are ‘Kleine Fontaine’, ‘Flamingo’, ‘Graziella’ … and so on. The RHS Miscanthus Trials bulletin published in 2004 records Pagels’ lifelong commitment, he not only “submitted a great number of cultivars from his own raising and selection, but also gave invaluable notes on their characteristics”.

Miscanthus seedlings

Miscanthus seedlings May 2015

For people like me growing Miscanthus sinensis from seed is not easy but it’s fun to try. The genus has its origins in Asia and requires much higher temperatures and light levels for a far more extended period than is matched by temperate climates. Countless times I’ve read miscanthus doesn’t even make a move until temperatures reach about 26 C. Based on my experience, I think that’s a generalisation, perhaps it depends on the cultivar and where it’s positioned – on the South Wales border we rarely enjoy more than 20 C until mid summer, and then only for short bursts. Even so, the foliage mounds of the taller cultivars I grow are at a good enough height to all but engulf Alium Purple Sensation by June. What I do notice is that in a good year only one early flowering and especially vigorous cultivar, ‘Kascade’ self seeds which suggests to me that a later start inhibits seed setting rather than the plants ability to flower, let alone produce handsome foliage in the meantime.

Miscanthus 'Kascade seedling'

Self sown Miscanthus ‘Kascade’ seedling lifted October 2015

One significant bonus of the relatively shorter growing season is that unlike some cool season grasses native to Europe miscanthus won’t trouble UK gardens with unwanted seedlings. Given the hundreds of ‘Malepartus’ I grow, perhaps that’s just as well 😉.

Conditions 2015 and a spot of bother

This year even though conditions are not quite back to ‘normal’ there’s still a clear division between the flowerers and the non-flowerers. Of the 30 cultivars I grow only those I’d expect to flower are doing so, to be honest, some with a little less gusto than I’d like.

'Malepartus' weaker left to right

From a distance the lower stretch of the west facing 200 foot long ‘Malepartus’ hedge looks fine, you have to examine small sections to see how variable growth has been this year. In the image above those planted to the right in full sun are happy compared to those to the far left planted in the part shade cast by a trio of copiced silver birch 5 metres away (out of view to the left in the lawn).

Weak section of hedge

Close to, this section is shorter, plus the plum coloured plumes that should be silvering by now, are still coloured and so less developed even though the leaves are turning. For mature stands of a robust cultivar like this to stall and go into early dormancy shouldn’t be a problem next year, but it might be a test of hardiness for less vigorous juvenile cultivars in the first year of planting. Furthermore, I’d guess that if a poorer start is followed by a prolonged wet winter then the problems might be compounded, at the very least, it might set them back.

'Kascade' in rough grass (right)

Miscanthus ‘Kascade’ planted in rough grass (right)

As a family Miscanthus sinensis has a wide range of distribution across Asia spanning valley lowlands to high altitudes, snow cover itself isn’t a problem and even acts as an insulator. Drainage requirements are probably key and relative to locale, soil type and seasonal variants. Although happy to grow in heavy clay in all but the boggiest sites, it never hurts to add fine grit or a lighter loam when planting. Larger divisions establish faster than either small ones or equivalent 2 litre purchases. These dozen surplus 15 litre divisions of Kascade’ have survived the first year of being planted to add texture to the rough grass (to the right) but I wouldn’t risk it with anything smaller let alone more precious.

'China' unexpected autumn colour

Miscanthus ‘China’

The relative dip in temperatures is partly responsible for this year’s amazing fanfare of autumn colour, in woody plants. Even if it’s put some of the warm season grasses to sleep, it’s also set their leaves ablaze. Varieties such as ‘China’ and ‘Malepartus’ aren’t renowned for this sort of seasonal display but the potential must be in the genes as there are some like ‘Purpurescens’ that have been selected for exactly this characteristic.

Acer with Miscanthus in foreground

Miscanthus ‘Kascade’

In its native land Japanese Silver Grass has been revered and cultivated for centuries as an important thatching material, fodder crop and ornamental garden plant, so it seemed only right to plant one to complement Acer palmatum overlooking the greenhouse. Interestingly, as elsewhere in the garden, along with dwarves and variegated cultivars, these leaves are still verdant.

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Choosing a dwarf miscanthus

14 Wednesday Oct 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 24 Comments

Tags

'Yakushima Dwarf', Miscanthus 'Adagio', Miscanthus 'Cindy', Miscanthus 'Gnome', Miscanthus 'Kleine Silberspinne', Miscanthus 'Little Kitten, Miscanthus 'Starlight', Miscanthus 'Yaku Jima'

As I love Miscanthus sinensis I’m delighted when people express an interest in growing them in their gardens and the ones that appeal most are dwarf forms. They are diminutive, beautiful and versatile: make great hedges, look fabulous in pots, associate easily in mixed borders of shrubs or perennials alike, and, as great landscaping plants, would create a grassy sea of waves around the base of the pirate ship below.

Pirate ship

There are many cultivars of what are referred to as the ‘Yaku Dwarfs’ avaiable, of which I grow several and there’s no doubt that if it’s infloresences that count, they’re looking at their best right now. The question I’ve promised window shopping garden visitors to consider is : which one to choose?

The ‘Yaku’ dwarves

Dwarf miscanthus in mixed border

Mixed border with dwarf miscanthus, first year of planting

Even if I was Snow White, I’d have a hard time telling these young dwarfs apart. From left to right, between the red persicaria, they are Miscanthus sinensis ‘Adagio’, ‘Cindy’, ‘Starlight’ and, unfortunately named, ‘Gnome’. All are very similar in habit, foliage and flower because they are so intimately related to the non-clonal seed raised strain originating from the Japanese island of Yakushima. Recent cultivars have been selected to flower freely, a marked improvement on traditional cultivars that were “shy” to flower in cooler, greyer climates.

Miscanthus starlight

Miscanthus ‘Starlight’ backed by Molinia Windspeil

In a couple of years the mixed group will look almost identical to the mature ‘Starlight’ planted around the seating area in the Dogs’ Paddock, by the end of September the hedge is smothered in gingery plumes that turn gold as winter sets in. Introduced by Knoll Gardens in 2012, ‘Starlight’ made quite a splash in the horticultural world. On release it was reviewed by owner Neil Lucas in this post . Last year ‘Starlight’ was superceded by the equally stunning lookalike ‘Cindy’.

Miscanthus 'Little Kitten'

Miscanthus ‘Little Kitten’

Neither ‘Starlight’ or ‘Cindy’ are easy to tell apart from ‘Little Kitten’, jostling for space among the hydrangeas on the right and looking more silvered as seed ripens. Both have charming and endearing names which may be as good a reason as any to select them.

Miscanthus 'Adagio' in patio pots

Miscanthus ‘Adagio’

Slightly more distinctive, at least to my eye, is the pair of ‘Adagio’ in large pots on the sunniest part of the patio. As I haven’t got a mature ground grown specimen with which to compare them, I can’t be sure that the more upright stance and narrower foliage is a quirk of being confined like this or not. Although it’s nice that this one has an AGM, this shouldn’t exclude those more recent introductions that don’t – others simply may not have been trialled yet.

Miscanthus 'Yaku Jima' 10 litre

Miscanthus ‘Yaku Jima’ potted on from 2 litres to square 10 litre, October

I can never pass a good one by, recently I spotted these ‘Yaku Jima’ in Homebase and they just had to come home with me, not because of the illustrious name but because their roots were bursting from the bottom of 2 litre pots and promised a head start if planted this autumn.

Miscanthus 'Little Kitten'

Miscanthus ‘Little Kitten’ ailing in square planter

Thanks to modern breeding programmes, all these cultivars will flower freely from late summer onwards above elegant arching mounds of foliage that stand at about the same height. Regardless of descriptions, I’ve yet to meet a mature one that, in leaf, limbos beneath the magic 1 metre bar. Unless, that is, they’re languishing like the one above. What’s ailing a friend’s litter of three year old ‘Little Kitten’ is a mystery, they’ve made little progress since they were purchased in 2012. Bought from the same reputable nursery as mine, at about the same time, and having been well cared for, they should be towering above the container by now. Perhaps life in an albeit large pot on an exposed south facing terrace makes them needier, especially for water and, possibly, for humidity.

Silver median tripped Miscanthus leaves

Miscanthus ‘Starlight’ healthy summer foliage

Grasses curl their leaves and discolour at the leaf tips when stressed by drought, and, if uncorrected will become unseasonally dormant, turning brown until conditions improve to stimulate new growth from the base of the plant. Miscanthus sinensis leaves in active growth should be green with a prominent silver median stripe. Ultimately, pot grown specimens are most vulnerable to stress, and although ground grown grasses are generally highly tolerant once established, it pays to monitor the watering in the first year or two until deep root systems are developed. Autumn planting is an advantage in this respect, while soil temperatures and light levels are high, plants put on growth below ground with the bonus that nature will help water them in. If a grass is not thriving in a pot, I’d try it in well cultivated ground.

Miscanthus sinensis Kleine Silberspinne

Miscanthus ‘Kleine Silberspinne’ taking on autumn leaf colour

If space allows, slightly taller, technically medium height alternatives are often easier to tell apart. The classic ‘Kleine Silberspinne’ is notable for its fine form, spidery foliage and, a crowning glory of rich, red tinted awns. Sussex Prairies has a stunning mass planting of this one, planted as a broad band separating the mixed perennial borders.

Miscanthus Yaku Jima plume

Miscanthus ‘Yaku Jima’ plume unfurling

In the end, choice is often determined simply by what’s on offer. Independent nurseries or good commercial retailers may fill a special order and, as autumn is a great time to buy and plant, specialist nurseries can supply by post. If large numbers are required, try a wholesaler. I think the hallmark of a good dwarf miscanthus, is a free flowering habit, beyond that, this family of dwarf Miscanthus sinensis is graceful and useful, but bear such a strong resemblance to each other that my greatest concern is keeping track of the labels.

