Mad about Maples

In between torrential downpours last week I managed to dash round a rather soggy Hatfield to enjoy the garden in spring. In a lovely woodland glade, full of cowslips and bluebells pushing up through long grass, were a number of Acer palmatum, their new leaves positively bursting with freshness.

I adore Acers. They have to be among the most elegant of trees, and I love the way their fine foliage quakes in the breeze, and the dappled shade they cast beneath their delicate crowns (forgive me for going all poetic). 

In our otherwise unremarkable front garden (ahem, still working on that), is another one, this time a deep moody burgundy.  This one I suspect is some version of Acer palmatum var. dissectum, judging by the finely divided leaves. The picture doesn't really do it justice - the colour seems rather flat, when in reality it is bright and glowing, particularly in the sunshine.  A lot of garden designers find purple-leaved plants difficult to place in a garden, and it is true that they do not always mix well with an otherwise harmonious palette of greens. The Acer, however, sits very happily with the other plants around it - limey Euphorbias, sweet little forget-me-nots (Myosotis, if you want the official name), and Centranthus ruber (the pinky-red or white valerian you see growing out of every nook and cranny in the countryside). I think the texture is important here, as it gives the colour a very multi-dimensional look (just like all those adverts for hair dye are always going on about).

Acers are often thought of as excellent trees for autumn foliage displays, and I'm certainly not going to argue with that (maples play a starring role in the famous colours of New England in the fall). But they more than earn their place in the garden earlier on in the year and deserve to be much admired. As well as in woodland glades at stately homes, they are also perfect for small gardens and even containers, so there's really no excuse not to add one to your life.

Spring in the City

When we moved to London from the sticks, I had the feeling we were moving to a mass of sprawling concrete. Goodbye, soft tussocks of mossy grass. Farewell, well-tended front gardens brimming with old-fashioned favourites. Hello, buddleja growing out of railway bridges. 

I'm delighted to say that this was a ridiculous and foolish assumption. On my way to the station I have to stand on tiptoes to fully appreciate the beautiful lilac bush that wafts its heavenly scent my way. This morning I took a stroll along the A20 (to the Post Office, not because I thought it would be pleasant) and was constantly stopping to admire the flowers. Here are a few of the sights (taken on my phone, and it was windy, so excuse the quality):

Lovely lilac. Not the one I usually stop to smell, as this morning that one had the distinct aroma of marijuana. I cannot explain this fact, at least not using my horticultural knowledge. 

Beautiful blossom (hope you're enjoying the aliteration). Blossom identification is a real personal weakness, so I shall only venture that this is cherry. Any further information is very welcome.

They even have bluebells in the city! Bins in the background for added urban authenticity. 

Seductive ceanothus, which has been tirelessly putting on a rather show-stopping display now for several weeks. 

So it seems there's plenty to keep me interested. And I don't even mind buddleja really - I quite admire the way it clings on to the tiniest crevice, and the butterflies and bees love it. I did once hear it described as the pigeon of the garden design world, which seemed rather cruel to buddleja and pigeons alike. Expect a post championing one or both over the next few weeks when the butterfly bush makes its entrance. 

Who says kitchen tables are for eating off?

Food preparation and consumption is becoming something of a challenge.

Loving your Lawn

I am in two minds about lawns. There is something wonderful about the perfect stripes of a pristine, well-maintained and weed-free lawn. It takes vast amounts of time and effort to achieve, but you can so easily imagine yourself taking tea on the lawn, perhaps engaging in idle gossip or falling asleep with a good book on an idyllic summer afternoon. 

The opposite extreme is the first photo, which I'm not (too) ashamed to tell you is my own lawn (we've only moved in recently - don't judge me too harshly). It is a riot of...well, weeds. I can't put a designer spin on that - daisies and dandelions, and bigger, peskier plants at the edges that are constantly trying to encroach on the ever-diminishing space at the centre. It looks pretty gorgeous when the sun shines on it and the daisies all crane their necks to make the most of its rays. I particularly like it at the moment because all the seeds we've planted over the last few weeks are not yet in flower, so the unkempt lawn is the star of the show (I know, that's not saying much). The one thing my lawn is missing is clover - beloved by bees and really very pretty, but I suppose it's sod's law that the one weed you really want is the one you have to go and buy.

Less-than-perfect lawns are good for wildlife and save you masses of time and money trying to achieve the unachievable. In periods of drought and hosepipe bans no lawn looks great, but it's amazing how grass is the first thing to perk up at the first few spots of rain. 

I'm well aware that for all my eulogising about carefree, bohemian lawns, in a few weeks' time I will have had enough and will venture outside armed with horrible sprays and wielding a menacing fork. But for now, I'll be lounging around making daisy chains.