Tag Archives: Anemanthele lessoniana

Evergreen grasses : to cut or not to cut?

08 Friday Apr 2016

Posted by in Ornamental grasses

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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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

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

19 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by in Ornamental grasses

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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.

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.

“A garden isn’t meant to be useful. It’s for joy.”

16 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by in Raised beds, structures

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Perhaps contentious, the words of the distinguished novelist Rumer Godden, OBE, whose work and remarkable life I admire, are on my mind. By mid July the vegetable garden-come-nursery is usually heaving with gluts of one sort or another. This year many of the raised beds have become the playground of self-seeders that crept in with the compost when my back was turned. It’s time to take stock of what’s useful or joyful, and to think about getting ruthless with things that are neither.
Anemanthele raised bed heavy rain July

Three year-old Anemeanthele lessoniana seedlings, flowering for the first time, pack the shadiest of the 4’x8′ beds. Next spring they’ll be moved out to replace the tired looking seven year-old plants surrounding the Acer griseum in the front garden. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying watching them swirl in the wind as a uniform dense mass.

Non self pollinating courgettes

Two rows along, the courgettes are hitting their stride, until this week there have been lots of female flowers that have remained unpollinated thanks to the male flowers remaining stubbornly closed. Next year, I’ll go back to growing a self-pollinating parthenocarpic F1 hybrid like ‘Parthenon” for a reliable early crop. The 15’x6’ asparagus bed planted in 2007 yields handfuls rather than armfuls of spears, in retrospect planting a single modern French variety in a raised bed would have been better, especially  on our heavy clay soil.

Geranium Palmatum mop bucket broad beans lost behind

Last weekend I cleared the broad beans, it’s been a poor year for them. First they were swamped by the five year-old mature ‘hedge’ of Geranium palmatum, then by black fly. The sweet corn is likely to suffer a similar fate unless I thin out the nasturtiums, at present the corn looks like swimmers flailing leafy hands in distress.

I grow vegetables that satisfy two criteria : what Sarah Raven calls in her inspirational book The Great Vegetable Plot the ‘unbuyables’; and, then they have to be pleasing to look at in themselves. This year, there’s been a shortfall where both are concerned. It started back in late winter with a mad dash to an otherwise perfectly good local garden centre which surprised me with its uninspiring selection of seeds. This winter I’ll go revert to ordering online from specialist suppliers, Simpsons Seeds, Real Seeds, and Seeds of Distinction all have a wider choice.

Veg table pardon basket pergolajulyThe veg patch table is looking bare of the usual seasonal cache of beans, courgettes and peas, but there’s always the gardener’s adage ‘next year’ to fall back on and it’s quite nice to sit there quietly for once and collect my thoughts.

Preparing vegetable beds ...high hopes in March

We had high hopes in February, the beds were carefully prepared to match. The over-wintering hardboard ‘membrane’ put off last year’s deschampsia seedlings, it also hastened the composting of the old bark paths. In May a decision was made to replace the squelchy bark paths,  that put paid to time for tending vegetables. I wonder, is there joy in the fact that composted bark makes great soil conditioner?

deschampsia in full flower in a sleeper beds June 2014

deschampsia in full flower in a sleeper beds June 2014

Last summer we took reckless joy in the display put on by Deschampsia cespitosa, knowing full well as we watched it puffing first golden clouds of pollen followed by prolific amounts of seed, that this would be the last straw for the paths. Even so, it was worth it! The deschampsia, as planned back in 2013, has been transplanted to a wild and woolly corner of the front garden, more conveniently bordered by mown grass. Here it’s the lead grass in the new stylised meadow where it can puff away to its heart’s content.Veg garden pergola june The consequence of spending 40 unplanned hours carefully excavating 120 square feet of paths without damaging the underlying membrane is that not much else got done in this area. The hazel pergolas remain bereft of sweetpeas. On reflection, I think there’s something pleasing about the voids.

Angelica geranium pergola July

The silvery structure has cropped up in many images I’ve taken for my records, even across the rhubarb bed. I’m pondering the mayhem we’ll face next year if the self-seeders have their way. The herb Angelica gigas, from seed given to me by my mother several years ago, is a divinely aromatic and gentle giant – the plentiful seed remains viable for a short time only. The same can’t be said for some of the others.