Places to compare dwarf miscanthus :

 

RHS Wisley

Kew Gardens

Bressingham Gardens (National Collection for Miscanthus)

Knoll Gardens

For a bit more about planting distances, cultivation and winter interest please see March post Miscanthus Queen of the Grasses

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A Tale of Two Himalayan Fairy Grasses …

01 Thursday Oct 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Chris Chadwell, Crug Farm Plant, Miscanthus nepalensis

Though less often seen in garden centres Miscanthus nepalensis is a treasure to be sought after and cherished. Evocatively named, Himalayan Fairy Grass, this is a far from common ornamental grass and if treated with respect grows well in many UK gardens.

Specimen One

Miscanthus nepalensis in pot

Here in a neighbour’s well tended garden Miscanthus nepalensis looks regal in a 50 litre pot filled with free draining loam based compost. In fact, there are matching pair of them basking in the late afternoon sunlight. Clearly, the sunny sheltered terrace in their rose garden suits this grass, hence the breathtaking display. Erigeron karvinskiansus, with its charming pink-white daisy sets the grass off and gives the owners something pretty to look at while they wait for the grass to flower, here this happens in late summer. The sympathetic combination is also interesting, as potentially both might be seen off by prolonged wet winters and yet they have thrived left outside over winter for four years. Perhaps, life in a capacious pot suits them better than our South Gloucestershire heavy clay that is slow to warm in spring?

Specimen Two

Miscanthus nepalensis in mixed planting

Once upon a time, the plant lost in the melee above was an equally fine example. I should have known better than to move it from where it was happy in a sunny raised bed by the front door. In 2011 as I pored over the structural plan of the front garden, I could see that the beautiful bronze-gilt tassels would overhang the new path. My nepalensis has never been quite the same since. Every year it has been moved : first left to languish in a chilly spot in the orchard, then potted up to recover in the nursery, then potted on to hold its own in the display of summer patio pots and, now, is ground planted again. The biggest problem is the proximity of a neighbouring geranium (permanent resident) combined with the unwanted attentions of a persicaria seedling (whimsical addition to ‘fill space’ in early summer). At best the result is a pretty mixture, at worst this is a sad mistreatment of a good plant by someone who should know better.

What I should know better …

The question of hardiness often crops up with nepalensis, with some experts claiming that there is more than one form of this highly desirable plant, moreover, that some are hardier than others. I have bought good forms of this plant from both Knoll Gardens in Wimborne, and, Pan Global Plants, although regional plant hunter Nick Macer doesn’t currently list it in his online catalogue.

Miscanthus nepalensis Shikola

Crug Farm image : ‘Shikola’

Crug Farm Plants  specialises in rare or unusual plants, the nursery is near Caernafon in North Wales. The RHS accepted named form “Shikola” is listed in the online catalogue sounds rather special for “its compact habit, purple-bronze tinted foliage combined with pink flushed inflorescences”. The owners Bleddyn and Sue Wynn-Jones collected it in West Bengal in 1994 and although slow to establish eventually it’s made a handsome clump. ‘Shikola’ is supplied as a 5 litre plant with the thrillingly vicarious addition of a collection number, BSWJ2302.

Inflorescence red tints when fresh

Red-bronze tints of fresh flower in evening sunshine next door

The range of nepalensis in the wild is almost as romantic as the beautiful red then copper flushed drooping inflorescences that waft in the slightest breeze. As you’d expect it is found in Nepal and also across Western China, Bhutan, India, and Myanmar. This is true plant hunter’s territory. Alpine growers may be familiar with Chris Chadwell who runs expeditions to this region, connoisseurs subscribe to receive seed gathered by the expert himself (his seed bank used to include Miscanthus nepalensis).

Miscanthus nepalensis
A few wands waving for help …
Miscanthus nepalensis
… whichever way I look at them.

Of the many of species of miscanthus I grow (mostly quite well) it is rather ironic that nepalensis is the one that self-seeds most readily. Last year’s dried flower heads are still replete with ripened seed, although sowing freshest available seed from a good form in finest fettle is a good policy. The green fingered owner of the specimen next door sowed seed in shallow trays in late winter, patience and a propagation may be required as they take several weeks to germinate. Growth thereafter is slow, too, although moving them up into bigger pots sooner rather than later may help. Those potted up in mid summer from small modules to 1 litre pots have made the best progress. More conveniently, perhaps, the Royal Horticultural Society lists 27 suppliers, which is quite a lot for such a choice plant, including several in the Midlands and one as far north as Cally Gardens near Castle Douglass.

Winter plumes

I remain puzzled that nepalensis is described as a ‘tall’ plant at 1.2 metres in height, if not more, perhaps this really only applies to the height of it in flower? The long flowering stems are held like wands well above the foliage in a dramatic fashion. As temperatures drop emergent flowering spikes may stall and, like mine this year, fail to open unless conditions are optimum. (This is a trait I also see in Miscanthus sinensis cultivars.) Last year the same plant flowered more freely and looked good right up to March, the display will be scantier this winter.

Miscanthus oligostachyus red leaved

Miscanthus oligostachyus

The mound of foliage seems to sit much lower for longer than might be expected compared with most other species of miscanthus, in my garden a cultivar of Miscanthus oligostachyus, above, would be another exception. At most I’ve seen my nepalensis make a loose mound of 3′, which was when it was happiest four years ago. Although its diminutive stature makes nepalensis a much friendlier plant for smaller spaces, lack of presence also means youngsters are easily swamped by plants that make rapid growth earlier in the year.

And I really should know better. ‘Bad Dobby’, as my dear old dad would say.

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Splendour in the Grass

02 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses, Uncategorized

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

Calamagrostis 'Karl Foerster', Common Blue Butterly, Deschampsia cespitosa, Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea, Seslaria autumnalis

September heralds the onset of autumn, as this damp, cool and rather overcast summer fades I might feel a pang of regret if it wasn’t for the finale of colour in front of the house and the foil of ornamental grasses.

Grasses terrace September

… it’s comforting to know the technicolour riot will last for several more weeks to come.

Round bed colour in September

The terrace links to the round bed at the north gable end of the house, here the colours are anchored by a dolly mixture assortment of pinks to lead into the boundary bed of hydrangeas. The key grass in both this border and the terrace is Calamagrostis x acutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’, a sterile hybrid and for the most part raised from divisions. On the right hand corner of the bed above is a monstrous clump of Molinia caerulea subsp. arundinacea ‘Transparent’, weighed down by rain and obscuring the narrow path. The blue ‘dumpy pine’ blocks the view of the drive and this year’s new planting area.

Front garden plan

Shown as 13 on the garden plan, this is the stylised meadow of Deschampsia cepitosa and Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea that was planted in late winter this year from seed raised plants. Sitting to one side of the drive the roughly triangular area is only about 300 square metres, not vast but large enough to require a significant number of plants that I started growing for this planting in 2011.

Meadow area last autumn

The design took shape last year, as an arc of rough grass bisected by mown paths.

Meadow and woods

Last autumn the row of overgrown Leyllandii along one stretch of the boundary were felled, letting light and wind into the area, as well as allowing a glimpse of the valley’s hay fields and woodland.

Barn House Garden - deschampsia mulched and sheeted

Our aim was to limit the work required to create the meadow, last autumn the turf was covered by layers of compost, cardboard, green woodchippings from the tree work and then covered with tarpaulins.

Layered mulch planting of deschampsia and molinia

For the most part we planted without ceremony – there was no double digging. Only the molinia, as the longer lived grass, was treated with the courtesy of larger holes, back filled with sterile loam and treated to a generous mulch of fine horticultural grit in a bid to keep creeping buttercups at bay.

Papaver somniferum July
Rudbeckia Goldsturm August
Veronicastrum August
Verbena bonariensis August

The results have been surprising. In early summer silvery deschampsia was studded with Papaver somniferum, bronzed by late summer it’s has been sprinkled with Rudbeckia ‘Goldsturm’ and Veronicastrum which was bought as ‘Fascination’ (but looks too pink to be such to me) and pixels of Vernbena bonariensis. Rising above the froth of deschampsia on linear stems are the molinia – the offspring of the ungainly clump in the round bed at the back of the house. Perhaps this is a better home for them to arch and wheel above a wilder and woolier planting.

Molinia and verbena against blue sky August

The haze of fresh inflorescense of Purple Moor Grass is best appreciated against a uniform background whether it be a tall evergreen hedge, a mass of perennials, or a dark painted shed … anything to provide contrast. In this case, the sky will do.

Molinia rising above deschampsia

Through the autumn the molinia foliage, stems and seed heads will turn a buttery yellow before dissolving in an easy to scoop up heap by December.

Meadow from drive 2015 September

By mid winter, the deschampsia and perennial seed heads will be all that remains as a whispy reminder of this year’s performance. Plus, no doubt, a prolific rash of deschampsia seedlings in the drive.

Seslaria autumnalis August

Planted on the corner of the meadow is a third grass that I have in mind for edging the meadow, like the deschampsia another near evergreen: the chartreuse leaved Seslaria autumnalis. I think it will contrast with the height, colour and form of the other grasses and conceal the thatchy tussocks of the deschampsia.

Under wings are camouflaged with orange studs
common blue male on verbena bonariensis August
Common blue male butterfly

An unplanned finishing touch for the meadow has been the influx of the Common Blue butterfly that favours unimproved grasslands. In August 2013 we started noticing the colourful males cavorting in the dried stems of calamagrostis in the terrace in front of the house while the shyer, duller brown females nestled among the veitches and knapweed in the rough grass bordering the drive. This August much to our delight a colony of them has made the little slice of ‘improved’ meadow their home.

 

 

 

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Pennisetum macrourum : perfect picked, dried or simply left on the plant ….

26 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

Knoll Gardens, Pennisetum macrourum, Pennisetum setaceum 'Rubrum', Pennisetum villosum

Pennisetum macrourum or African Feather Grass is a simply stunning plant, I bought two in September 2011 from Knoll Gardens to remind Hitesh and I of a memorable day out with Roger Grounds. He raised a knowing expert eyebrow at my purchase, but wisely left me to work out what the gesture meant for myself.

