March bulbs in autumn

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Autumn can be a magical season here. It is not guaranteed but, more often than not, we get warm, sunny, calm days with cool night temperatures. And dry. Ours is not a climate noted for extended dry periods but when it does happen, it is in autumn. These are perfect conditions for the autumn bulbs.

We say of our reasonably expansive 1950s rockery that it peaks in two seasons – autumn and again in early spring. We are entering the autumn peak but it is perhaps more in quantity than range of different bulbs.

We don’t accept many groups these days, but the Pukeiti members’ visit came from a special request, even though their visit was a few weeks too early to catch what we would describe as the autumn season.

We had the Pukeiti members visit three weeks’ ago and, as I commented to them, when it comes to bulbs, what they are looking at here is over 70 years of building up the volume. Mark, like his father Felix before him, started with just the bare minimum – one if it was an expensive bulb, maybe 3 or 4 if it was cheap enough and available to buy. Otherwise it would just be gifts of interesting bulbs from other gardeners. Over the years, we have lost a fair number of bulb varieties that did not like our conditions, but those that survived and increased have often thrived.

Cyclamen hederifolium, happily naturalised and seeding around but in a non-threatening way

The rockery is a carpet of Cyclamen hederifolium, in shades of pink and white. Sometimes referred to as the ivy-leaf cyclamen, it is native to the Mediterranean area and one of the most amenable and easy to grow species. These days, we mostly let them seed down in situ and from time to time, I will lift clumps of tubers when they get too congested.  We have also had success naturalising them on bulb hillsides in meadow conditions but we need to get the summer cut on the grass done at the right time so we can see the flowers. Somewhat to Mark’s surprise, just scattering seed proved as effective as planting tubers but it does take a few years for them to get enough size to be visible.

The nerines have just their peak. We do a good line on nerines – well, a rockery filled with them really and we have managed to keep the colours separate. Most are hybrids based on Nerine sarniensis, Felix started with a few good ones, although we don’t know how he came by the Inchmery nerines from Exbury. From there, he and then Mark started trying out controlled crosses to build the range we have today. They are the absolute stars in the autumn rockery, underpinned by the carpet of cyclamen.

Belladonnas are somewhat under-rated as an autumn bulb – too vigorous in growth habit and too much foliage for the rest of the year, but they certainly put on a great show in bloom with absolutely no care or attention.

Most of the big bulbs of summer have finished, but I will eat my past words on the short flowering season of belladonnas. I have never tracked them before but seven weeks in full bloom and still going is not a short season at all, by bulb standards. We just take them for granted, really, and fail to recognise what a hard working family they are.

Moraea poystachya in blue, choosing where it prefers to live. It particularly likes cracks in concrete.

The moraea family is a large one of many different species, the most common being M. villosa and M. aristata – the spring flowering peacock iris. Some are invasive and some are not worth having, but in autumn each year, Moraea polystachya delights us with its blue iris flowers. It sets plenty of flowers down the stem, unlike many bulbs that set just one bloom per stem. It seeds down but not badly enough for us to decide it is invasive and dangerous. It is just gently spreading and generally delights us,

Having different species of colchicum means the flowering season is extended by several weeks.

Beyond that, the second species of colchicums are in full bloom now (either C. autumnale or C speciosum – one flowers earlier and one flowers now and one day, I will find out which blooms first). So too are the true autumn crocus in bloom. There are a fair swag of different species of autumn crocus (NOT including colchicums and sternbergia which are often inaccurately referred to as autumn crocus even though they have no connection to crocus at all). The one we have most success with is blue, almost certainly from the C. serotinus group, maybe salzmanii.

The controversial pure while Lilium formasanum close out the lily season in March. They are controversial because of their seeding ways and indeed are banned from commercial sale but not prohibited in the garden. They do need deadheading, though.

Other bulbs during March that came and went included Haemanthus coccineus, Brunsvigia josephinae and the controversial Lilium formasanum (syn. weedy, also banned from sale). 

Sometimes this run of settled autumn weather can last until the shortest day. After a particularly indifferent summer, we have our fingers crossed.

Sartorial elegance meets Peter Rabbit. In the garden of course.

