Spring Inspiration

Colourful Cornus

Winter swept back with a vengeance this weekend, but between showers of snow, sleet, hail, rain and odd combinations of all four, there have been hints of spring and sunshine.  Luckily, a visit to the beautiful Winter Garden at Dunham Massey in Cheshire, with some old and new friends from Reaseheath College, coincided with one such break.

Dunham Massey House across the lake

Dunham Massey has glorious deer-filled grounds accessible with or without a National Trust card and the house has an intriguing exhibition recreating its history as a small military hospital during the latter years of the First World War, but the gardens are quite a favourite of mine as they have year-round interest.  We enjoyed a summer visit last year, mooring our little narrowboat nearby and enjoying the herbaceous borders at their best and the new rose garden, while a few years earlier we visited in bluebell season.  The winter garden was a recent creation when I first saw that, on the recommendation of one of my first Reaseheath tutors (Carol Adams), but it has matured well in the four years since.

Birch bark and snowdrops

The snowdrops are probably just about at their best just now and the drifts beneath the pure white birches, which looked a little sparse at first, are knitting together well now and the simple palette of white and pale green is attractive and restful. 

Blue and white mix

There's a lot to be said for adding a dash more colour.  This clump of snowdrops with a dark blue miniature iris looked particularly striking; a combination with the softer blue 'Sheila Ann Germaney' was less so - perhaps golden aconites or early narcissus might lift the paler blooms, though the dark autumn leaves also set them off well.  They were an unusual and attractive little bulb and had the NT been willing to charge less than £4 for a small pot of them, I may have treated myself.  I will definitely be looking out for bulbs in the autumn.

Iris histrioides 'Sheila Ann Germaney'

There were some gorgeous scents drifting across from the winter flowering shrubs, particularly the Daphne bholua 'Jacqueline Postill' and Lonicera fragrantissima, thought the most colourful displays came from the flowers of various hamamellis and the striking stalks of the cornus, particularly 'Midwinter Fire'.  Cornus aren't hard to strike from cuttings and I have noticed some planted as landscaping at a local DIY store, and a variagated-leaf red-stemmed cultivar handy to the nearest petrol station, so a visit to both with secateurs is on the 'to do' list.

'Witch Hazel'

My own front garden was looking decidedly short of impact when I got home, though in the back garden I seem to have had more luck with my hellebores than the gardeners of Dunham, and my little snowdrop clumps are spreading nicely.  The remodelling of the front garden will incorporate some ideas from this visit, but there was no chance to start work this weekend - Sunday disappeared under snow and hail and, though brighter, Monday was battered by a bitter wind. 

Daphne bholua 'Jacqueline Postill'

But there's nothing like a blog post to reinforce good intentions for the future and record ideas, and some fragrant winter shrubs would be a good addition to a space that lacks structure at present.  And if my nose detects the scent, it must be quite overpowering!

 

The Germinator

Somewhere in northern Norway, hidden away below the permafrost, is a great vault.  Within, safe from whatever climate or conflict might inflict on the conditions above, seeds of all the world's precious plant-life sleep away the years in suspended animation, an insurance against apocalypse.

There's a box like that in our house, holding all the packets of seed I've bought, usually in the sales, but never got around to planting.  Though the north-west corner of the front bedroom isn't quite as cold as a vault under the tundra, it's not a bad spot to keep seeds in hypersleep. The box, unlike the rest of the room, is beautifully organised; divided into sections for each month and for vegetables and flowers, and now it's been properly catalogued so I know exactly what it contains - and their supposed expiry dates.

There are almost seventy packets, of which six are still officially 'in date'.

I blame the narrowboat, of course - we've been away on the boat when we should have been gardening in the last couple of years, so 'bargains' snapped up in 2011 or 2012 and specified for sowing the following year sat in the box all of that year - and the next.as well.  Having stayed sealed and at a cool, steady temperature, there is a fighting chance they'll be viable, in most cases.  Where there is more than one pack of the same plant - and I have a particularly plentiful supply of broccoli and opium poppies, for reasons that now escape me - the plan is to sow the older pack first, early in the recommended period and, if nothing emerges, try again with the second.  Or third.  Or fourth...

Actually, I can't blame the boat for all of the long-term deposits in the seed bank.  Like the broad beans that were popped into loo-roll middle planters yesterday dated 'sow by 2010' - though they looked to be in better condition than the 'sow by 2013' batch that were also started yesterday, so it will be interesting to see which batch (if either) germinates most successfully.  Old carrot seed is supposedly a guaranteed fail, but all carrot seed is such in my hands - I plan to scatter some about when it warms up a bit alongside the 'sow by 2010' spring onions and see whether anything appears at all.

If something of everything does come through, we will do well for veg and flowers this year and I actually don't have to buy anything extra, unless there are crucial failures.  About the only thing that would count as a crucial failure would be no spuds - officially an 'ELE' (Emigration Level Event).  We don't take chances with is potatoes, and this year's seed spuds are ready for setting out for chitting.  Short of space for experiments this year, as the allotment is getting a rest from taters to try and starve out the millipede problem, I'm sticking to the holy trinity of Foremost for first early, Kestrel for Second and Sarpo Mira for maincrop.  Okay, I bought a small bag of Pink Fir Apple, as a little treat because they're so tasty and of course the funny, rude shapes are endless source material for this blog as well.  What's not to like?

And if I see some Highland Burgundy Reds, there might just be room for them too...