Pennisetum macrourm

I was bewitched by the 6-8″ long cylindrical cat’s-tail-like flowers that are so soft and silky to the touch, opening a pale cream tinged with green, they age through to a pinky beige – they look great in flower arrangements whether freshly picked or in dried flower arrangements.

Pennisetum macrourm and cat

Even the cats seem to agree, these days it’s all too easy to be distracted by flowers, but back in 2011 the first clue that raised my eyebrows was the mat of roots encircling the bottom of the pot ….

New flower emerging

P. macrourum’s distracting cute habit

Evidently, this was a grass that might need watching, if used with a little care, it could be a great addition to the garden. Gardening in a field, as I describe it, makes me look kindly on plants that can give the cooch grass and creeping buttercups a run for their money. Like many grasses, pennisetum looks stunning grown en mass which for me means it must be easy to propagate in order to afford the numbers required. Failing that, it looked as though this statuesque pennisetum would excel as pot specimens on the terrace. With roots like boot laces, it didn’t seem the sort of thing to add to a mixed planting of delicate treasures.

Pennisetum macrourum

Four years later the pair planted in a sunny spot either side of the little bench are mature at a height of about 5 feet in flower. Admittedly the bench is swamped by a profusion of flowers. I plunge-planted the two 2 litre pots in 50 litre bottomless plastic containers to act as cuffs against wayward growth and they’ve behaved impeccably. (Cutting a vertical slit in the pot makes it much easier to wrangle plants out of the ground). Although the holes were back filled with John Innes number 3 plus lots of grit, the underlying soil in this part of the garden has pockets of sticky greenish-blue-grey clay, the sort that whiffs of something nasty.

Pennisetum macrourum

The silvery foliage is a sheer delight. Reading about Pennisetum macrourum I came across queries regarding its hardiness, when I read in a seed catalogue that its cousin Pennisetum macrourum ‘Tail Feathers’ might be best ‘grown as annual’ the alarm bells sounded. I’ve had miserable experiences of loving and loosing too many related species, most memorably the tender but gorgeous burgundy leaved, red flowered Pennisetum setaceum ‘Rubrum’ as well its apparently half-hardy cultivar ‘Fireworks’.

Pennisetum rubra

P. ‘Rubrum’

Despite all my efforts to overwinter ‘Rubrum’ in the cosy greenhouse, it’s either died or looked sickly the following year. Lots of pennisetums are fully hardy in most parts of the UK, sadly this isn’t one of them, not at least in the damp Welsh borders, but if I bump into a good one I’m likely to swoop it up as an annual treat.

P. villosum

P. villosum

I’ve a growing collection of another borderline hardy one, Pennisetum villosum, which in my dreams and more southerly gardens drips with these beautifully fluffy cream flowers. It frustrates me for overwintering so well in the greenhouse that they have to be divided each year, but even between several large pots only produce a handful of flowers.

Row of Pennisetum villosum in pots

This year despite villosum enjoying the sunniest west wall against which to bask the late August display is hardly floriferous. I live in hope, after all, some species of pennisetum are especially late to flower and I can see lots of villoum’s emergent flower spikes – despite the overcast weather they are still bravely flowering. Late flowering in itself doesn’t make a plant ungarden-worthy, in fact, it may be an asset. The foliage of Pennisetum villosum is a pleasant mid-green but in cool grey climates it takes quite a long time to form these lax mounds. Even so, I haven’t the heart to folllow the advice of “When in doubt, throw it out!”. At this rate I’ll end up with a flowerless field full … and a polytunnel?

Pennisetum macrourm a see-through plant

In comparison Pennisetum macrourum never looked like a pernickety plant, its strong fountain of strap-like silvery grey-green leaves looked and felt resilient enough to take its chances in the nursery for the winter. Given the cold, wet winter with temperatures down to -10 I was surprised to see both plants had made it through unscathed and still had lots of green leaves.

Pennisetum macourum February

Pennisetum macourum February

Perhaps it hadn’t read its care label, coming from South Africa where it’s known as the Veld Grass, it’s not meant to withstand less than -5. Maybe this is a bit conservative, especially for mature plants? All things considered, I was impressed and encouraged, who knows, maybe next year I’ll let it run free?

Pennisetum macrourum winter

Pennisetum macrourum with Deschampsia cespitosa September 2014

Last summer, we revisited Knoll Gardens, this time enroute to Apple Court where Roger Grounds and his wife Diana Grenfell created a wonderful garden and from which they ran their nursery specialising respectively in ornamental grasses, hemerocallis and hostas. Sadly, the garden is closed to the public this year, the website gives a glimpse of the beautiful interconnecting areas of the compact one acre walled garden.

Pennisetum macrourum shirt stuff

It was another lovely day, befitting of another grassy souvenir : this time, an exciting new release, the dwarf Pennisetum macrourum ‘Short Stuff’. Discovered by Neil Lucas as a chance seedling in his nursery at Knoll Gardens, he wrote an informative and beautifully illustrated post about this plant last year ‘Size Matters’.

Pennisetum short stuff with Cosmo and phalaris

It raises eyebrows too, for all the right reasons.

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E.A. Bowles and The Riddle of the Pheasant’s Tail Grass

19 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 20 Comments

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Anemanthele lessoniana, E.A.Bowles, Pheasant's Tail Grass, syn.Stipa arundinacea

Earnest Augustus Bowles (1865-1954) was a leading horticulturist, botanical artist and garden writer of his day, accomplishments that were all the more remarkable as he wasn’t formally trained. ‘Gussie’, as he was known to his friends, introduced over forty cultivars of perennials many of which are familiar to us today. Two spring to my mind : the perennial wallflower Erysimum ‘Bowles Mauve‘ and Carex elata ‘Aurea’ (Bowles’ Golden sedge). As a long serving, highly respected Vice President of the Royal Horticultural Society he won the Victoria Medal of Honour, and, for his contribution to horticulture in general he is commemorated in ‘Bowles Corner’, RHS Wisley Gardens. He’s also left us with a riddle ….

Tail feather of the common pheasant

The tail feather in question

To try and solve it I’ve been reading his book My Garden in Summer, one of three seasonal journals published in 1914. Bowles and his friend William Robinson, were early pioneers of ornamental grasses and Bowles experimented with dozens of them in his Myddleton House garden. I’m intrigued to discover that among those he trialled was the New Zealand semi-evergreen Anemanthele lessoniana (syn.Stipa arundinacea), it’s a grass I know and love, not least because it grows so easily from seed. It’s commonly called Pheasant’s Tail grass, although Bowles was puzzled about its likeness, to him it looked no “more like a pheasant’s tail than a pig’s”.

Anemanthele starting to flower July

July

Over the last few weeks this grass has been coming into flower, its good looks start a debate among visitors. Does it look more like the tufts on the pheasant’s tail feathers before the flowers are fully open. Or perhaps it just the tints in its foliage?

Anemanthele hedge lining the drive

August

Between bouts of admiring it we get down to the brass tacks of growing it.

1st year seedling
2nd year seedling
2nd year seedling

Even if young plants don’t look as resplendent their parents, the sharply tinted orange-green foliage is an attractive feature. Grown in shade leaves are more uniformly olive green – less pheasanty, perhaps?

Anemanthele full flower

After several years of loyal service this group are due for retirement.

Anemanthele old plants

By winter they will look like this – thatch ridden but easy to dig up.

Close up Anemanthele inflorescence

Once the airy panicles are fully open, the debate resumes with gusto. Does the bronze-violet sheen of the mass of inflorescences resemble ihe iridescent plumage of the male pheasant’s breast? The shimmering effect, and the debate, lasts for a good few weeks, once seed sets the gauze turns tawny and the wrangling stops. The arching flowering stems are about a metre long, they have a habit of lassoing passers-by. In late autumn I dead head it, especially if it’s planted next to a narrow path. The spent stems pull away in great armfuls as easily as candy floss.

Mass of Anemanthele engulfs log slices

In its prime, anemanthele is a behemoth, occupying a square metre of space. In this bed it’s completely engulfed the giant slices of Scots Pine.

Log slices and iris May

It looked rather different in May.

image

In the centre of the above image, the anemanthele ‘hedge’ bordering the drive shows that the last two have failed to grow as well as their siblings, this is one of the joys of mass plantings.

Anemanthele and persicaria affinis Superba

Annexed by Persicaria affinis ‘Superba’ they’re half-way to the compost heap. I cut back them back by a third in spring, last year’s straw coloured growth at that height is still visible.

Spares in the nursery

Spares in the nursery

To maintain a bold scheme I’ve discovered it’s a good idea to have heirs and spares on standby. In the interim, I think the trick is to know when to cut mature specimens back and by how far – something I wrote about in a previous post Easy Evergreen Grasses. There’s nothing quite like a bit of schadenfreude to ease the misery of gardening; imagine my delight when I stumbled upon Bowles’ description of his own experience of growing the very same plant but known to him by a different name, Apera arundinacea.

At one time I grew Apera arundinacea very well here, and its wonderfully long hanging heads and bronze autumn colouring delighted me both in the rock garden, where it hung over big stones, and especially in some fine old stone vases; but hard winters killed it, and I have never been able to get it to grow strongly again, I shall keep trying to do so, as the Pheasant’s-tail Grass as it is called – goodness knows why as it is no more like a pheasant’s tail than a pig’s – is one of the most beautiful of all light Grasses.

My Garden in Summer (1914) Chapter XII ‘Grasses’ page 235, E.A.Bowles.

Anemanthele and geranium rozanne

I imagine Bowles’ specimens looked gorgeous  – anemanthele is stunning given either height to swoon or something to drape over. Those I grew interspersed with Geranium ‘Rozanne’ softened the edge of the wide terrace steps, it was a sight that made me smile. Inevitably, I lost them too, to old-age not bad winters.

Geranium Rozanne prunus serrula

In summer the solo display of the geranium under the Prunus serrula is enjoyable, however, it was the evergreen grass that carried this spot through the winter. With ‘Rozanne’ flexing her muscles, it’s unwise to reintroduce immature grasses : I tried, they got swamped. The serendipitous combination worked because both were planted at the same time.