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“Back in December 2005, Monty Don, the British horticulturalist and human Peter Rabbit, wrote a delightful little essay for The Guardian on how to dress as a gardener.” (Derek Guy, ‘Why We Dig Gardening Style’ Mr Porter, Fashion)

Writing my almost overdue post about March bulbs flowering now felt like getting blood from a stone and, as a writer and gardener with deadlines that are all self-imposed, I was delighted to be diverted in an unexpected quarter. Monty Don as a human Peter Rabbit, you say. Tell me more.

The alt text to the photo (the bit on the black background that is probably too small to read) says: ‘Monty Don wearing a weathered French chore coat, blue shirt, and weathered French work pants. He is holding a tool in the garden.’

The writer is a US – based master of sartorial elegance and expertise, Derek Guy. This is not a subject of great interest to me in the greater scheme of things but Derek Guy had come to my notice through Bluesky. Social media gets a bad rap these days when, at its best, it can open us up to new ways of looking at things. Having dabbled in and out of Guy’s posts, I have learned things I never knew about quality men’s tailoring and why the Spanish king – I think it is the one from Spain – always looks so beautifully attired while our PM, try as he might, is more like a sack of potatoes in a blue suit jacket without even a hint of Peter Rabbit’s charm.  Social media makes my world bigger, as I say.

I was amused by this reply to the original post

Having perused these witty dissertations from both Guy and the Monty Don himself, I am forced to admit that we let the side down badly here. Mark manages the ‘rumpled corduroy trousers’ as long as I can continue to source this item of clothing. They are much scarcer than they were 50 years ago when I first had to shop for them, replaced, I guess, by the unpleasantly named ‘sweatpants’. But there our flirtation with classier garden-wear ends.

You can tell that Mr Guy is more focused on the clothes than the activity of gardening. His alt text reads: ‘Ashley Edwards wearing a blue sweater, gray neck warmer and gray beanie. He is sitting in the garden.’

I have noticed that English gardeners often adopt a higher standard of dress code. I think that is due to tradition and to the recognition of gardening as a higher level skill and a profession. We have to look to earlier generations where there was some crossover to those who gardened in the far-flung colonies.

Felix’s garden attire did not change much down the decades beyond the colour of the shirt. Notice the hat. This will have been taken in the mid 1950s

Mark’s dad, Felix, always wore a tweed Trilby hat outdoors and his winter gardening attire included a wool tweed jacket. He always wore shirts – olive green for the garden – and woolen trousers. Very brown and green he was, more leprechaun than Peter Rabbit.

Mark and Felix looking at the original plant of Magnolia Vulcan in the early to mid 1980s. Notice Felix is still in a Trilby hat and woolen trousers. We put his final Trilby in the coffin with him when he died. But notice also, Mark in his rumpled brown corduroy trousers. Should he die before me, I may dress him in a pair of brown cords for his final journey.

Fortunately, women have escaped the scrutiny of both Guy and Don. There is a certain genre of English lady gardeners, photographed tending their gardens while clad in pastoral themed, artful ‘peasant style’ dresses. In my mind, I associate them with growing the dahlias that are so in vogue these days but that may just have been a photo I saw which made me wonder if these charmingly attired women ever did any digging or kneeling in their gardens.  

My rule of thumb is that if the clothing is old, comfortable, has pockets, is easily washed and dried and is suited to the weather, it can be considered gardening clothing. Upon occasion, I ask myself, “Would I be embarrassed if an unexpected visitor turned up and saw me wearing this?” If the answer is yes, it is usually a sign that it is time to consign that item to the dustbin of landfill.  That is as far as sartorial garden attire goes here. But I do feel a little pang that we have failed dismally to establish any reputation at all for our garden clothes.

The third Guy illustration’s alt text reads ‘Alfie Nickerson in a bright yellow zip-up jacket and blue shorts, along with beaten brown Blundstones. They are carrying flowers and a dog.’ I had to google Alfie Nickerson and I, for one, welcome the new generation of gardeners with their modern style.

I sign off without photo but can offer the alt text: ‘Abbie Jury is wearing a bottle green, stretch cotton, sleeveless dress with deep pockets from the defunct label of Ezibuy and battered woollen Allbird lace-up shoes in beige.’

February bulbs signalling seasonal change

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Will my bulbs of February be the month when there are slim pickings, I wondered at the start of the month. But no. I begin to think that there may be no such months, in our garden at least.

