Roses grow on you

As the late, great, gardening guru Christopher Lloyd once wrote, the best way to fill your garden with plants is to 'find out what grows well for you and grow lots of it'.  Well, it's taken a good few years of trial and error in the heavy clay soil of my south-east London back garden to find out that in June and July what grows best for me is -  roses.

Ironically, it was Lloyd himself who controversially dug up his late mother's rose garden at Great Dixter, to plant an exotic garden full of sizzling, sun loving annuals and tender perennials.  If only I could have done the same!  Roses don't mind my clay soil which, although back breaking to dig, can be rich in nutrients. But that's not all I have to contend with.  My back garden is also North-facing, shady and, in most summers, very, very dry.  The north facing aspect came with plot and there's nothing can change that; it means there's sun only from February to October.  The shade is partially self inflicted - I would have a fig tree.  Ripe figs for breakfast is my idea of earthly paradise.  The drought is a combination of summer hose-pipe bans and the next-door-but-one neighbour's pestilential Eucalyptus tree.  These notoriously thirsty antipodean thugs were planted in Botswana to clear a swamp and now they've got a desert!  I rejoice that anything at all will grow but have had to accept that sun-lovers would soon begin to sulk and tender exotics wouldn't stand having their feet in sodden, wet, winter clay. So, I've learnt to love roses.  If they're not your cuppa tea look away now!

Here's a chocolate box selection of some the different varieties I've found will tolerate those most difficult of  conditions: dry, partial shade.
From top left to right: Madame Legras de St Germain (Alba shrub), Albertine (rambler), Maiden's Blush (Alba shrub), Tuscany Superb (Gallica shrub), Charles de Mills (Gallica shrub), New Dawn (climber), Constance Spry (climber), Paul's Scarlet (climber), Climbing Lady Hillingdon, Zephyrine Drouhin (climber), Iceberg (climbing).

I've been pretty lucky with my selection - chosen for a combination of scent, colour, flower-form, habit and, in some cases, just the name itself and they've all done well.  With over fifty metres of fence to cover several of them are climbing varieties.

Here's Rosa Albertine, a vigorous rambler, with a shade tolerant clematis 'Etoile Violette' growing through it.   It's on a west facing fence so gets the most of the afternoon sun but I like it best when, as here, it filters the morning light.

I particularly love it's darker buds which remind me of ripening strawberries. 

A less vigorous but equally reliable climber is Rosa 'New Dawn' which was developed after the Second World War and named in the spirit of hope and regeneration.  With its soft colouring and gentle, fruity perfume it will happily grow in partial shade - and even flowers its heart out under my fig tree.

This eponymous beauty - a tall, arching climber, was named for the grande-dame of 1950s flower arranging Constance Spry.  The large, fully-cupped blooms remind me of vintage furnishing fabrics - over-stuffed sofas and comfy armchairs.  It has an oddly pungent spicy scent - more ointment than perfume - like something my grandmother would have rubbed on a bruised knee.  It too is happy in partial shade, the flowers lasting longer than in full sun.

As a Yorkshire lass I had to have a white rose and although this climbing version of the old favourite floribunda Rosa 'Iceberg' is not the traditional white rose of York (Rosa Alba Semiplena) I would choose it every time for its generosity of flowering which often goes on well into December when there's no sun at all in the garden.

Now for the shrub roses.  I chose this Gallica, Rosa 'Charles de Mills', for its decadent look of crumpled silk and its swooning old rose perfume - perfect for pot pourri or rose petal jam (all roses are edible but cut off the slightly bitter white bit at the base of each petal first).  Gallicas are some of the oldest roses and are noted for their tolerance of drier, poorer soils. Albas, such as Maiden's Blush and Madame Legras de St Germain won't mind partial shade.  Old-fashioned shrub roses aren't fussy as to pruning like some of the modern hybrids so they're easy-going for a beginner or a lazy gardener.  They're also more resistent to pests and diseases than the modern hybrids so you can put away the chemical sprays and go organic. 

