In the end this year's display of autumn leaves was a drawn-out disappointment. Or maybe we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, having managed to get to Westonbirt but in the middle of September when the maples had barely begun to turn. However, since we got back home the garden has not put in anything like a vintage performance, despite some high hopes expressed in the media about how this year's particular timing and quantities of rain and sunshine meant we were heading for a bumper autumn display.
The witch hazels decided not to bother. By the time I've finished reading Chris Lane's book I expect to have learnt quite what it is that makes them colour splendidly in some years, and quietly shed their leaves without a fuss in others. So far I have only discovered that the tendency of some plants to hang on to old brown leaves on the plant all winter is down to the rootstock, not the variety. Named witch hazels are normally propagated by grafting, the rootstock generally being grown from seed, so while the interesting, flowering top growth of every plant of 'Jelena' is genetically identical, the roots of every one are unique, and it's the roots that drive this holding on to dead leaves phenomenon.
The Amelanchier 'Ballerina' didn't do much either in the way of colour. They get a great press as multi-season trees, amelanchiers, and certainly the young leaves and blossom in spring are a delight, but my plant only manages to produce the promised autumn display of red, orange and gold about one year in three, and this wasn't one of the years. The naming of amelanchiers is confusing. I read Bean on the subject, who said as much, and was more confused after reading the book than when I started. 'Ballerina' was classed as a variety of A. x grandiflora when I bought mine, and still is on the web by some reputable sources, but others equally respected now say it's a form of A. lamarckii.
The leaves of the birches quietly went yellow and fell weeks back, apart from one of the three Betula nigra Wakehurst form, which is still hanging on to its foliage. Another rootstock effect? The double gean didn't flush nearly as red as it does in some years, and the leaves fluttered off bit by bit without ever peaking in a big display. The leaves of Prunus 'Tai Haku' started turning a couple of shades redder, but then strong winds ripped half of them off before the others had finished colouring, so the display fizzled out without ever reaching a definite crescendo. The last ones have just dropped, and I had better spend part of tomorrow morning raking them off the lawn. Much the same thing happened to the tulip tree in the meadow, though I needn't worry about raking its leaves up.
My three potted Japanese maples were very good, I'll say that for them. They turned to glorious shades of red, and managed to hang on to their leaves for a decent length of time. I should just have liked to see the same effect on an epic scale, if the timing at Westonbirt had worked out. Now the oak leafed hydrangea is giving it a good go, but that really is too small to make any impact on the broader garden scene yet. We don't think of hyrangeas as good plants for autumn, but the oak shaped leaves of Hydrangea quercifolia turn a wonderful shade of plum, and last that way for a long time.
The true oaks are refusing to turn en masse. A scattering of brown leaves has fallen on to the lawn and blown into the beds, but the trees are still heavy and sullen in ever darker shades of dull green. I am beginning to wish they would hurry up and get on with it, partly because then I could sweep up all the leaves in one purge, instead of having to go round the garden again and again, but mainly because they are becoming oppressive. It's a dour colour, that brownish, greenish, end of growth and life heavy shade of mud green, and I'd rather be rid of it, and see the winter's sun sparkling through the bare branches.
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