Reclaiming space and light

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I was amused recently when Zach cast a jaundiced eye over a moderately large planting of clivias and sniffily declared that really, they are just a classier version of agapanthus. When I reminded him of this comment a few days later, he showed even greater disdain, suggesting that maybe clivias just think they are of higher status.

There is a certain je ne sais quoi to clusters of rural letterboxes in this country and I like that good blue agapanthus by our pink letterbox

For overseas readers, it is hard to think of a more derided plant in Aotearoa NZ than the humble agapanthus. Maybe a few dwarf or variegated forms are in some gardens, but they are generally dismissed as roadside weeds and every summer brings out the I Hate Agapanthus Collective. Personally, I can see their merits and I enjoy their summer flowers but I am in a minority. I think they suffer from familiarity breeding contempt.

It is true that the clivia and agapanthus both have long, fleshy, narrow leaves, form very big clumps that can be intimidating to remove if you don’t tackle them with a sharp spade and remove them in sections. They grow in areas shunned by many other plants and are low maintenance. Both set seed freely but the seeds are heavy so fall straight down to germinate close to the parent rather than being spread by wind and bird.

The clivias flower over a good period of time in winter and spring and the dominant colour is orange. Their ability to thrive in shade and dark areas is much lauded. Agapanthus flower freely over a good period of time in summer and their dominant colour is blue. Their ability to thrive in harsh conditions on roadsides and clay banks is cursed and derided; they are never lauded for their resilience and dependability.

I have seen gardens afflicted with the TMC syndrome (Too Many Clivias) and as Zach and I stood looking at one area in our garden, I was slightly shocked to see we had slipped into that same gardening affliction.

The orchids in this area are very lovely but even in this 2023 photo, I can see the ferns and clivias squashing them from the back.

In times gone by, I used to remember to take before and after photos of garden projects. My mind was always on possible material for my newspaper and magazine writing.  I don’t usually remember these days so I am missing the before photo. The closest I can find is slightly to the right because it is focused on the orchids. But even this area was in danger of getting swamped by encroaching clivias and ferns.

Behold, the surplus clivias

I can at least give you some indication of the scale of clivias we removed from just this one area. A friend took them as she wants ground cover in a large, shady area and  – being a precise person – she reported back that she planted 143 clumps – not separate divisions but manageable clumps. That is a lot of clivia from an area that can not have been much more than three or maybe four square metres.

Zach has evolved his own style for planting and displaying orchids

Meantime, with a bit of juggling and the creation of another of Zach’s orchid theatres (think, auricula theatre but more au naturelle) of old rings and stumps from our pine trees, it is not at all clear from where those excessive clivias were removed. It does, however, look as though we have given the more precious plants in the foreground room to breathe.

This was an old area planted out entirely in Felix’s camellias until 1990 when Mark took it in hand. We have kept some of the camellias for shelter as much as anything else but the plants are between 50 and 70 years old and many are very stretched, reaching for the light. We took some stray branches off to let more light through but targeted one camellia to cut back to a strong new growth about a metre above the ground. That meant removing about four metres of growth above that height. It will recover and be bushy and lower for the next decade or maybe two. We do a few camellias each year to let the light back in.

Gardens, especially large gardens with many trees and shrubs, can close in on you at a pace that is so gradual that you don’t actually notice the change in conditions over time. In a young garden, the focus tends to be on cramming more plants in to give a well-furnished, established look.

All those clivias that were removed came from the left hand side of the this photo and the middle ground.

It is the opposite in a mature garden. It becomes an exercise in thinning out plants and keeping light and space within the garden, retaining detail that can get swamped out. In my experience, this is the skill that many garden owners struggle with. Too often, it is left too long to take action and then all they can think to do is a major slash and burn to restore juvenility to the garden. Our aim is always to tread lightly, to carry out such renovation and thinning may be necessary but not to make it blindingly obvious.

The flowering bulbs of May and June

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I seem to have found the quietest bulb months of the year and they are May and June. I didn’t even feel there was enough to bother writing about in May – just the oxalis, Nerine bowdenii and the carryover from late April. There is not a lot more now but the earliest narcissi are already flowering, along with the Leucojum vernum and they herald a new season as we enter the winter solstice.