A century has passed since Bowles lost his Apera arundinacea. Assisted by climate change and the observations of gardeners’ friends like ‘Gussie’ Bowles we’re able to grow plants like Anemanthele lessoniana with a much better chance of success. So much so, that it’s possible to experiment with new ways of using them. I’m enjoying Allison Reid’s Frogend Dweller blog and it was her post Phases of the Maze that piqued my interest in E.A. Bowles. It’s fascinating reading with inspiring images of the incredible Pheasant’s Tail grass maze in Cambridge Botanic Gardens.

Useful links :

E.A.Bowles Of Myddleton House Society, Enfield

RHS Rediscovering Bowles’ Corner

Bryan Hewitt The Crocus King : E.A. Bowlesof Myddleton House (Rockingam Press, 1997) with a forward by Brigadier Andrew Parker Bowles OBE.

E.A.Bowles My Garden in Summer (reprinted 2012 by Forgotten Books)

There is an Internet Archive for the complete text of My Garden in Summer 1914.

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Hakonechloa macra : Japanese Forest Grass

13 Thursday Aug 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

Hakonechloa macra, Hakonechloa macra 'Albostriata', hakonechloa macra 'Aureola', Hakonechloa macra 'Stripe it Rich'

There is a mountain called Hakone which is covered in thick woods …. Along the dark trail uraha gusa grew from the stones to light our way.

These words might well have been written by a modern traveller enchanted with the luminous quality of what is more commonly known as Japanese Forest grass or Hakonechloa macra. In fact, they come from a fascinating memoir “The Sarashina Diary A Woman’s Life in Eleventh-Century Japan” translated by Sonja Arntzen and Moriyuki Ito (Columbia University Press, 2014). They also point to the conditions in which hakonechloa thrives, although a thousand years later gardeners have several more cultivars to choose from than would naturally have occurred in medieval Japan.

Hakonechloa macra

I first fell under the spell cast by gorgeous images of hakonechloa long before I encountered it in person, a bit closer to home, in 2008 in Knoll Gardens. The sight of hakonechloa macra planted as a luxuriantly textured ground cover surrounding an ornamental tree had me hooked, inevitably I came away with a dozen 9cm pots, regardless of where I was going to put them.

Hakonechloa macro steps yard July

After a couple of years in a nursery bed, they were planted out to edge a flight of concrete steps to the yard. Although plain leaved forms are the most vigorous, they’re not in a hurry. Plants generally “sleep, creep, leap” over 3 years, but allowances must be made for this grass, it likes an extra year to sit and think about it.

Hakonechloa macra spring

Patience is rewarded : the steps are dramatically softened from springtime onwards.

Snail damaged hostas

Hakonechloa relishes the same sort of conditions as the variegated hostas, fertile, moisture retentive soil but with the added bonus that once the hosta leaves are looking past their best the grass hides the late summer snail damage. Cooler weather suits it too, making it a very useful plant for UK gardens.

Hakonechloa winter

Then in winter, the dried leaves add interest to what would otherwise be bare ground.

Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’

I just love everything about Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’. I’m told that Hakonechloa macra ‘Alboaurea’ is just as good, if not better, and, I’m sure that may be so. But this is the cultivar I bumped into in 2010 and, as soon as I spotted them I knew it was my lucky day : as good sized 2 litre plants they had already passed the ‘sitting’ stage.

Variegated hakone grass

Here they alternately punctuate a narrow path, to deliberately slow progress between the busy front and quieter back garden. The beauty of any hakonechloa is that it drapes a surface with such grace, it can be brushed past with impunity. Even on a wet day there are no damp leaves languishing on the paving to worry about.

Hakonechloa aureola

Wading through the knee high mature clumps produces a very satisfying swish. The bamboo-like leaves are cool to the touch even on the hottest day.

Hakonechloa aureola and pennnisetum

My plan was to grow a couple in large pots (inspired by images of Adrian Bloom’s legendary variegated specimen that used to enjoy an annual outing to The Chelsea Flower Show.) However, the paler leaves appreciate more shade than I’d bargained for and first bleached, then scorched, then were hastily moved. For the first two years they were kept well watered, since then apart from a springtime mulch they’ve been happy to fend for themselves. Unlike many ornamental grasses, hakonechloa seems happy in the lee of other plants, in my garden it grows well beneath the lonicera hedge and curtsying to one side of the taller Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Black Beauty’.

Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’ in autumn sunshine.
Hakonechloa macra 'Aureola' is great for winter fake effects
And one of the same plants the day it was cut down in February.

Of all the hakonechloa I enjoy growing, this is also the one that packs the biggest punch in the autumn and winter. Autumn sunshine sets the leaves smouldering, but it’s the low angled winter sun fortuitously striking the path that ignites the blaze.

Hakonechloa macra ‘Albostriata’

Hakonechloa ‘Albostriata’ is a boldly striped variety, arguably more yellow-green with the merest white splashes (but I find missing the pink tinge ‘Aureola’ assumes as the season turns to autumn). Perhaps it’s hard to be precise about the tonal characteristics of variegated hakonechloa unless the cultivars are grown in controlled conditions?

Bamboo and hakonechkoa

This cultivar copes with more direct sun, as under the stripped stems of the Phyllostchys aureosulcata spectabalis, plus it conveniently conceals the protruding lip of membrane controlling the bamboo’s root run. Planted into the sandy foundations of the patio, this is a tough place for plants to establish, they’ve done well.

Hakonechloa acer

Given the sunnier site these clumps are already producing inconspicuous burgundy coloured inflorescences, they’re discretely tucked among the leaves but worth seeking out if you like the fine detail of plants.

Hakonechloa 'Albostriata'

‘Albostriata’ is a shorter cultivar than the previous two, at about 12″ in this spot, possibly the dry, sunny conditions keeps it lean. As you’d expect, Japanese Forest Grass compliments acers, I particularly like the combination in the autumn.

Hakonechloa macra ‘Stripe it Rich’

Hakonechloa macra ‘Stripe it Rich’ is one of the latest modern cultivars growing on in splendid isolation in a pot until it can hold its own in the ground. Right now, Geranium Sirak would swamp it!

Hakonechloa stripe it rich Hakonechloa macra is unusual in that it’s monotypic – a genus that has only one species. It’s also from a specific habitat, therefore new cultivars have both immense interest and value. Unsurprisingly, specialist nurseries covet discoveries such as this white and gold variegation of ‘All Gold’ and, accordingly, win well-deserved Plant Breeders Rights. A dwarf form at 6″ in height, the form of Urahagusa in the image above wouldn’t have been around to guide Sarashina through those shady woods, but ‘Stripe it Rich’ is just the sort of gem to light up the eyes of a modern day collector.

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In search of the perfect pennisetum

06 Thursday Aug 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Knoll Gardens, Pennisetum 'Fairy Tales', Pennisetum orientale, Pennisetum orientale 'Karley Rose'

Of all the beautiful ornamental grasses that I grow Pennisetum orientale melts the most hearts. Hands of all ages shoot out to brush the feathery inflorescences sometimes accompanied by a wistful “I want one!”. And, in turn, my heart goes out to them and I’m pleased to hand over a spare one albeit with my fingers crossed.Pennisetum orientale close up August The quest to find the perfect cultivar of Pennisetum orientale happy to grow on our heavy clay soil on a windswept site at ground level has had its ups and downs. I’d nearly given up, potted them up and switched to more robust Pennisetum alopecuroides and Pennsietum macrourum. Both are gorgeous and useful additions to my garden, yet, just not quite what this middle-aged Goldilocks had in mind. When I heard about a new Californian cultivar the quest was resumed.

Pennisetum orientale

Pennisetum orientale is where it all began, thanks to its slightly glaucous foliage held in a characteristic fountain shape topped with a halo of pale pink flowers. The three growing in the big blue pot on the terrace steps form a mound about 12″ tall. It’s happily at home here, but, where originally planted to line a path the plants ended up looking bedraggled.

Blue pot pennisetum orientale July I first saw it planted at Kiftsgate Court in a sheltered, free draining spot edging a path in the rose garden. It was a fine summer’s day in late June, so it was looking its best. Of course, I came home with three to try in a very different garden. On a sunny day, it’s an alluring sight. Summer pennisetum little bunny lodging Following a spell of heavy rain, this is the same plant enjoying a charming summertime sigh from on high. Three times I’ve tried to grow it in borders and three times it’s been moved : out of the wind, out of the rain, out of the way of passing feet. Perhaps in a less busy garden this wouldn’t be an issue, left to dry in peace it does recover its poise. But here with many paws to consider, only a pot filled with the grittiest loam based compost seems to please this perfect princess of a grass.

Pennisetum orientale ‘Karley Rose’

Never one to give up, and badly smitten, I’ve tried other cultivars.   Close up pennisetum Karley rose A particular favourite for its darker pink flowers is Pennisetum orientale ‘Karley Rose’. I doubly sigh : for its delectable dusky flowers, and, as it’s so much taller, for its being floppier than ever. Pennisetum Karley rose echinacea Planted in the troublesome southerly facing Round Bed, weaving among Echinacea purpurea, the coneflower’s stout stems provide support on all but the gustiest days. Pennisetum Karley rose sun lit July A lone ‘Karley Rose’ has done fairly well grown in a pot in the lee of the hedychiums in the more sheltered back garden. It looks fine, at least from the shoulders up on a still day …

Pennisetum Karley Rose in a pot

… but looks a little less poised on a windy one.

Pennisetum orientale and Karley Rose nursery July Meanhwile, there are a large number of Pennisetum orientale basking in the nursery – the darker form (background centre) is ‘Karley Rose’ at just over 3′ in height, the paler one is Pennisetum orientale, these are 18″ in height (foreground). I’d planned to add them to the summer display of patio pots, as I’ve done in previous years. But I know that moving them now, in full flower, would cause them to flop and it seems a shame to disturb them when they’re so happily huddled together.