Nasturtium hedge JulyHowever, I like to think that intrepid Rumer Godden might have approved of the spirit of the supposedly trailing nasturtiums that annually climb the peasticks and mug the peas. They’ve territorial ambitions and require cutting back hard to keep the paths passable. The peppery smell always reminds me of my maternal grandmother’s garden which was also awash with these jolly volunteers.Poppies pergola morning July Luckily, unlike Rumer Godden, we don’t really depend on the garden for sustenance. Unlike her, we don’t have helpers to be fearful of lest they poison us. Just as well with all these opium poppies about! Paddock Poppy and Saffie June Papaver somniferum is endemic to the garden, the sight of it never fails to bring us joy. That’s why we named our happy-go-lucky second dog with the flying ears and long curly tail ‘Poppy’. She, bless her, thinks her name is “Biscuit”. Saffron, her great-aunt, often looks unamused . It seems, that in more ways than one, we’re collecting joyous wayward flowers.

Rumer Godden Dove Cottage Kashmir image courtesy of RG Literary Trust

Rumer Godden Dove Cottage Kashmir image courtesy of RG Literary Trust

POSTCSRIPT : Anne Chisholm’s biography Rumer Godden : A Story Teller’s Life (Macmillan London, 1997) though out of print is worth tracking down. Rumer Godden was a castaway on Desert Island Discs in 1975 and 1996, the latter was repeated in November 1998 to mark her death at the ripe old age of ninety. Her final choices were : Anthony Horwitz playing Schummann’s ‘Traumerei’ from “Scenes from Childhood”; a mystically refilling widow’s ‘cruise’ of whiskey; and, Edith Sitwell’s ‘The Atlantic Book of British and American Poetry”.

Easy evergreen grasses

15 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by in February, Winter

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Evergreen grasses stand out in the garden, especially once the cool season, deciduous grasses are cleared in February. With this in mind, they’re useful as either mass plantings, low hedges or pot grown specimens to provide colour and structure. It’s taken me a while to get to grips with them, especially Anemanthele lessoniana, the beautiful Pheasant Tail grass which was mentioned in January’s post.

But they’re easy once you know how.

Anemanthele lessoniana (syn. Stipa arundinacea or Pheasant Tail grass)

It seems the trick with anemanthele is to know at what stage in the plant’s life to cut it back, by how far, and, when.

These home-grown anemanthele seedlings were immature 2 year old plants when they were planted in a row beside the drive, so they were not cut back last year. In February 2015 the same plants, now three times the size, will flower fully later this summer. In a reliably warm region these three year old plants could be cut back in spring, just before the new leaves appear. But where we live, on the Welsh borders, the heavy clay is slow to warm and a late spell of cold, wet weather on top of a short haircut might put them off. It’s a waiting game. If we are lucky enough to have an early, warm spring I’ll sharpen the secateurs.

I’ve also learned to wait until the mature plants have flowered well, usually in their third summer, before giving them the ‘shaving brush treatment’. I think this is the best way to describe the 8″ high upright tufts you’re left with when you’ve cut them back in mid March. It might seem obvious, but the easiest and neatest way to do this is to make a clean cut through as much as you can bunch into one hand, then the next, and so on, all at the same height.

For instance, the grasses terrace has been cleared this week, leaving curving rows of stubble. This is the main border in front of the house, its formality is emphasied by the stonework. There’s no ignoring it in the ‘off season’. As such, I think a uniform finish is achieved by cutting the grasses down by hand. And, the same is true with anemanthele – not only do they look neater, it also ensures they are cut at the correct height to satisfy their requirements. Keeping them happy and healthy for as long as possible pays off.

By their fifth flowering year onwards, that’s about seven years from sowing, the plants may start to look a bit tired – looking better from a distance, as in the images above – but by then there are seedlings to replace them. Seedlings do well if planted out in their second year, as they’re less likely to be swamped by other plants, until then I grow them on in raised beds in a shadier spot – where their leaves will be greener. Grown in full sun, in dry ground expect the leaves to have orange tints.

