This morning we woke up to snow, which caused the usual excitement. Peering out of the windows I saw the heads of our climbing hydrangea (Hydrangea anomala subsp. petiolaris to give it its proper name), all decorated with ice and water droplets.
They looked like amazing pieces of jewellery, dripping with diamonds. The structure of the climbing hydrangea is well known for being attractive even in winter when the foliage and flowers have gone, but I had never appreciated the frozen flowerheads like this before. It only adds to my love of this plant. I adore the twinkling star-like flowers peering out at you from a shady wall, as here at Wisley:
And this next one is a bit of a cheat because this photograph is actually of a Hydrangea aspera (Villosa group) at Shuttleworth Gardens, but the flower heads are quite similar. I couldn't get enough of the low winter sunlight filtering through the plant.
At least three seasons of gorgeousness from one easy plant that will happily scramble up a dull, shady wall? Full marks to the climbing hydrangea.
I've seen several magazines this month with beautiful features on the Winter Walk at Anglesey Abbey in Cambridgeshire. I visited last February when it was still going strong, and highly recommend it. When we think of winter plants we often think of evergreens and berried plants, but at Anglesey Abbey they've gone for amazing scents as well as wonderful visual displays. Viburnums and Sarcococcas are particularly powerful and really draw you in to take a closer look (and sniff). They also use trees with gorgeous barks - I love the glade of pure white silver birch, like a ghostly forest as you come round the corner, as well as the glossy, reddy-brown of Prunus serrula.
They also have a wonderful collection of snowdrops in early spring, with all sorts of varieties ranging from good old Galanthus nivalis to super-expensive collector's varieties selling for at least £30 per bulb.
The photograph is the incredible Cornus sanguinea 'Winter Beauty', which really deserves to be planted in long drifts like this to make the most of its fabulous colours. Another popular variety is 'Midwinter Fire', which sums up the display perfectly.
Following my somewhat windswept video back in September/October (you can see it here), here is an update on the forced Narcissi. They suffered something of a setback because I forgot all about them and left them out in the garden for weeks on end rather than carefully controlling the temperature and light levels like you're meant to (whoops). Therefore they won't be in flower for Christmas but should come out around late January, still long before the usual garden bulbs.
I thought I'd mention them because people often worry about not doing things quite right in the garden, and mistakes like this show that most of the time it doesn't really matter. Your plants might come into flower a bit late, or be a slightly unusual shape if your pruning goes awry, but most plants have an amazing ability to spring back into life given even the slightest chance. In my last garden an old walnut tree used to drop walnuts all over the place. It was very common to find a perfectly happy sprouting tree in a forgotten pot, left unwatered and unprotected for months. So have a go and don't worry too much about the results. The great thing about growing from seeds, bulbs, and cuttings is that it's incredibly cheap, so if you do kill the lot it won't have cost you the earth.
The one thing I would do differently with these bulbs is to plant them slightly higher in the container, to avoid seeing the plastic liner so much. At some point I'll get round to dressing it with moss or straw, which will help, but I won't promise it will be any time soon...
Traditions are an inherent part of gardening: the same jobs need to be done at the same time each year, bulbs bloom and blossoms fade in a pleasingly predictable cycle, and days wax and wane with the passing of the seasons. Traditions provide a reassuring framework to our lives, and the darker days of autumn and winter are carefully filled with festivals to see us through to spring: Hallowe’en, Bonfire Night, Christmas and Epiphany, and the many forgotten festivals of centuries past take us safely up to Easter and its welcome message of new life.
Every year a generous neighbour with a garden both bigger and better than mine cuts stems of greenery and sets them to one side, ready to turn into a wreath. The first year we did this it was just a one-off bit of fun, but over the years it has become an essential part of December and the Christmas preparations. If you’d like to start your own wreath-making tradition here’s what we do…
1. Cut your greenery in advance – you don’t want the birds to eat all the beautiful berries before you’ve had a chance to get near them. Take good long cuttings and plunge them into a bucket of cold water. You can leave this somewhere cool and light (a greenhouse is perfect if you have one) for at least 2 weeks before making your wreath.
Foliage
What you cut will depend on the look you want to create. You could try an autumnal wreath of golds, coppers, and caramels using dried autumn leaves, but I always worry about how long the leaves will stay on the stems. More reliable are the traditional evergreens: holly and ivy, bright conifers, euonymus and eucalyptus. Anything goes really, depending on what’s available in your garden. I like to incorporate some variegated foliage – it might seem a bit garish at close quarters, but splashes of yellow and cream really help to brighten up a dark day or a shady porch. I’ve never tried scented foliage but always vaguely intend to: rosemary, thyme, bay and lavender would all work well.
2. Start with a basic wreath. I used to yearn for the pretty, wiry versions from florists, all neatly padded with moss, but actually the cheap sort that come with lots of fake foliage is fine. Once you’ve filled it with greenery you’ll never know what was beneath it all.
3. Start taking your long stems and simply prod them into the wreath base, pushing and pulling them through to anchor them securely. You can use floristry wire but I’ve never found it necessary. Tradition demands that this step is accompanied by a generous dose of swearing as cold fingers are pricked by sharp holly spines.
4. Keep going. Hold the wreath up and cast a critical eye over it at regular intervals to make sure it looks balanced and you’ve got an even spread of different leaves throughout. Leaves and branches that stick out more than desired can be brought into line by wrapping one of the wiry bits of fake foliage around the stem.
5. If you’re feeling very crafty and are the sort of person with pretty ribbons stored away for just this sort of occasion, you can add a bow at the top or bottom of your wreath. If not, loop a bit of string through the base and tie it securely so you can hang your finished wreath proudly form your door. You can also go to town with dried orange, cinnamon sticks and so on, should you be so inspired.
6. Get inside and sit down with something warming. Current favourites: sloe gin; Irish coffee, or mulled wine depending on the time of day and your disposition.