Oxalis massoniana (top) and hirta lavender (bottom) are very pretty but their season and overall display pale beside purpurea alba and luteola

As I wrote two months ago, not all of the ornamental oxalis are of equal merit. But here we are and O. purpurea alba and O. luteola are still looking showy and well behaved. That is more than can be said for most of the remaining twenty eight species here.

Nerine pudica is a dainty little species but I can not say it is very free-flowering for us.
Nerine bowdenii in sugar pink

The nerine season signs off with dainty little Nerine pudica and Nerine bowdenii, a species that is arguably downplayed when compared to its showier sarniensis cousins. You do need to like the shade of sugar pink seen in most bowdenii and I am not sure it is ever declared as ‘choice’. But it has a long flowering season, blooms reliably every year and is considerably easier to grow and flower. That is not to be sniffed at. The planting above is below Camellia sasanqua ‘Elfin Rose’ (left) in a perfect colour match that delights us every year.

Leucojum vernum or the common snowflake
Narcissus ‘Grand Soleil d’Or’ in yellow, one of the Narcissus jonquilla in white and the humble snowflake. The first Narcissus bulbocodium citrinus of the season are opening – the hooped petticoats of the daffy scene (below left).

Similarly, the modest snowflake – Leucojum vernum – is not often praised. Maybe many of us remember it as a survivor that we used to pick from old house sites dating back to the mid to late 1800s, along with wild daffodils. Some will recall those sites, marked by a brick chimney and a few garden plants, particularly those common bulbs and a camellia or two. The leucojum or snowflake is a not-quite-doppelganger of the classier and much more highly prized galanthus or proper snowdrop. But, in our climate, the snowdrop is a fleeting delight over a couple of weeks only whereas the leucojum just quietly flowers on in an understated way from early winter to mid spring. It deserves a little more credit as a garden plant than it is often given.

Cyclamen coum is our main winter flowering species

The Cyclamen hederifolium have largely finished their flowering season although they continue to earn their keep with their handsome foliage. It is now time for their cousins, Cyclaman coum to star. Over the years, we have tried any of the species cyclamen that we could lay our hands on. They generally hail from drier climates in southern Europe, around the Med and the Middle East and north Africa. My personal favourite is C. libanoticum – from Lebanon – but there are three that are standout garden plants in our conditions – add C. repandum to the aforementioned hederifolium and coum. Of them all, those three have settled in and increased happily so we can measure them by the square metre rather than as individual plants. We only grow the species but I might have been tempted by the genuinely purple hybrid I saw people commenting on in local garden centres this autumn.

Dahlia excelsa can sometimes be taken out by frost and wind but we have had no frost yet and little wind this autumn so it is flowering at its best.

I could have padded these listings with dahlias and orchids. With the current fad for OTT show dahlias in weird colour mixes and full forms of a size that suggests steroids, our preference for modest single flowers on garden plants just seems out of step. But I note that the last dahlia of the season is blooming now and that is the OTT Dahlia excelsa that towers above most plants at a good 4 metres or more.

Cymbidium orchids have pseudobulbs which are not botanically the same as bulbs and they make excellent garden plants in the right conditions.

And the paucity of more usual bulbs does not give credit to the psuedobulbs of the cymbidium orchids. Our interest is in orchids as garden plants, not for show in an orchid house or cut for indoors but grown fully outdoors alongside a range of other plants. Cymbidium orchid season is just starting and will last for several months.

Eighteen gorgeous flowers on the hardy Laelia anceps orchid, now to be planted in the garden as it has finally flowered.

This Sunday is the winter solstice. Matariki is due (the rising of the Pleiades star cluster) with the official holiday on July 10. Magnolia campbellii is coming into flower, Magnolia ‘Vulcan’ will start showing first colour in a few weeks. The earliest of the narcissi – the strong scented jonquil types – are already starting to bloom and the many spring bulbs are in full growth. We are yet to plunge into full winter, where we live at least. It would be churlish to complain about the weather at this stage.

Finally, all credit to the autumn peacock iris, Moraea polystachya. I commented back in February that it was opening blooms and that it had a very long season in flower. I have never timed it before but it is now into its fifth month of opening fresh buds. That is an exceptionally long season.