Here's Charles de Mills with the shell pink alba Rosa 'Maiden's Blush' on either side of a narrow path.  Maiden's Blush has other less demure names too which might just have made a shy maiden blush once upon a time: Cuisse De Nymphe (nymph's thighs) and La Seduisante (the seductress).  It smells sublime - unlike the onion-scented alliums planted underneath to deter greenfly.  Swings and roundabouts!

Rosa 'Tuscany Superb, another Gallica,' isn't the most highly scented of the old roses but what it lacks on the nose it makes up for on the eye with its darkly sensuous colouring.

Well, now for the basketry.  If you're traipsing out of a mid-summer's morning to gather rose-buds you'll need a rose gatherer to put them in.  Here's one, based on a Catalan platter, made earlier for 'Practical Basketry Techniques' from two colourful varieties of willow.  Its wide, flat base and high, rounded handle is perfect for carrying roses without crushing them.

Platter by Stella Harding and Shane Waltener for 'Practical Basketry Techniques'

It would make a lovely old-fashioned table setting for a summer garden party too.  Not sure though what the redoubtable Constance Spry would have made of my attempts at flower arranging!

MAYTIME - SHOWTIME

                                     March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers.

May is one of my favourite times in the garden.  After all the buffeting, blustering, toil and tears of winter it finally feels as if summer's arrived and one can begin to relax.  Perhaps this is why I also have a particular fondness for May flowers: Late tulips, Iris, Alliums, Aquilegias and Auriculas.  Or it might be because I'm a May baby and a Taurean - Taurus being the birth-sign of Florists.

Tall bearded Iris germanica, Alliums, bronze Fennel and Euphorbia characias in my sunny front garden.

I love the colours too of many May flowering plants.  Irridescent blues, mauves and pinks set against glaucous greens. 

Allium Purple Sensation in the Lavender Border at Restoration House in Rochester (the 'other' garden)

Dwarf Bearded Iris, 'Langport Wren' with lime green Helleborus foetidus and white alliums in my back garden.

The trouble is though, that if you go overboard with all these moody mauves and purples your garden can begin to look a bit bruised and melancholy. Rather than a celebration of the merry month of May it can begin to resemble a wet weekend in Grimsby!  So, it's best to lift the mood with a few zingy spots of sunshine gold, pale cream or lime green.

Self sown Aquilegias (grannies bonnets) in purple, yellow and cream with acid yellow Euphorbia polychroma and the young foliage of Spirea Goldflame.

Nature does it naturally as in these border Auriculas with soft buttery centres set against their own apple green leaves. The crushed velvet foliage plant, Heuchera Palace Purple, provides a dramatic backdrop.

'You can never have enough Aquilegias' is my motto. Thankfully these cottage garden favourites are delightfully promiscuous plants and will cross-fertilise with abandonment - their progeny pop up everywhere and do well in sun or shade. 

This early flowering Clematis arches over an old wash tub full of yellow flag Iris Pseudocorus (not yet in flower).  The honey coloured falls of the tall bearded iris in the foreground give it it's name 'Honey Bee'.

'But what about the basketry?' you might be thinking.  Well, for me, May is the month to complete any plant staking while the soil is still soft enough to push in canes without too much effort.  Not a task I particularly relish - any excuse to put it off will do. But by June the heavy London clay in the back garden will have set like concrete and staking becomes impossible.

In 2010 I got it done in early April so that I could take pictures of these spiral plait cane toppers for 'Practical Basketrty Techniques' (see the plaiting chapter for how to make them). Here they're seen with chartreuse Helleborus Corsicus and the perennial wallflower Erysimum 'Bowles Mauve'.  They're simple and quick to make with only 5 willow rods or any pliable woody winter prunings. They'll not only prevent you poking your eyes out on the bamboo canes but will make a great sculptural feature when arranged en-masse.  Staking thus becomes a creative opportunity rather than a grudging chore.

In the book you can see them used to make festive winter bird feeders but they'll look great in your garden with or without windfall fruits all year round.

                                      The flower of the common yellow flag, Iris Pseudocorus. 

And, when the summer flowers have faded and all the iris leaves are brown and dried you could set yourself a winter project to make a plaited workbag to carry all your gardening bits and bobs or basketry tools.