Pennisetum ‘Fairy Tails’

Pennisetum ‘Fairy Tails’ is where my quest to find the perfect pennisetum has ended. In 2001 this chance seedling was discovered at John Greenlee and Associates’ Pomona nursery in California. A second grass specialist, Neil Lucas, of Knoll Gardens’ fame, introduced Pennisetum ‘Fairy Tails’ to the UK market several years ago. Listening to him singing its praises on Gardener’s World last autumn had me jumping up and down on the sofa in agreement. Having grown P.’Fairy Tails’ in pots for the last few years, with no winter protection, I’ve been impressed. Close up Pennisetum fairy tails August Sitting down to draft this journal entry has had me scouring references to the nomenclature of Pennisetum ‘Fairy Tails’ and the ambiguity surrounding its specific epithet has had me scratching my head. It’s variously attributed as ‘incomptum’, ‘orientale’ and ‘alopecuroides’. The former looks possible but I’m sure someone knows more about it than do I. Although I’m no botanist, it seems that where there’s uncertainty over the link to a particular species the convention is to follow the generic epithet by the cultivar name. imageWhatever its parentage, P. Fairy Tails’ strikes me as being just right with its pale and whispy racemes. For this garden, it’s a perfect alternative to Pennisetum orientale. Even if it flowers a few weeks later than its cousins, from mid July, I’m unconcerned. In early August there are plenty of racemes to come and more than enough time for them to put on a good show. Upright come wind or come rain, Pennisetum ‘Fairy Tails’ has rekindled a vision of graceful pennisetum lining a path, forming a low hedge or as an airy addition to a mixed border – without fear of flopping. Dried flowers of Pennisetum Fairy Tails As they age, the inflorescences bleach and elongate to assume a winsome tapering habit, hence the punning name. It’s early days, but I hope the dried flowers of P.’Fairy Tails’, like these picked last year will look good and stand well among the echinacea and sedums right through the winter to give the fairy tale a happy ending.

References for Pennisetum ‘Fairy Tails’

Neil Lucas Desiging With Grasses (Timber Press, 2011)

Rick Darke The Encyclopedia of Grasses for Livable Landscapes (Timber Press, 2007)

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A peaceful spot : sitting, staring and drinking tea.

30 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses, Seating areas

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Dog friendly garden, log roll, Miscanthus sinensis 'Malepartus', Miscanthus sinensis 'Starlight', Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea 'Windspiel', Rudbeckia 'Goldsturm', sleepers

There’s nothing quite like a sheltered place to sit in a garden, not to mention the time to do the staring. Of the two most sittable spots in our garden, one is to be found at the top of the slope in the front garden, tucked away under a towering Scots pine that borders the lane. Until 2012, we’d spent our precious leisure time perching mugs of tea on the wide arms of a wooden bench. In redesigning the front garden one priority was to create a level seating area that was both comfortable to use and good to look at when not in use. It was a quite a challenge ….Saffie on garden sofaNot least because we enjoy sharing it with our furry friends. They like to chill out on the sofa too … Saffie lunging in her champion holeThat is, when they’re not digging a hole under it. They do make us laugh!

Seating area dogs paddock

We used log roll for edging and full length sleepers for wide steps. (I think log roll can be a useful solution, especially for curved beds. Used on this scale – to redress a 2′ drop – ground pegs and cross members are required to keep it in place. Lawn grass is quick to grow through the gaps, so it’s also backed with membrane.) A 3′ wide low hedge of dwarf Miscanthus sinensis ‘Starlight’ softens the landscaping, this is one of many new cultivars available. M.’Starlight’ was introduced in 2012 by Knoll Gardens and it’s a simply stunning plant. The fact that it has flowered freely even on the side where shade is cast by the ancient apple tree is impressive for a species that prefers sunny open sites.

Barn House Garden - Autumn miscanthus starlight hedge seating area

Miscanthus (dwarf)

The planting provides a decorative screen at just the right height to make the area feel cosy. In July the see-through flowering stems of  Molinia ‘Windspiel’ entertain us, dancing as they do in the slightest breeze.

Miscanthus 'Starlight' April

Seating area March

Miscanthus can be trusted to stand beautifully upright throughout the winter months, so much so that it seems a shame to cut it down in early spring. Molinia being a softer leaved grass all but melts away by December, all that’s required is a quick tidy up of fallen flower stems.

View across paddock

June view of house across paddock

The west facing seating area is the best spot to enjoy watching the interplay of light and shadow across the garden. The scene is atmospheric in the early morning when the sun angles over the house and shrubby planting on the far side of the drive. The void of mowed grass is restful in itself, especially in a garden that is otherwise so intensively planted. Not having too many distractions enables us to sit back and enjoy the view.

View of meadow from seating area This is the only place in the garden with a view of the sun slipping below the wooded valley. Last autumn a row of overgrown leyllandii were deleted from the far boundary, as a result we now enjoy an extra couple of hours of lingering evening light. Dogs paddock The secluded seating area sits centre point to one side of the drive. We laughingly refer to the lawn as ‘The Dogs’ Paddock’, designed as it was in 2011 to provide two fun-loving Airedale Terriers with a spacious dog run. In the foreground rough grass skirts the compound concealing the perimeter fence. On close examination this is an admixture of ‘wild grasses and flowers’. Among the highly desirable orchids there’s less desirable weeds : creeping buttercup, dandelion, and cooch grass being most potentially bothersome. This year it’s mown twice, once in mid summer when the daffodils are spent, then again in September, although I’m told that at least once every three years it’s best to mow it by July 15th to preserve the best of the local flora. Rough grass fencing July Weeds aside, the unmown strip does a splendid job, in the summer the mesh panels are less visible. Surprisingly, Verbena bonariensis seems happily at home here, planted as a bit of fun in 2013 at metre intervals most have survived. As predicted, they have seeded … into the drive. Fennel has crept in too, I’m not so sure about its presence here.

Barn House Garden - Miscanthus hedge in August

The hedge August with Rudbeckia ‘Goldsturm’

The slightly higher and more robust fencing parallel to the lane is backed by a 210′ long hedge of stately Miscanthus sinensis ‘Malepartus’. Now in its fourth year, the hedge is gaining stature making handsome 5′ tall hummocks of glossy foliage in July, followed by an eruption of majestic burgundy plumes in August. Behind the hedge is an access path to allow for spring maintenance, it also acts as a weed-break between the border and the stone wall that originally marked the boundary. In rural gardens boundaries may be subject to a host of thugs including brambles, bracken, nettles and hedgerow bindweed – the same is sadly true of less than well-managed native hedgerows. Effectively, the ornamental grass hedge is 5′ back from the stone wall adjacent to the lane and the gap helps us keep it free of pernicious pernennial weeds. In turn, the pared down, low maintenance planting lets us unwind and gather our thoughts rather than gathering handfuls of weeds.

Dried miscanthus hedge March

Miscanthus sinensis ‘Malepartus’ March

From November the hedge assumes it’s dignified winter silhouette. Saffie poppy march By March both dogs and hedge wait patiently for a hair cut. To me it’s wonderful that we’ve ended up with this tranquil seating area. Without Hitesh’s graph paper skills, a timely nudge towards rough grass from a friendly expert, and the delightful digging dogs this area wouldn’t have come together like this at all. Perhaps daydreaming over spilt cups of tea while nattering with my sister, Woo, on the old bench helped a little bit too. Dogs paddock seating area log table As a final touch, Hitesh made a lovely rustic table out of a giant slice of the sister pine that was felled in the autumn of 2012. It’s level. Bliss!

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The pot in the seed raised meadow

23 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses, pots

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Deschampsia cespitosa, Diana Grenfell, Hosta 'Prince of Wales', Klong jar, meadow, Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea, pots

For the last few months we’ve been circling the new stylised meadow, squinting at it from different angles whilst trying to imagine what focal feature would work in the centre of the access path. Meadow deschampsia and Molina July The planting of seed raised Deschampsia cespitosa and Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea has a wild look about it, echoing the tustled look of the adjacent hay meadow. It’s also evocative of where I found my favourite garden ornament : a Thai klong jar.Field view June In South East Asia, klong jars are traditionally used to collect and store water for household use, much in the same way that we gardeners use water butts. In Brockweir, where we live, there was no mains water until the 1950s. We know from local residents that water was harvested from neighbouring wells and streams, then stored in underground tanks. The disused tanks are marked on Ordanance Survey Maps, however, a few, lurking in the beech woodland across the fields behind Barn House, are dangerously uncovered. Recently, Bob, a friend’s black lab strayed onto private land and had to be rescued from one such tank by his intrepid owner. Klong jar blue and purple glaze Klong jars can still be seen in use throughout the Far East, although these days they tend to be made out of plastic. Traditional ceramic or earthenware jars share the same simple shape, wider in the middle than the top with a curving lip.

In Margaret Macmillnan’s fascinating social history ‘Women of The Raj” (Random House Trade 2007) she recounts the trials faced by a newly married wife, a successful member of the autumnal ‘fishing fleet’ of single women that sailed to India in the hopes of catching a husband. Faced with the dilemma of how to ‘bathe’ in a bathless bathroom, the new arrival mistakenly clambered into the water storage jar only to find it home to the house snake. In her panic, she found herself pinned in the jar by its tapering shape. The naive memshab was rescued, much to her mortification, by a manservant. Perhaps, at that precise moment she rued that she’d not been one of the ‘returned empties’, those whose shame it was to sail home still single the following spring?

Antique jars, usually of the wonderfully weathered salt-glazed sort are highly prized, accordingly, they command a high value. We’ve drooled over many such a jar in our time. Equally, the modern reproductions, some with exquisite glazes in a range of delectable colours, are quite sought after too. Some turn up as decorative features in hotel lobbies across Asia, others, no doubt, are scooped up by western interior designers. Dividing a hosta in springThe jar we came home with had far less salubrious beginnings and for the last three years has been the home of the resplendent ‘extra large’ Hosta ‘The Prince of Wales’. This year ‘HRH’, as we fondly call him had inevitably outgrown his quarters and was divided back in March. It was a delicate operation for both the plant and the pot. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the plight of the poor memshab ….