Preparing for the fall

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The vertical line is the tree trunk on the left

I use the term ‘fall’ not in the North American sense of autumn, nor in any spiritual, biblical or metaphorical usage. I mean it literally. One of our big old pine trees will fall and I am picking sooner rather than later. It has always had a bit of lean to it but that lean has increased significantly in very recent times and it appears the base is parting company with the ground.

Looking up at the remaining length that is likely to fall one piece

It shouldn’t be devastating when it happens. It is already dead and has lost its side branches so it is just a long thin length with a predictable fall area. It is just that the length is probably over 40 metres. Our old pines are dwindling in number and we are well practiced at dealing with them when they fall. They are Pinus radiata, original seed planted by Mark’s great grandfather in the 1870s, so long before this country settled on selections of that particular tree as its forestry tree of choice. They are at the end of their lives.

The palm which it is resting one is just a native nikau palm – lovely palms but they self-seed here so we are not worried about losing it.

Why not get the arborist in to drop it now, you may wonder. There are additional reasons as well as the cost. The tree is dead; we don’t know how much is rotten or soft and trees with extensive decay are hazardous to the operator when it comes to felling. But also dropping a tree that size would require bringing it down in sections and the amount of damage caused by it coming down in sections would likely be greater than letting it fall on its own. Because we have no access for larger machinery to that part of the garden, it would all have to be reduced to the largest size that could be handled by two men and our very small tractor.

I took this photo to show the new home for half the huge vriesea bromeliad that Zach removed from danger but it also illustrates two other aspects. Firstly, that is a previously fallen tree that we have left in situ and are just planting around as it will gently decay over years. The second is to credit Zach with showing skills in transplanting a fairly large plant and getting it bedded in so only we know it has been there for all of 30 minutes.

No. It can fall when ready and we will do our usual clean up. This involves cutting through to reopen pathways and clear lawn areas, removing all broken branches, pruning any other trees or shrubs it damaged as it fell and then just gardening around the lengths that remain in place. It only takes six months to a year for it to have all settled down and the lengths remaining in situ give added height and natural structure in the garden.

The same plant from another angle. I think it is one of the forms or maybe hybrids of Vriesea fosteriana. It started with one rosette some years ago, planted on an old tree trunk that was right in line for the new tree trunk we expect to fall. It had increased quietly to maybe 10 or a dozen rosettes. This clump is half of them.

In the meantime, Zach has relocated a few plants that we would be sad to lose – the vireya R tuba, a charming little wedding palm Lytocaryum weddellianum and an excessively robust bromeliad that has taken some years to reach its current size.

That is the remaining half of the bromeliad relocated to a new position out of danger. As you can see in this photo, we like highly detailed woodland plantings.
Viewed from the other side to the previous photo, Zach moved some rounds of a previous fallen pine into position where there was a space and stacked them three high to give the plant elevation and to create pockets to plant in. That is a dendrobium orchid moved onto the rounds as well. The wood will decay over time but by then, the plants will have established their own little home.

I gave Zach a health and safety briefing which largely consisted of three pieces of advice. The first was to be very aware if he is working in the projected fall area and to think in advance which side to retreat to if necessary. Move sideways rather than trying to run away. And not to wear Bluetooth ear pods when working in the fall area so he can hear the first cracks before the crash.

Zach wondered if we should be running a sweepstake on when each of us thinks it will fall. I say any time but probably soon. Lloyd was guessing the next storm. Mark was saying it was dead and he thought it would just break up and fall over time – but I don’t think he had looked at the increased lean from all sides as Zach and I had.

Felix in Norway

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The northern hemisphere magnolia season was largely over for the year when this photo came down my social media. That is our Magnolia ‘Felix Jury’ flowering this very week in Håvik, Rogaland, Norway. Over a hundred flowers, I believe.

Photo credit Trygve Hagland, shared with his permission

We are accustomed to seeing photos of Jury plants from around the world but this one seemed particularly significant in terms of pushing climatic boundaries and somewhat touching at a personal level. It is just so far away from us and yet a little piece of genetic material from Tikorangi is thriving beyond expectation.