Work-bag by Tricia Lilley made from several different kinds of Iris leaves.  Illustrated in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'. Photo: Ashley Wallace.

Workbags similar to this date back to the 12th century and were known as 'flags' probably because that's what they were made from.  They're known to have been used by workers building the great cathedrals of Europe.

But winter projects are still a long way off.  I'm off to find a sunny spot for a tea break before the heavens open.  'Cast not a clout 'til May is out' - I shouldn't have mentioned that wet weekend in Grimsby - sorry Grimsby!

Almost forgot!  May is the time for Chelsea Flower Show.  Wish I could make it this year to see Chris Beardshaw's Gold Medal winning woodland garden for Furzey Gardens Charitable Trust.  Debbie Gibbs and her students from Minstead Training Project, Furzey's sister organisation for young people with learning disabilities, grew many of the plants.  Deb also made the glass art that Chris incorporated into his design.

Red and green dogwood and different coloured willows cut from Furzey Gardens by students at the Minstead Training project - as illustrated in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'.

I'm especially grateful to Deb and her team for providing a fabulous array of materials for use on projects in 'Practical Basketry Techniques' and for inviting me to run a workshop down there in the New Forest on the spiral plait cane toppers.  Hope they came in useful for those Chelsea Gold winning plants!  Congratulations to you all!!!!!!!!

SNOWTIME

Had to get up out of my nice warm bed this morning to pick up my dear friend and fellow basketry artist Suni Lopez from the station.  She was delivering work for the Basketry Exhibition at Art Hub Gallery on Sunday 19th February to celebrate the launch of Practical Basketry Techniques.

I should have kept quiet about the mild winter so far.  Now 'the North wind doth blow and we shall have snow.'  My north facing back garden gets the full blast and I've not even dared to venture out to look for snowdrops.  I'll just enjoy the picture I took of them in the woodland garden at Hodsock Priory in Nottinghamshire - they open for a Snowdrop walk every February.

A few years ago we went to Suni's allotment to cut the brilliant yellow stems of the vigorous willow she'd grown from a small cutting - probably a variety of Salix vitellina.  I took them home and began to make a random weave sphere in my back garden.  It shone in the early spring sunshine like a golden orb reflecting the acid greens of Euphorbia characias. 

The very next day it snowed! - in April! and my golden orb turned into a giant snowball.

My back garden with snow

Interlaced willow snowball illustrated in Practical Basketry Techniques

I don't know anyone who doesn't enjoy making these off-mould interlaced spheres.  They're pretty simple once you've established the initial framework with a series of circular hoops.  You can hold the hoops in place with string or cable ties until you've done enough weaving to keep everything together.  After that it's just a case of weaving each new rod under/over wherever you need to fill a gap.  I found it easiest to put the butt end in first and weave away the tips. 

You can make these spheres in any size, from whatever material you have in your garden.  I have a rampant Clematis montana that needs a good sorting every summer after it's flowered.  The older, thicker stems are great for interlacing projects.  I made a small sphere from wild clematis and honeysuckle as an alternative to the Button Ball lampshade project we did for 'Practical Basketry Techniques'. 

                             My co-author made the smaller sphere from raffia and twisted wire. 

You could hang a sphere from a tree or pergola as my friends in Brighton did.  They've found it's become very popular with small birds who take food from the bird-feeders into the ball to enjoy a leisurely snack out of reach of predators.

A willow sphere like this should last for about 3 or 4 years outside - then you'll just have to make another one.

Check my website for details of workshops where you can learn lots more basketry techniques for your garden. http://www.stellaharding.co.uk/

get spirally creative

This post is for my new follower 'Brighton Girl'.  Welcome to the Crafty Gardener!

snowdrops

crocus

It's been such a mild winter so far this year with bright sunny mornings tempting us out into the garden to look for the first signs of spring.  Snowdrops, the fair maids of February, and crocuses should be flowering soon if you've managed to deter hungry wild life from digging up any bulbs you might have planted last autumn.