One very nice, and otherwise accurate journalist reported that we hunted for plants in Asia. That made me laugh. We hunted for pots and brought home lots of them. But they weren’t the sort with fancy price tags, we found them in a dusty factory outlet on the outskirts of Kanchanaburi. The luckiest find was abandoned along with other cast-offs in an area of tall snake-ridden grass. Only the shoulders and rim of the pot were visible. Never mind plant hunting off-piste in the wilderness, I wasn’t venturing beyond the path, especially in my silly sandals. The pot was bought, pretty much sight unseen. When it was delivered later that week, we gasped : it was a beauty. Miscanthus geranium obscure the potThe jar, now hiding in the summer planting, was regarded as a complete reject. Imperfections in its celadon glaze caused by the secondary firing to produce the characteristic crackled finish had, as often happens, pitted the surface of the underlying material. Plus, and probably the deciding factor in the manufacturer’s mind, hairline cracks crazed the inner skin of the jar. Although it wouldn’t hold water, it makes a happy home for a handsome hosta. Diana Grenfell’s marvellous and definitive “The New Encyclopedia of Hostas” (Timber Press 2009) suggests lots of hostas that would compliment our beloved pot, many of a more appropriate size, but, while we have the derring-do to excavate it very few years, we’re sentimentally attached to the pairing. Salt glazed pot in meadow Personally, I love the big blue pot all the more for its imperfections, particularly the tactile pitting. I think it gives it character. Without its flaws there’d be no story to tell. And, without it, we wouldn’t have gone hunting in a local garden centres for a second such jar to recreate a scene that reminds me of the day I spied a big blue pot in an oriental meadow.

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Misty morning treasure

10 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Calamagrostis, Deschampsia cespitosa, Geranium palmatum, Papaver somniferum, The dragon's breath, Wye valley

We’ve lived and gardened here for ten years, you’d think we’d know all there is to know about the tricks weather and light can play. But once in a while there’s a surprise in store that sends me hurtling from the house to see how the garden has responded. Last Friday morning was one such time, as I drew the curtains I knew that this was going to be a very special morning.

The dragons breath mist July morning

Never mind Scotch Mist, in the beautiful South Wales ribbon valleys there’s a phenomenon called ‘the dragon’s breath’ where snaking mist hangs low in the early morning, trapped then eerily funnelled by the valley sides. Here in the narrower Lower Wye Valley we don’t expect to see it quite so much, perhaps just a hint in autumn. Even when conditions are forecast to be at their best, it’s an elusive beauty requiring : high humidity, unusually gentle overnight westerly rain; and, lastly, crystal clear skies above cool early morning ground temperatures. It’s understandable that capturing the perfect image of the dragon in action is a bit of a holy grail among photographers. “Secret Britain : Series 2 ‘Water World of Wales’ “, an excellent series in itself, contains a fascinating clip of one beguiled man’s quest to do just this.

Mist laden grasses

So, when I saw the tail end of the quirky mist hovering in the valley below how I could resist? The platform at the top of the old apple barn steps always makes a good vantage point. Though precariously steep, the steps lead nicely from the bedroom to the front garden. I often pause here to check out what’s going on in the garden below. I was greeted by a very special scene, what I saw looked more like a ghostly seascape, and, in all these years of growing calamagrostis, it was something new to me, Effectively the mist rolling through the garden left ethereal grey dew just weighty enough to make the grasses heave in the most peculiar way. Heavy headed themselves with panicles poised at flowering point these grasses can ‘lodge’ or lean when wet, but this was different from their usual summertime sighs.

February : Frozen wave of Calamagrostis

FEBRUARY : Frozen wave of Calamagrostis after snow fall

What it it did remind me of was what the terrace of grasses looked like back in February after a smattering of wet snow one morning.

Round bed mist Calamagrostis

The Round Bed at the back of the house has turned out to be a weather turning circling, it always fares worst or best, whichever way you choose to look at it. I’ve grown not to mind too much because I know Calamagrostis x acutiflora is an incredibly supple athlete, despite the listing look there really is no cause to panic. Remarkably they do dry off and pick themselves up with good grace, and, quite quickly too. The only way to hasten the process is to pray for a dry spell, preferably accompanied by light winds. I learnt long ago that stirring wet grasses with a long stick does not help … it’s the equivalent of trying to knit with wet wool.

Zoom calamagrostis pergola July

Grown subtly as part of a naturalistic planting in a more sheltered spot avoids this potential problem. But, I think where grown en masse in exposed sites it’s wise to know what to expect. To the grassy minded it may even be considered charming that they behave like this. However, I can imagine that for some this characteristic particular to grasses with tall slender flowering stems might make it worth pondering how best to locate, space and partner them. I mean, would you want these feathery delights rubbing shoulders with your prize delphiniums? I tend to stick to stout perennials, here self supporting fennel, and, in the awkward round bed, tall veronicastrum (itself supported with canes and twine). Both lend the grasses a helping hand. And, although more hands might be helpful, in a funny sort of way, I actually like the sight of a few overly dense clumps splaying as they do when densely planted. Sometimes combinations work, sometimes they don’t. I learn as I go along, things do wrong from time to time, sometimes the air is veritably blue.

Zoom calamagrostis panicles July

It simply teaches me to marvel all the more when things go right. Here’s a bit of a hotchpotch where a leftover sliver of Calamagrostis x acutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’ has popped up unplanned among the sprawling Geranium ‘Ann Thomson’, one of my favourite long flowering, dark eyed beauties.

Dew Overdam splayed July

Quite clearly, the sentries of Calamagrostis xacutiflora ‘Overdam’ spaced generously at a metre apart to  punctuate the lower terrace behaved differently, with room to arch elegantly in almost perfect circles. C. ‘Overdam’ does dry out more quickly, perhaps also due to it being a foot shorter than its forebear ‘Karl Foerster’ as much as the spacing?

Deschampsia misty morning

The seed raised stylised meadow currently studded with the red annual poppy Papaver somniferum has been joy enough so far this year. But, what I saw last Friday simply took my breath away. This is the gloriously feathery Descahmpsia cespitosa, a graceful native grass in fresh flower, yet, I couldn’t have imagined it looking this gorgeous glittering as it was in the astonishing light. Who needs diamonds?

Geranium Palmatum

Or rubies? When I’m lucky enough to revel in Geranium palmatum.
Nassella tenuissima catching light

And, forget about lustrous pearls. The filigree flowers of Nassella tenuissima are adornment enough, for me.

Patio pots in morning light

All the the bling I could ever desire, was right here for one magical misty morning in early July. For a few precious hours the garden became a treasure trove, all thanks to the dragon’s breath.

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Bamboo : taming the dragon

26 Friday Jun 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

≈ 11 Comments

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Hellfire Pass, Pan Global Plants, Phyllostachys, Sai Yok Memorial Museum, Special Plants

We started growing bamboos, getting on for twenty years ago, only vaguely aware that they were ornamental grasses. At the time, we lived in a flat above one of the busiest roads in Bangkok. It may seem the reason for choosing bamboos was to screen out the view, noise and pollution. And, yes, they did that too ….

The gorge memorial walk

But the real reason to grow them was less practical. We’d been smitten by the mesmerising sight of them marching for mile after mile across the hillsides skirting the road to Kanchanaburi. Wanting to be in the thick of them, we found an accessible, way-marked grove above the notorious Hellfire Pass. Fittingly, for a place steeped in such human suffering, the towering culms filtered light, drawing the gaze upwards with the power of a cathedral rose window. For us, it felt hallowed place, a natural adjunct to a poignant man-made monument : the incredible Memorial Museum. It’s well worth visiting, if not in person, then via its website.

On our return to the UK, it was no coincidence that we chose the flat in East London with its roof garden featuring containerised screens of immaculately presented ebony stemmed Phyllostachys nigra. Phylostchys vivax These days we grow two varieties of bamboo : Phyllostachys aureocaulis vivax, the up to 6m tall giant Chinese timber bamboo, and … Bamboo hakonechloa June … the slightly shorter ‘yellow grove bamboo’, Phyllostachys aureosulcata spectabalis, under planted with Hakonechloa macra Albostriata. Both function as architectural screens, both have glossy, yellow canes illuminating the shade with golden light. Both attract considerable interest among our garden visitors, curious to know how they’re grown. In the wilderness around Sai Yok the bamboo looked after itself, it roamed free : the garden growing of them is a different story ….

Planting and basic aftercare

Though not as aggressive as other species such as the highly invasive Sasa Veitchii, it’s still wise to consider the whys and wherefores of growing Phyllostachys in a smaller garden setting. Keeping them both looking good and under control is Hitesh’s pastime, they’re his pride and joy. Bamboo sculpture June This oak sculpture sits on a gravel area that was excavated this winter to root prune a less than ideally ground planted specimen …. In some ways capacious pots may seem a better alternative. In Thailand bamboos grew happily in very large salt glazed pots for many years, admittedly, surviving on an artificial daily diet, guzzling huge quantities of water mixed with a dubious looking liquid feed. We traveled a lot in those days. Every month or so, when our house keeper, Khun Dang, was left to care for the plants, she’d smile at my instructions saying “Thai plants don’t swim”. Every month or so, the neglected bamboos would shed their leaves in protest. I soon learnt that they would recover with TLC, I learnt to shrug and smile more, and to sigh less.

Kept in confined quarters, in pots of whatever size, including the trench and raised sleeper beds that we use, phyllostatchys requires feeding during the growing season, February to October, to keep them looking good. We favour monthly applications of admittedly whiffy dried chicken manure, applied after rain and then watered in well, quenching their thirsty nature into the bargain. Alternatively, specialised slow release fertiliser may be applied once every six months. As far as I know, having kept them in pots in two subsequent gardens, phyllostachys grows well in outsized pots, at least for five years. I doubt that pots make a happy forever home. And, I certainly wouldn’t risk growing it in your best ceramic planter, as I once did.

