Tag Archives: Molinia caerulea subsp.arundinacea

Springtime Sport in the Meadow

08 Sunday May 2016

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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.

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.

Bringing In the Sheaves

24 Thursday Mar 2016

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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’

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.

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.

Tall purple moor-grass : Molinia caerulea subsp. arundinacea

07 Saturday Nov 2015

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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.

Splendour in the Grass

02 Wednesday Sep 2015

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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.

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.

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.

 

 

 

The pot in the seed raised meadow

23 Thursday Jul 2015

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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.

A seed raised ‘meadow’

15 Friday May 2015

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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.