Spiral willow plant cloches as illustrated in 'Practical Basketry Techniques' by Stella Harding and Shane Waltener

Don't think your bulbs will be safe in pots.  In fact, a nice potful of bulbs smothered in soft, fresh bulb-fibre is nothing more than pre-packed, fast-food to a squirrel.   You can foil these pesky tree rats though with a crafty spiral plant cloche.  Late winter is the time for cutting willow and other coppice trees such as hazel, ash or lime.   If you haven't any suitable trees in your own garden check with friends and neighbours to see if you can beg a few rods to try this project.  Alternatively, you might invest in a small bolt of green willow or dried brown willow from an organic grower - it will come in handy for lots of garden projects.  You'll need to soak and mellow dried willow before use so check for details and the recipe for these willow cloches in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'. 

Here's a couple I made for my own garden - larger ones can be used as plant supports or to keep birds off  newly sown veggie seeds.

Primula vulgaris overlooking the box parterre at Restoration House, Rochester, UK

And here's a view of  'the other garden' later in the season.  The snowdrops and crocuses have faded and gone like the winter blues and out come primroses, primroses, primroses!

New beginnings

Christmas has gone and the New Year is just beginning.  Midwinter can be a bleak, slack time in the garden.  If you're a tidy-minded gardener you'll have cut down the stems of perennial plants, swept up fallen leaves and mulched the borders leaving only the structural outlines of ornamental shrubs and evergreens for seasonal interest.  Alternatively, you might be the sort of hopeless romantic who prefers to leave everything to overwinter in the hope that a sharp hoar-frost will delicately trace the outlines of tall grasses and seed heads.  Either way you probably won't have a lot to do outside for the first few weeks of the new year.  So, rather than stand with your nose pressed against a cold window pane wishing you could be outside, this is a great time to hunker down with a nice warm drink, a plateful of hot-buttered things and a crafty project to get you dreaming of spring plantings and summer crops.

As the new season's seed and bulb catalogues come plopping through the letter-box, don't throw out the old ones, you can recycle them instead into a plaited container for your seed packets or plant labels.

Colourful seed packets can be a wonderful source of inspiration - not only for planting schemes but for all manner of creative projects.  This lattice display in a DIY store gave me the idea for a bias plait basket made from glossy plant catalogues that were just too sumptuous to put in the recycling bin.

Folding the paper length ways into strips makes for a sturdy long-lasting basket and the fold-down border accentuates the bias-checkweave design.  It's a quick and simple re-cycling project for a cold and rainy day and just the thing to chase away the January blues. You'll find the full recipe in my forthcoming book 'Practical Basketry Techniques' published by A&C Black.

Machiavelli's Lawn

Front cover of Practical Basketry Techniques

Christmas is coming and I've decided to ask Santa for a copy of 'Machiavelli's Lawn: the Great Writers' Garden Companion' by my friend Mark Crick; writer, photographer, cook and erstwhile gardener.  This is a follow-on to his two previous books, 'Kafka's Soup: a Complete History of Literature in 17 Recipes' and 'Satre's Sink: the Great Writers' Complete Book of DIY'.  All take the form of a collection of literary parodies of great writers.   

As the publication date of  'Practical Basketry Techniques' approaches my mind is turning to thoughts of what anyone might have to say about it.  I've already been asked by A&C Black's publicist to supply names of potential reviewers.

I sat next to Mark a couple of weeks ago at the Royal Albert Hall for a concert of Mahler's 8th Choral Symphony.  He was signing a copy of 'Sartre's Sink' for a friend in the row behind and, just before the orchestra struck up, I made the mistake of having a quick look.  He had pre-empted any adverse criticism by compiling a list of spoof reviews which appear on the back cover:

'Unbearably light'  - Milan Kundera

'Nauseating' - Jean-Paul Sartre

'Not worth the wait' - Samuel Beckett

I had to stifle my giggling fits all the way through the concert! - the 8th is one of Mahler's less sombre works but still not exactly a bundle of laughs.

What I found even funnier was that, after the show, Mark told me how his American publicist, who didn't 'do' irony, had tried to persuade him to make the reviews a little more up-beat.

'But Mark, these just sound so negative, we don't wanna put people off buying it!  Couldn't we say 'Worth the wait', by Samuel Beckett instead?'