Root pruning

Yellow bamboo with red crocosmia We grow bamboo according to its vigour. P.vivax is planted in stout sleeper beds lined with the toughest grade of root membrane. The recycled railway sleepers seem appropriate in themselves, forming part of a tableau which is especially evocative in July when the pockets of Crocosmia ‘Lucifer’ erupt in a fiery blaze. Two years ago, I came across a new blood red crocosmia named ‘Hellfire’ at Derry Watkins nursery, Special Plants near Bath. That made me gulp. Phyllostachys vivax nursery label, Nick Macer Planted just several years ago, this bamboo has lived up to Nick Macer’s superlative description. A few plants purchased from his fabulous nursery, Pan Global Plants, have gone a very long way, and, I’m sure they’d like to go a lot further! In time, it’s likely the west facing sleeper edges will need to be dismantled, just imagine the fun we’ll have root pruning the congested rhizomes within the beds. The beds are raised and three tier deep, as yet, there haven’t been any below ground escapees. But it’s to be expected that the odd adventurous runner will try to creep over the top of the bed. Fresh and sappy, new runners are easy to dispatch with loppers, but ripened runners, like ripened canes require heavier duty tools.

Nick grows P. vivax as a natural looking ground-grown stand, with years of experience he makes taming the dragon look effortless. The stand is spectacular, but it’s the use of a maintenance perimeter that was an object lesson for us. It’s well worth talking to Nick if you’re thinking about growing any type of non-clumping bamboo. The bamboo screen of P. aureosulcata spectabalis in front of the greenhouse is planted with a maintenance zone beside the trench to allow for pruning the odd runner. Klong jar view greenhouse Although the portion of this bed between the bamboo and the klong jar looks like a permanent planting, it’s not. All of the plants here are either easy to transplant, expendable, or thuggish. An annual mid summer sortee with a sharp spade doesn’t phase Euphorbia ‘Fire Glow’ which, remarkably, has wandered into the heart of the clumps.

Stripping canes

Geranium blue  cloud bamboo june This particular bamboo is not as well turned out as it should be, and, admittedly, the planting of it in an inaccessible spot was a mistake. I should have known better, but, in June, it makes me cheerful to see Geranium ‘Blue Cloud’ using it as a climbing frame. Phyllostachys vivax variegation Stripping the stems, or not, and to what height is a matter of personal preference. In confined quarters, as specimen hedges, our bamboo has to look as smart as possible. It also helps highlight variegated features like the ‘bars code’ stripes of P.vivax. Being evergreen is an advantage in the winter months, leaving annual maintenance until then is not. Keeping the architectural stems or culms clear of side branches at a desired height cost us several sets of secateurs, before we were shown how very much easier it is to snap them off when they’re still young and sappy. It also results in a cleaner finish. Thinning bamboo stems  February Thinning the number of stems in mature clumps of phyllostachys makes a dramatic difference. Since reaching maturity, this has been done to a greater or lesser extent every February, before the new spears start to show, using regular loppers on the greenhouse stands and a pruning saw on the vivax. The result are radiant railings plus a surfeit of garden canes.

Litter

Bamboos are self mulching, leaves should be left to accumulate in situ. Even in our windy garden, the silica rich leaves collect largely around the base of the plants, then decompose very slowly releasing the vital mineral. Silica is what lends the canes strength, as well as creating glassy smooth leaves that rustle so evocatively in the breeze. As evergreens, bamboos still have a period of early summer leaf renewal, so there’s a month or two of light litter rather than a sudden autumnal whoosh. In an area where they’re grown above bark paths this helps keep the paths weed free. Chasing leaves about in the confined patio in front of the greenhouse is a bit of a niggle, but I, chief chaser, think it’s worth it.

I’m not sure if it’s worth collecting the papery culm sheaths shed as the new canes telescopically expand to their full height. I don’t doubt that they make excellent firefighters, but for me, if I’ve time to spare, then I prefer to just sit back and watch these remarkable giant grasses grow at the staggering rate of a foot a day between mid June and mid July. But by then, perhaps, I’d rather be watching the tennis, instead. Bamboo with golden canes hides the greenhouse from view I don’t sigh about the fact that our garden isn’t large enough to let the bamboos run wild, we don’t have half a hillside to spare. Our objective is to maintain phyllostachys as decorative ‘raised’ hedges that make us smile.

The memorial peace vessel

The memorial peace vessel

And, inevitably, bamboos will always remind us of a special place far off the beaten track in South East Asia.

Photos of Hellfire Pass and Peace Vessel courtesy of Hellfire Pass Memorial Mueum , Sai Yok, Kanchanaburi, Thailand.

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NGS Day : reasons to be cheerful

22 Monday Jun 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in June NGS Open Day Barn House, Ornamental grasses

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Barn House Garden, NGS Open Day, Tea and cake

We had such a lovely day yesterday opening the garden for the NGS for the fifth time since 2013.  At the end of every day, I like to find at least five things for which I am grateful. These were among yesterday’s musings.

Visitors

NGS visitors enjoying tea on the patio About ninety people braved the narrow lanes to visit Barn House garden on midsummer’s day. Among the more familiar faces, were families with connections to the house and its past occupants so we gleaned a few more pieces to add to the historical jigsaw puzzle. There was also the great pleasure of chatting to those from further afield, as a healthy handful share our interest in ornamental grasses in particular and planting on the wilder-side in general. I was delighted that so many fellow enthusiasts were keen to take the planting lists and grasses catalogue with them for a tour of the garden. This year, having dithered a bit about the chance of rain, the aesthetically displeasing, non-waterproof raspberry coloured labels stayed in the shed ….

Visitors are warmly welcome by appointment through to the end of September, with proceeds allocated to the NGS etc..

Help

The church on the river bank Equally important to the success and the enjoyment of the day are the wonderful team of helpers from the village church (a Moravian foundation, with a fascinating history, housed in a charming riverside whitewashed chapel.) Thanks to the cheerful help and generous supply of cakes, we, as garden owners, are able to spend a lot more time welcoming our visitors. We simply couldn’t manage without their support or the organisational skills of Mary Harris, whom we fondly regard as The Valley Saint.

Gordon Plant

Gordon's Calamagrostis We were very fortunate that Gordon, a talented amateur photographer with a painterly eye, visited the garden last July. He and his partner Lynne Cartlidge, herself a talented artist with a studio in Cardiff, made return visits last summer and between them captured some beautiful mages of the garden. Gordon’s photographs are currently on display at the Brockweir and Hewelsfield Village Shop, along with a series of cards.

Click here to see Gordon Plant’s photo stories

Plants

Grasses terrace lit by sunshine Reliable as ever, the grasses quietly did what they do without fuss. Equally reliable, the roses are succumbing to black spot right on cue, while the blackfly are making a stunning contrast to the chartreuse foliage of the broad beans. And, it’s a hat trick …

Hosta snails pot June

… as all but miniature Hosta ‘Little Mouse Ears’ are perforated beyond redemption. Thank goodness for grasses.

Pets

Saffie on garden sofa Our dear “enormous and ebullient” terriers were far from terribly behaved, enjoying their stint as meeters and greeters on gate duty. Lots of friendly pats went down well with them, followed by a spell of kitchen duty mesmerised by the sight of all that cake. Saffie, The Boss, looked very chuffed to have the paddock sofa back though. Meanwhile, Poppy, a perennial puppy at age five, revelled in a joyous fit of the zoomies …. Lily the cat sleeping on the bbq I like to think Lily the cat, AWOL for the afternoon then discovered snoozing on the defunct barbeque, was contentedly dreaming of all the mice she’s thankful for in the neighbouring Hudnall’s Woods.

The NGS

NGS logo The NGS is a marvellous organisation, not least, for us, because in opening our garden we have benefitted from meeting many like-minded garden makers and, in turn, visiting their gardens. One of our favourites is Poole Cottage near Goodrich, open for the NGS on the 7th and 28th of August. For those who enjoyed the garden at Barn House, Jo and Roy’s garden is too good be missed!

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A seed raised ‘meadow’

15 Friday May 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in Ornamental grasses

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Deschampsia cespitosa, Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea

In spring 2012 a rogue seedling in a newly purchased pot of hakonechloa caught my attention, its leaves were a vivid emerald green and it promised a pleasing tufty habit. It flowered later that year, unmistakably as deshamspia cespitosa, or according to the RHS who also provide descriptive common names, either tufted hair, or hassock, or tussock grass. Locally, in the Forest of Dean, I have heard it called ‘forest fairy grass’.

deschampsia in full flower in a nursery bed June 2014

deschampsia in full flower in a nursery bed June 2014

Deschampsia is one of the most widespread of grasses, native species are mainly found in northerly latitudes with cooler climates where it colonises a range of habitats. Given its adaptable nature and good looks, it’s a popular grass for informal planting schemes. There are quite a few to choose from too, from the more compact Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Bronzeschleier’ (‘Bronze Veil’) to the taller ‘Goltau’ (‘Gold Dew’). Whatever its origins, my chance seedling once in flower had a wild billowing look about it, and reminded me of the deschampsia seen on motorway embankments or marshy moorland in the UK. True to form, it produced seed in abundance, which then germinated easily, so by planning ahead it was possible to raise enough plants for a small ‘meadow’ area in the front garden.Deschampsia year 1 seedlings In 2013 the first year seedlings in the sleeper beds made a uniform leafy display across to the bamboo Phyllostachys vivax. [The dogs treated the beds like a raised lawn, rolling over the stout young tussocks and the flat, rather sharp edged leaves didn’t appeal to them either. It seemed a promising start.]Deschampsia area September 2014 This was the area of rough grass that I had in mind for a small informal ‘meadow’ and a manageable spot to contain the enthusiastic seeding habit of the deschampsia. The site is fairly open, over squelchy clay, and in mid summer catches the evening sun. Deschampsia density Through the summer of 2014 the nursery beds of deschamspia planted at varying densities did well. They had reached mature flowering size by just their second year, and the mass effect of airy panicles held clear of dense cushions of foliage was a delightful sight. Deschampsia lodged in rainThe deschampsia passed what I think of as ‘the lodge test’. Lodging only effects a few varieties of ornamental grass, in much the same way as not all herbaceous perennials require staking. The term refers to flowering stems that have fallen over following very heavy rain and it may effect some of the tallest, most slender stemmed grasses. Left to dry naturally the stems should return upright with minimal snapping at the nodes. Despite the fact that deschampsia cespitosa holds its flowers on the finest of hairy filaments, the two densely packed beds recovered from heavy downpours, but a lower final planting density, as used in the third bed, seemed a better idea. Deschampsia molinia In mid June of the same year, consecutively sown second year molinia seedlings (on the left) were forming dense, sizeable green leafy mounds and were only just producing flowering spikes. In comparison, the deschampsia (on the right) was setting seed and the leaf tussocks were starting to take on a characteristic thatchy look. The contrast suggested a scheme to include molinia dotted through the deschampsia as a form of succession planting, using the molinia to provide impact in late summer. image deschampsia mulched & sheeted Last autumn the area was treated for weeds, particularly couch grass and creeping buttercups; in the winter it was mulched with rough bark and sheeted so it would be ready for planting by early spring 2015. The then three year old plants were lifted in March, as soon as the deschampsia showed new growth.

