Life on the edge

Something that continues to fascinate me about gardens is the relationship that exists between the gardener and the natural world. We might be allowed to think we’ve got the upper hand for a short while, but this is just an illusion. Where the gardener seeks to impose their will – the tidily clipped hedges, fruit trees trained into espaliers and fans, or the neatly manicured expanse of baize green lawn – little more than a momentary distraction provides the opportunity for Mother Nature to reassert her dominance. And it seems to me that this relationship is nowhere more evident than around the edges of things.

Easily overlooked, I’ve come to appreciate that edges are key in providing definition and coherence in the garden. They help our brains to make sense of what the eyes are taking in. So while by nature I’m not an obsessively tidy person, it’s struck me this week that just about every garden I look at seems to be in need of a good haircut. Hardly surprising in a week of minor monsoons and mini heatwaves that the plants are growing vigorously away, but who has time not only to keep on top of the weeding, make sure the containers are watered, and mow the lawn twice a week, but also to ensure crisp edges on everything? As a working gardener, I know that good edging is the finishing touch that completes all my hard work in maintaining a beautiful garden. But as a householder I am aware that, as long as nothing is wildly out of control, if you look after the edges, you can for a time get away with a little less attention to what’s going on between them.

Noone wants to be a slave to their garden, so why not take a little time to neaten up the perimeter of the lawn, and then reduce the frequency of mowing for a few weeks? Similarly, take advantage of the RSPB’s advice against cutting hedges between March and August by leaving the noisy, cumbersome hedge trimmers in the shed, and clip off the straggly tops with some hand shears.

It’s not a long-term strategy — inevitably at some point, you will need to catch up — but anything that promises to steal a little time to enjoy our gardens has to be worth a try. I’ll be getting the shears out this evening after work. But only for a few minutes.

Summer solstice

All too soon, the longest day of the year is upon us. Just at the moment we realise we can be outside at ten in the evening and still see our way along the garden path without the aid of a torch, we turn the corner and the nights begin to draw in again. Of course, this picture of balmy June evenings is entirely fanciful – having spent most of the past fortnight utterly sodden, rainsoaked and windswept, there’s been little chance of pottering through the twilight garden, beaker full of the warm south in hand. A mad dash to the shed to shelter from the heaviest of showers has been more typical of late, but for all that, it’s been wonderful to seen the effect of the rain on our gardens, transforming them from parched spaces to verdant jungles within ten days.

But (dare I say it), this week looks brighter, and while today is undoubtedly a milestone in the year – and one with the faintest tinge of melancholy for those of us who crave every available photon of the day’s light – there are still the glories of the late summer border to look forward to. The dahlias and lilies, asters, cosmos and verbena, heleniums and rudbekias, agapanthus and montbretia – all old friends I can’t wait to meet again in a few week’s time.

In the box

Every now and again, you have to give into temptation. Some old floorboards leaning against the shed have been crying out to be turned into something altogether more interesting and useful. We’d been thinking about introducing a line of vintage effect wooden garden planters if there’s sufficient interest and, needing an original gift for a good friend, the chance to make a prototype box and plant it up with a selection of mediterranean herbs seemed too good to miss.

Having assembled the box, I found myself in two minds as to whether to leave the box totally untreated as the old floorboards had quite a bit of character. But the opportunity to trial a particular aged paint finish won out in the end. With a coat of primer and a top coat in a silvery grey shade, the corners and edges were sanded to remove any splinters, and the sander was also applied to the painted sides to enhance the impression of years of wear and tear. The next step was to apply a dark coloured wax with wire wool, which will protect the wood further. It also built up in the rough surface to accentuate the texture. A thick black polythene liner gets stapled in next, with holes punched through to align with the drainage holes drilled into the plywood base. A free draining compost and a scattering of water retaining gell crystals (not as critical with herbs as with other containerised plants, but helpful nonetheless), it was ready to be planted with a selection including sage, rosemary, basil, thyme and the curry plant Helichrysum italicum.

So much for the finish. It was around this stage that I realise that I’d taken some old timber, cut it to size, cleaned it up, sanded it down – and then spent several hours painstakingly making it look like...old timber. But I think the trouble was worth it...and hope you agree.

Now all that remains is to brush all the sawdust of everything in the potting shed.

In praise of peonies

Paeonia lactiflora ‘Sarah Bernhardt’

Firstly, I should say, hurrah, it’s June! At least, I think that deserves a ‘hurrah’ – the year is rushing past so quickly and gardens everywhere seem to be gathering momentum, building towards either a most amazing, bountiful crescendo of floral splendour, or a parched, arid period of drought where only the toughest of our Mediterranean garden imports looks chipper. Ever the optimist, my money’s on the former...after all, Wimbledon fortnight is soon upon us, and so rain is inevitable.


But secondly, I am in love. Again. With a flower. Well, a genus – peonies have really captured not only my eye but my heart too this past year. What a fantastically, beautiful, unapologetically blousey flower, on wonderful, deep green foliage. It lifts the borders and the spirits. We have the double-flowered ‘Sarah Bernhardt’ in one border – the heavy, ruffled, soft pink blooms like so many petticoats, weighing down the stems and requiring constant tying in so as not to become victim to the breeze or short bursts of rain but, oh so worth the effort. In the opposite border, a much deeper, scarlet-flowered Paeonia lactiflora ‘Karl Rosenfeld’ catches the eye, with its rich yellow pollen laden anthers peeking out from wine-coloured petals. And somewhere in a corner sulks ‘Shirley Temple’ – she obviously requires more of the limelight and will have to be moved for next spring if we’re to get the most from her large, pale pink flowers which fade to white.

Paonia lactiflora ‘Karl Rosenfeld’

Next year, I have designs on a tree peony which bewitched a friend when we went to Wisley in May – Paeonia rockii – white flowers as big as a plate, with a splash of maroon in the centre. Magic.

Paeonia rockii at the RHS Gardens, Wisley. With thanks to Louise Burgess for the image