A wedding posy largely comprised of auratums and gloriosas. The bride also chose to wear gloriosas in her hair.

February was marked by a bit of a rollover from January, notably auratum lilies, gloriosas and Scadoxus ssp multiflorus katharinae. All are excellent cut flowers. I knew the lilies were but I have never cut the scadoxus before and they show a remarkably long vase-life. This discovery was made because our middle child came home for a small, intimate wedding in the garden here – an event we never expected to see. In the spirit of this informal occasion where the vows were both heartfelt and a central part of the whole event, she did her own wedding flowers from the garden here. She made her posy and a smaller one for their two year old to carry as well as the vases for the long table while I did the big showy vases of OTT lilies – mostly auratums but with a few Lilium formasanum and belladonnas.

The ephemeral delight of a sea of tiny Leucojum autmnale – autumn snowflakes – in the rockery

Some bulbs are a fleeting delight. The daintiest, tiniest little flowers of the autumn snowflake – Leucojum autumnale – all bloom at once as harbingers of the change in season. The Worsleya procera came and went in the first ten days of the month. No less spectacular, the Paramongaia weberbaueri impressed with its debut performance this very week. I do not think it will have a long season in bloom.  

Moraea polystachya

Then I pondered the fact that many of the bulbs that I declare have a long season are in fact bulbs that we have in the garden in abundance, counted in the high hundreds. If we had 500 worsleya, they are likely to flower more in succession and might have me admiring their long season in bloom. That is the case with the blue Moraea polystachya just opening and likely to flower for a good couple of months. But it is not each individual moraea bulb that is flowering that long, although it does set buds that open successively. It is having many bulbs around which open for their weeks to star.

Belladonnas – showy but not choice

Some are short in season but somewhat glorious. The belladonnas – Amaryllis belladonna  -are more wildflower or roadside plant than one for cultivated garden but that does not diminish their charm on the day. They last well in a vase, too.

Crinum moorei var. in the woodland gardens

Crinum moorei variegated has spectacular foliage in late spring and early summer but the foliage starts to whiff off a bit, sometimes losing its variegation, as the perfect, white, scented blooms open. I would prefer it to time the foliage and the flowers to perfection but the gardener’s personal preference is irrelevant. It remains an excellent bulb, showy for a long period with the foliar lead-in followed by lovely blooms. We always grow it in the shade gardens because that foliage will burn in our bright summer sun.

Little Cyclamen hederifolium is all through the rockery and woodland margins – naturalised but never a problem

As the big blowsy bulbs of summer pass over, the autumn snowflakes are joined the by the dainty Cyclamen hederifolium which we have in abundance – decades of letting it gently seed around to naturalise.

A zephyranthes now, which was news to me. We have it in red and pink.

We have known this plant as Rhodophiala bifida, following on from a period of it being Hippeastrum bifida but apparently it was classed as Habranthus bifida prior to that; now, now it has been moved again to Zephyranthes bifida. I do hope it has found its forever home in the zephyranthes family. It doesn’t have a long season in flower; nor does it increase quickly but it is lovely in its time.

Nothing rare or unusual about this bulb but it is no longer a valotta, now being in the cyrtanthus family

Whereas what we once had as a valotta (and was it also once an habranthus?), is now to be known as Cyrtanthus elatus. I do try to be botanically accurate but it is not always easy to do so. For those railing against name changes, they may be inconvenient but there is scientific data to justify the reclassifications. I would assume it is all DNA-based these days.

Colchicums! Not autumn crocus, but I am not sure whether this is Colchicum autumnale from northern Europe or Colchicum speciosum from Turkey. I think we have both.

Haemanthus coccineus may be the most fleeting of all the late summer bulbs we grow, but mostly this plant is grown for its spectacular foliage, colloquially known as elephant ears. Colchicums, too, have a brief season but not as brief as the haemanthus. They are oft referred to as autumn crocus but that is not botanically correct at all.

The bulbs are telling us that we are on the cusp of summer turning to autumn.

Worsleya procera – choice but not prolific.

A surprise

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A paramongaia, no less, which does not seem to have a helpful common name

Well lookee here! Zach appeared brandishing this pot from one of our covered houses in amazement. I was equally astonished that Mark could dredge the species name from somewhere in the deep recesses of his memory, loosely connected to his remembering seeing its relative the pamianthe in flower at Jack Goodwin’s and that must have been at least 35 years ago.