Deschampsia and Molinia april

Meadow planting April

As 10 litre specimens and long lived perennials the molinia were spaced at a minimum of 1.5 metres apart, this allows them a good square metre at maturity. Whereas, the shorter lived deschampsia were divided to rejuvenate the mature plants and interplanted among the molinia at 5- 7 plants per square metre. Some of the deschampsia look a bit care worn, 2nd year plants would have looked fresher in spring. Other self-sowing perennials and biennials have been dotted through the area, including Verbena bonariensis, Honesty and Teasle to offer some contrast in colour and form.

Barn House Garden - Deschampsia

Maintenance is planned to be as minimal as possible, basically, an annual haircut with a strimmer. Hopefully, as good sized plants with vigorous natures they (or their progeny) will cope with the rough treatment and out-compete the worst of the weeds. This is a bit of an experiment, but it’s fun, and possible thanks to grasses raised easily from seed.

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Miscanthus sinensis : “queen of the grasses”

14 Saturday Mar 2015

Posted by kate@barnhouse in March, Ornamental grasses

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Miscanthus planting distances, Miscanthus sinensis 'Gracillimus', Miscanthus sinensis 'Kascade', Miscanthus sinensis 'Little Kitten', Miscanthus sinensis 'Malepartus', Miscanthus sinensis 'Morning Light', Miscanthus sinensis 'Starlight', Warm season grass

March is the month for cutting back the remaining deciduous ornamental grasses in the garden at Barn House. Only those that are robust enough to still look good in their winter finery are still standing. In this respect, it’s hard to beat cultivars of majestic miscanthus sinensis.

miscanthus hedge April
Miscanthus sinensis ‘Malepartus’ hedge March
Barn House Garden - Miscanthus hedge in August
The hedge August with Rudbeckia ‘Goldsturm’

Two-thirds of the plants for the 70 metre hedge of Miscanthus sinensis ‘Malepartus’ were sourced from Knoll Gardens, the UK’s leading ornamental grass specialist, the remaining third were obtained from divisions. The effect of a 2 metre high line of grasses racing along the boundary was achieved by planting in a staggered row at 3 plants a metre. In March, dried to a blond skeleton of its summer self, the tall stems draw the eye. Underplanting upright grasses with bands of rudbeckia  is one of my favourite combinations for the flowers followed by dark seed heads.

But the fading remains of miscanthus flowers are worth keeping in their own right. It seems to me, that late flowering cultivars remain fluffier throughout the long winter months while the earlier flowering ones thin to a golden filigree by March. Both capture light in the most delightful ways.

Fluffy winter plumes
Miscanthus sinensis ‘Gracillimus’
Miscanthus starlight
Miscanthus sinensis ‘Starlight’

As its name suggests, Miscanthus sinensis comes from ‘China’ in the broad sense that it’s widespread across eastern and south east Asia. Knowing where plants are from can be helpful, ornamental grasses are often described as ‘cool’ or ‘warm’ season growers. This distinguishes those that start into growth early or late in the year and when they subsequently flower. Miscanthus sinensis, as a warm season plant, stirs into growth slowly from mid spring as light levels and soil temperatures increase. It reaches its flowering peak in late summer or early autumn. Modern cultivars have been selected to flower well in temperate climates, given optimum conditions maximises their performance.

Barn House Garden - Autumn miscanthus starlight hedge seating area
Miscanthus (dwarf)
Miscanthus 'Starlight' April
Dwarf Miscanthus March
The dogs playing under the apple tree
one side of the hedge shaded by tree November

Mostly, miscanthus sinensis prefers an open, sunny position and to be grown in moist but well drained soil. In mass plantings in my garden, where conditions vary across large areas, this can be tricky. With designs of this sort, near monocultures, it’s desirable to maintain a uniform visual effect, unhappy plants stand out like a sore thumb. In one area, the planting density of a dwarf miscanthus hedge has been increased from 3 to 5 plants per metre to compensate for the shade cast by the old apple tree. The answer might be to delete the tree ….

Little kitten in winter

I buy grasses in 1 or 2 litre pots, there’s rarely an option to do otherwise. Planting miscanthus in small groups of 3 plants a metre in a mixed border allows them a little elbow room to establish themselves well. In the image above, a four year old clump of dwarf Miscanthus sinensis ‘Little Kitten’, is now more able to hold its own against the vigorous variegated vinca. Dwarf cultivars are useful for smaller areas, as accent plants, or as pot specimens.

Divisions of miscanthus sinensis

Miscanthus divisions

Another sound reason to space miscanthus as per the planting instructions on the pots you buy it in, and not squash it in as I’m prone to do, is that eventually a thriving specimen will more than occupy a square metre of ground. Unless divisions are the goal, lifting a mature plant in its entirety can be hard work. In raiding 3-5 year old miscanthus clumps over the last ten years, I’ve increased the stock available but, if left for a few more years, they make dramatic specimen plants.

A mature miscanthus upright habit
Miscanthus sinensis ‘Morning Light’
Miscanthus March
Gate statues against Miscanthus sinensis ‘Kascade’

Of the many cultivars of Miscanthus sinensis here in the garden at Barn House some have attained a mature presence. Two, planted in 2011 at opposing sides of the gateway to the back garden, were grown from divisions but have since been left undisturbed. They may be a bit slow to get going, but once established, their impact spans the seasons.

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Garden Journal

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  • Wordless Wednesday : Siberian Iris ‘Silver Edge’ June 15, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Hanging by a Thread June 8, 2016
  • Wildlife Wednesday – A Perfect Storm June 2, 2016
  • The Cedar Stump : A Happy Ending May 31, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Happy Wanderers May 25, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : After the Rain May 18, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Coming in to land …. May 11, 2016
  • Springtime Sport in the Meadow May 8, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Tulip ‘Orange Emperor’ May 4, 2016
  • A Walk in a Bluebell Wood May 1, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Anemone nemerosa April 27, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Epimedium pinnatum April 20, 2016
  • April is the sweetest month …. April 16, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Viola odorata April 13, 2016
  • Evergreen grasses : to cut or not to cut? April 8, 2016
  • Replacing the Vine Pergola April 3, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Spot the difference March 30, 2016
  • Bringing In the Sheaves March 24, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Hedgerow Treasures March 23, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Soaking up the spring sunshine March 16, 2016
  • Chionochloa : A Case of Mistaken Identity March 12, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Catkins March 9, 2016
  • The story of the big blue cedar February 27, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Welcome signs of Spring February 24, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : snow drops February 17, 2016
  • The plight of the honey bee February 14, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Cyclamen coum February 10, 2016
  • Pennisetum alopecuroides : a late winter friend February 6, 2016
  • Wordless Wednesday : Yellow crocus February 3, 2016
  • Touches of Frost January 23, 2016
  • Happy New Year January 3, 2016
  • Pinetum Park and Pine Lodge in winter December 21, 2015
  • Eragrostis curvula : African weeping love grass November 28, 2015
  • Tall purple moor-grass : Molinia caerulea subsp. arundinacea November 7, 2015
  • Autumn musings : Lofty cultivars of Miscanthus sinensis October 30, 2015
  • Filming Barn House garden for BBC Gardeners’ World 2016 October 21, 2015
  • Choosing a dwarf miscanthus October 14, 2015
  • Oudolf Field in Autumn October 7, 2015
  • A Tale of Two Himalayan Fairy Grasses … October 1, 2015
  • Patio pots September 23, 2015
  • Rudbeckia fulgida : flower power September 16, 2015
  • Persicaria great and small September 9, 2015
  • Splendour in the Grass September 2, 2015
  • Pennisetum macrourum : perfect picked, dried or simply left on the plant …. August 26, 2015
  • E.A. Bowles and The Riddle of the Pheasant’s Tail Grass August 19, 2015
  • Hakonechloa macra : Japanese Forest Grass August 13, 2015
  • In search of the perfect pennisetum August 6, 2015
  • A peaceful spot : sitting, staring and drinking tea. July 30, 2015
  • The pot in the seed raised meadow July 23, 2015
  • “A garden isn’t meant to be useful. It’s for joy.” July 16, 2015
  • Misty morning treasure July 10, 2015
  • Learning to love The Pink and Orange Patio July 2, 2015
  • Bamboo : taming the dragon June 26, 2015
  • NGS Day : reasons to be cheerful June 22, 2015
  • NGS open garden day : Sunday 21st June, 2-5.30pm June 6, 2015
  • A seed raised ‘meadow’ May 15, 2015
  • Calamagrostis : a great grass for all seasons May 9, 2015
  • Low maintenance grass-like plants April 19, 2015
  • Miscanthus sinensis : “queen of the grasses” March 14, 2015
  • Easy evergreen grasses February 15, 2015
  • Grasses’ terrace in winter January 26, 2015

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