I took part in an exhibition with Basketry Plus at the Barbican a couple of years ago.  We called it 'The Upsett' which is a technical basketry term.  We liked the slightly negative hint of provocation in the double meaning.

Well, you can probably guess where this train of thought is heading. 'Practical Basketry Techniques' by Stella Harding and Shane Waltener:

'Upsetting' - Basketmaking Monthly

BLOOMING LARGE

In the previous post I mentioned my small garden in south-east London.  If my garden were a car it would have to be a Smart car; compact, eco-friendly and with just about room for two at a squeeze.  But maybe I should own up and admit that my 'other garden' is a stretch Limo, well, more of a Rolls Royce actually - nothing so naf as as a Limo.

I've been a member of the gardening team at Restoration House in Rochester for a few years now.  The Grade I listed house gets its name because Charles II stayed there on his return from exile after the English Civil War.  The house is more famous though for having been the inspiration for Miss Havisham's Satis House in the novel 'Great Expectations' by Charles Dickens.  Look out for a new film starring Ralph Fiennes - coming soon.

This is a view of the house and garden taken in spring showing the box parterre on the right and veggie garden over the wall on the left.

This view shows the small greenhouse where seeds are sown for all the summer annuals to be planted out in the cutting garden. One of my regular jobs was tending the cutting garden which provides all the fresh flowers for the house - deftly arranged in his own inimitable style by owner Robert Tucker.

When the house first opens to the public in June soft, billowing combinations of peonies, lupins and Canterbury bells make for a classic English cottage-garden arrangement.

In high summer, when the dahlia's, annual sunflowers and amaranthus (love-lies-bleeding) come on stream, the arrangements head down Mexico way and turn hot and zingy!

It's sometimes kinder to tell little white lies when tourists ask whether the same flowers would have been grown in the garden when the reclusive Miss Havisham was there.  So, rather than shatter the romantic illusion and reveal that she was a fictional character who never existed, we reply, 'Ofcourse.  Miss Havisham simply adored Dahlias!'

I persuaded the co-author to do some photogaphy in the garden when we were working on a gathering basket for 'Practical Basketry Techniques' - out February 16th 2012.  The veggie garden, brimming with autumn produce, provided a colourful backdrop.

And we got to take home enough fruit to use in another project

                               Illustrated in Practical Basketry Techniques, willow gathering baskets

                               by Stella Harding and Shane Waltener.

Blooming small

I was once at a dinner in London hosted by a green-fingered friend where a rather smart-looking lady gardener asked me the question:
Lady: 'Do you garden?'
Stella: 'Yes, I love gardening.'
Lady: 'And do you have your own garden?
Stella:  'I do.'
Lady: 'Is it large?'
Stella: 'Oh, about fifteen by twenty.'
Lady: (looking impressed) 'Acres?'
Stella: 'Erm, no. Feet.'
Lady: (triumphantly) 'Ah, then you don't garden!'

I'd failed to appreciate the subtle nuance in her use of the verb 'to garden', which implies the management of rolling acres and, no doubt, teams of fore-lock tugging under-gardeners and I'd confused it with my love of 'gardening' in my tiny back yard.

If you are passionate about your garden then size really doesn't matter.  If all you have is a balcony, a patio or a few pots on a windowsill you can still be a crafty gardener and make something for or from your garden.

If you want to try growing fresh peas but all you have is a pot on a patio you could make a crafty plant support from willow, hazel or any other long slender rods woven around with something finer and more flexible.  This was a project that didn't make it into the book 'Practical Basketry Techniques' - the co-author didn't like the shape.  I can't imagine why not ...  Anyway, that meant I got to keep this one and the sugar snap peas were a delicious addition to summer salads and stirfries.

We made another version for the kindergarten at a local school, as a plant support for the sweet peas the children had sown in a large wooden planter.  I made a plaited and twined willow dragonfly to hover on top.

Co-author not overly impressed by this one either (made with hazel pea sticks bought from a car-boot sale) but the children loved it.

Later that summer I noticed that the green willow rods we'd used as uprights had taken root.  I've now got a living willow structure - in a pot. Blooming marvellous!  And, nothing wasted, the blue and white willow pattern china I'd used as a decorative mulch provided inspiration for another project.