This is in fact Paramongaia weberbaueri, native to Peru and Bolivia where it grows in harsh, dry, stony conditions. It looks a bit like a totally over the top daffodil on steroids. That flower is 20cm across and the trumpet is 10cm long. I measured. It must be night-scented because it was very strongly scented first thing this morning but only pleasantly scented later in the day.

Patience rewarded – the first flowering on our paramongaia

It goes so far back here that even Mark, with his elephantine memory when it comes to the source of plants, can’t recall who gave it to him but we have not seen it in flower before. It has been repotted occasionally down the years and we seem to have about 10 plants of it when he will have started with only one. That is enough for me to plant out half of them in the rockery to see it they like our conditions.

We have succeeded with its compatriot bulb, the Worsleya procera as a garden plant; the challenge now is to see if we can succeed with the paramongaia in the garden. This may take time. Ask me in ten or twelve years if we have them flowering in the rockery.

Even elderly Dudley may have been surprised by its appearance on the doorstep.

Baby kereru

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Soon after hatching – a far cry from its mature form

The kereru is our much-loved native wood pigeon. It was once a significant food source but is now fully protected and can not be hunted legally. Being a large, lumbering bird with small brain, I imagine it was easy to catch and an important source of protein in a country which lacked all mammals (bar two tiny bats that few have ever seen) in the days before colonisation brought both wild and farm animals.

They are a bird of beautiful plumage with a pigeon coo to be heard if you have them resident in your garden. But they are not at all beautiful or cute in the baby stage. Quail hatch out like the cutest little, feathered bumblebees, on the move very soon after hatching. Not the kereru.

Behold the beauty and care shown by the chaffinch as compared to the disgraceful kereru efforts

For starters, kereru parents should be ashamed of their nest-building skills. These consist of tossing a few twigs onto some sort of precarious branch and saying ‘that’ll do’. I have photographed exquisitely crafted nests by other native birds but not the kereru. They then lay a single egg and the ugliest baby hatches out and spends its first weeks perched precariously on its bunch of uncomfortable twigs.

It was a kereru almost taking us out as it flapped its way to gain altitude that drew attention to its nest in the Wisteria ‘Snow Showers’, all of 150cm off the ground. It is not a particularly safe spot; we fear Ralph the dog could possible reach it at a pinch. Se we are skirting around it and trying not to disturb it.

We don’t know exactly which day it hatched but this is likely a few days later

Zack spotted the scrawny little bebe about 10 days ago and came in saying, “Man that is an ugly, scrawny chick”. I couldn’t see it this week and feared it may have fallen out but no, it is still there. I photographed it yesterday morning. It is not much improved in the beauty stakes but I am sure its parents love it.

This is about 10 days later. Its looks have not improved a great deal since.

Below is a photo of one from earlier years. It has grown its feathers and is closer to fledging – a process that takes 5 to 6 weeks. There is only one chick per nest and it is a miracle any reach independence given the long process and the woeful quality of nest.

Here is one I prepared earlier, as they say on cooking shows. A fledgling kereru nesting in the tangerine tree.

I have shown the photo below before. In front of our picture window, we have a bamboo grid suspended to stop bird strike. Our double glazed windows reflect trees and sky and too many birds thought they could fly through, killing themselves on the glass. Window decals did not work. A kereru died before our eyes just centimetres from the decals. I didn’t want net curtains in this room so Mark constructed the bamboo grid. It works. We have not had birds die from striking this window since we hung the grid.

It is the bamboo grid you are looking at – not interfering with the view or the light but proven down many years to be enough to stop birds hitting the window.

It felt like a tragedy every time we found a dead bird, especially as they were often young ones learning to fly. All that time and two parents to raise just one chick a year only for it to die soon after on our windows. For the same reason, we would never have a mirror in the garden and we deplore that modern architectural trend of putting all windowed pavilions set amongst forest trees. Somebody must pick up the bird kill but it is rarely mentioned.

Still one of my favourite photos of this round chonk of a bird, in this case perched in Fairy Magnolia White.

Thanks to Zach for the three photos of our baby soon after hatching.