One of the gardens in the next village was opening this weekend under the National Gardens Scheme. The booklet said it was New for 2015, though that could mean either never opened before, or not opened for a while. Either way, I'd never seen it, and since I am always keen to glean fresh ideas on anything that might like growing in our sand, and was looking for somewhere to take my parents that didn't involve us driving half way across Essex, I suggested we go.
It wasn't a very big garden. The scheme used to have a rule that any garden opening had to be capable of sustaining visitor interest for a minimum of forty-five minutes unless it was opening as part of a group, but I think they might have relaxed that. It did push the list of gardens open towards the larger and grander end of the scale, when many visitors might be happy to visit normal sized plots around the same size as their own gardens, to see what could be achieved if you had the will and the imagination. It can be jolly nice to wander around several acres of yew hedging, and double herbaceous borders longer than most people's gardens, with a wild flower meadow and arboretum chucked in, but that's not necessarily the best place to find ideas for what you could do in the back garden of your average semi. And skilful designers or keen plant enthusiasts with small spaces might be eager to share their ideas with a wider public, even if it didn't take the full three quarters of an hour to get the story across.
I saw a couple of things today that I liked very much. There was an allium of some sort, still in bud, looking like Allium siculum on steroids, standing over two feet tall with great pointed buds almost six inches long, and stems curving in graceful arcs. It had leaves emerging along the lower portion of the stem rather than a ratty cluster at ground level, and was altogether thrilling, and I coveted it even without knowing what shape or colour the flowers were. The garden owner told me that it was useful, flowering in late July when many other alliums had finished, and gesturing towards a different patch already in flower told me it had heads about that big, that big being somewhat smaller than a tennis ball. I didn't actually check whether they were ball shaped, or pendant clusters like A. siculum.
Alas, he didn't know the second part of its name. The bulbs had come as freebies with something else, some pink while the plants I was admiring flowered white. Descriptions of bulbs tend to focus on the flowers rather than buds, let alone the appearance of the stems, and I fear it could take me quite a long time to work their identity out from the internet. My best bet might be to remember the question, and ask an expert the next time I find myself near a specialist bulb grower. Though that might not be until next year's Chelsea, which is a long time to remember the question.
The bright magenta form of Gladiolus byzantinus were doing well in one bed. It is much smaller than the large Dame Edna glads, though larger than some of the other species. They used to thrive and multiply in the garden where I grew up, which was on sand, and I have tried and failed to get them to go here, even paying up for bulbs from some of the poshest catalogues which explicitly guaranteed they would be the true magenta and not those wishy washy pinks. Looking at them again after all these years I suddenly wondered whether by now I preferred the softer pinks.
I liked a small leaved, erect Sedum with turmeric coloured flowers, but that was one that had already been in the garden when the owners moved in and they didn't know its name. Still, searching for a herbaceous plant when you have seen it in flower should be much easier than searching for a bulb when you've only seen it in bud, and I expect I'll be able to work out which sedum it was. The queue for the teas rather overlapped the area with plants for sale, which didn't look very big, but I should have stopped and checked just in case they had that sedum for sale. Now I've discovered how easy they are from cuttings I wouldn't need more than one.
The owner tried to interest me in a hardy form of Pennisetum, which I admired politely, but I'd forgotten to take my garden visiting book and by now I've forgotten the second half of its name. I could always email and ask him, but I don't really want a hardy Pennisetum. I want that allium.
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