Stipa gigantea

Mature tussocks of truly evergreen Stipa gigantea, now ten year-old plants, have strong winter presence and are very low maintenance.

They are proving to be long-lived too, with an appreciated preference for being left well alone. Yet, this is their third planting position, in two different gardens. I’d almost given up on them, but since abandoning them in this spot they have taken off. I think this is due to the sharp drainage at the edge of this sunny, sloping bed, here the clay is quite dry and even stonier than it was before 2012. This was the digger-riddled-rock-dump while work was carried out on the rest of the front garden. At a loss to know what to risk, the stipa ended up here by default. They share the space with the May flowering Iris Siberica ‘Tropic Nights’, interplanted at 1.5 metre intervals.

As they’re happily settled, beyond removing spent flower stems, I leave them to it. They can be gently groomed with a spring tine rake, but it’s more likely to be the stumps of last year’s flowering stalks that want removing by hand. These pull out easily in late winter. Flowering stems are produced from spring, they are gorgeous but delicate, so any tidying up of the centre of the plant needs to be done with care. The sharp leaves are winter-grazing proof, gloves are a must.

Given my early history with Stipa gigantea, I wouldn’t have imagined growing it from seed. But last year, I was surprised to find a rash of self-sown seedlings. Any young ornamental grass seedling is easy to lift once it has several tufty leaves, I grow lots in pots or nursery beds as ‘heirs and spares’.

Checking the stipa seedlings this week, it’s clear they’re rooting nicely in 1 litre pots, the top growth is sturdier than those in the raised bed. I’d expect them to put on substantial root growth this year, until then they’ll continue to be quite top heavy. I’ve left a few of the seedlings in situ in the gravel out of sheer curiousity – I lifted one this Sunday, all I can say is it wouldn’t take a minute to weed them out.

 Chionochloa conspicua ‘Rubra’ and Chionochloa conspicua 

Both of these evergreen grasses are beautiful and structural all year round. Since I started growing them in 2012, they have been trouble-free and demand very little attention to keep them looking good.

Chionochloa 'Rubra' in yard

Chionochloa ‘Rubra’ in yard

Chionochloa conspicua ‘Rubra’ eventually makes a mound a metre high. I can’t wait! I have been admiring mature specimens at two regional specialist nurseries for years, Pan Global Plants and Special Plants. Mine, planted two years ago, are now at two-thirds of their mature size. The winter sun brings out the orange tints in the bronze foliage, camouflaging any spent leaves, making them ultra low maintenance. Like anemanthele, they’re from New Zealand, similarly they’re both fully hardy in this garden. This group of Chionochloa enjoys a sunny spot over fertile, moist but well drained clay and they’ve settled in well, even flowering last year. I’ll be on the look out for seedlings in about May.

In comparison, Chionochloa conspicua, makes good pot specimens to distract attention from the concrete steps. It’s an olive toned evergreen and a 4′ tall grass that holds its stunning flowers on elegant long stems. As mature specimen plants these were a gift from a generous friend, who, in 2012, no longer had room for them.

Chionochloa conspicua on patio steps

Chionochloa conspicua on patio steps

In 2013 they were potted into large planters. They’ve already filled them, so will be divided by mid March. That will be the time to fish out the few bits of thatch. As with stipa, the flower spikes emerge in early spring. Grooming in early spring is a matter of personal choice. I just snip off the occasional leaf dangling down the side of the pot : my mum likes to give them the full salon treatment, plucking individual strands hidden within the centre of the clump. She is a patient soul.

I’ve grown both the green and bronze leaved chionochloa from different sized divisions of mature plants, taken from the edge of the plant. I’d say, the larger the division the quicker the plant establishes – which is from 2 litre or double fist sized piece of fresh material. If the centre of a several year old clump of any grass is woody it’s best discarded. There is an added advantage to dividing grasses into larger pieces – they can be directly planted into the ground.

Chionochloa conspicua February

I haven’t yet tried dividing mature clumps of stipa or anemanthele. I’d like to know whether division of these or other evergreen grasses is possible or wise. Meanwhile, we’ve just sown Chionochloa conspicua from seed. It was collected last autumn, today the dried remains are still nodding in the winter sun.