I had to look up where Håvik is – on the west coast of Norway bounded by a fjord and the North Sea on one side and high mountains on the other. It is getting quite close to the Arctic Circle so will be an area accustomed to very long daylight hours in summer and long hours of  darkness and low light in winter. Even allowing for the moderating effect of the nearby sea, these conditions are as extreme as our conditions here are mild. Frankly, it is astonishing to us that it is performing at all, let alone performing to this extent.

For us it flowers in August through to early September which would translate to February through to early March in the northern hemisphere but it has clearly delayed its blooming by two months in Norway. Despite that, it has retained its flower form and is showing good colour.

The distance between Tikorangi and Håvik is around 17 500 km so it may be one of the furthest away Jury plants being grown but the delight is shared equally between the breeder here and the gardener there.

The flower appears a little smaller than we get here but, given the northerly latitude and the exceptional number of blooms, that is not surprising. Photo credit: Trygve Hagland

A dead tree, an alive Australian plant and too much miscanthus

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The grey coloured tangle of branches was the dead malus

We had our preferred arborist back this week. The dead malus in the entrance was not huge and access was easy but it looked like one of those jobs that would take us at least a couple of days but that he could complete by morning tea time. I was pretty much right on that. By 10.30, it was down, firewood cut to easy sizes and small stuff all fed through the mulcher.

A mere three hours later. Sometimes getting in the professionals is worth it.

The arborist described it as being like a bird’s nest. It was an extraordinary tangle of fine branches. I wondered how much of a gap it would leave but, in the event, not much, really. The prunus that stood beside it is looking more glorious in its autumn raiment.  It sent me down a rabbit hole, looking for earlier photographs of the area.

The entranceway back in 1986

Oh look. Here we have it looking remarkably romantic in April 1986. It was still being grazed by sheep and Felix still had his hens. And, looking carefully, it appears that the cherry trees and likely the crabapple were planted around this time so that particular tree lasted for close to 40 years.

The three diagonals heading upwards to the left are flower spikes
Same clump flowering in 2018. It has grown.

The Doryanthes palmeri has put up three flower spikes! I use the exclamation mark because this particular plant, commonly known as the Queensland spear lily, has only flowered once for us, back in 2018.  It was pretty remarkable, with the flowering lasting a good five months. In the years since, the clump has grown substantially and the entire Court Garden area has been developed and planted. Like the cardiocrinum lily, each rosette only flowers once after many years but it then sets offshoots which will also take many years but then flower spectacularly. They are surely the sturdiest flower stem of any plant we grow but not for the faint-hearted or small gardens. Our clump is now around five metres across.

Zach and I have been reviewing the adjacent Court Garden. It is time for some significant thinning and a major cull on the Miscanthus ‘Morning Light’. I see I wrote three years ago: 

What amazes me is that this plethora of Miscanthus ‘Morning Light’ all descend from just one small plant that Mark bought originally. It was still just one plant, albeit a large clump, when I first lifted it and started dividing it in 2017. We have just kept dividing since. In those six intervening years, that one original plant has now yielded several hundred sizeable clumps.

The miscanthus is falling apart after just three years – a sign that it needs more attention than we are willing to give it on an ongoing basis

Just three years ago, every miscanthus in that garden was dug out and carted away (to Pukeiti Gardens, no less). Zach had smaller clumps ready to go straight back in, divided from one of the plants. Three years on, they need lifting and dividing again. Already. This is not light work, the clumps are huge and falling apart.

At its best, shining in the lower angle of the winter sun
Too demanding of attention – this plant will collapse apart with rain.

It is a good looking and obligingly easy grass. As far as I am concerned, its best season is around the winter solstice when the sun comes in at its lowest angle, lighting up the pale flowerheads like moving lanterns. That is a magical sight. But we don’t need 25 to 30  clumps of it in the Court Garden to shine like lanterns in low winter light, all needing lifting and dividing every three years.   I think we can make do with a third of that number. It is not worth the effort required to keep it looking good in larger numbers.

Our native red tussock – Chionochloa rubra – is just a fantastic plant, given room to festoon

It might be time for me to update The Grass Report. The brief conclusion will be that if you have the space – at least two metres across in all directions – the low maintenance, looks-good-all-year-round, shining star of the grassy garden here is our native red tussock – Chionochloa rubra. I wouldn’t be without it.