Pinch that sucker -- or not

They say there’s a sucker born every minute and it sure seems that way on tomato plants, except they’re not suckers, they’re branches. They're the new growth that sprouts at the intersection of a branch and the main stem of a tomato plant, and the long-standing advice has been to remove them by pruning or pinching them out.

To not do so is at your peril because it’s believed suckers steal energy from the plant. At least that’s the belief, except it’s not so. It’s one of those things that’s been done by gardeners forever because someone, somewhere, thought it was a good idea and no one thought to question it.

What is a sucker? On a tree, it refers to those fresh shoots that appear at the base of a tree. On a tomato plant, there are none. What are referred to as suckers are simply secondary branches, and with their leaves they contribute energy to the plant rather than steal it. These secondary branches will also develop flowers and fruit

So why have gardeners been removing them? First, we have to understand the two main types of tomato plants, determinates and indeterminates. Determinates were initially bred for commercial growers. This type grows only to a limited size and the fruit ripens more or less at the same time, making it much easier for mechanical harvesting. When grown as a large-scale commercial crop, determinate plants are not staked or supported, and you can be sure no one roams thousands of acres of fields, pinching off anything in sight that looks like a so-called sucker.

These smaller, bushier plants are suitable for the home gardener with limited space as they can be easily supported if need be with tomato cages, in ground or in a planter, so why bother with pinching off suckers if the commercial growers don’t bother — I’m getting to it . . .

Prior to the development of determinate varieties, most of the plants gardeners were growing in backyards in the old days were indeterminate plants. We still grow them, and many are heirloom varieties. They’re called indeterminates because they don’t stop growing. Tomato plants are vines and will grow that way when allowed, and for as long as conditions are suitable.

Indeterminates are also the type most often grown as hot house tomatoes in commercial greenhouses. There, they are allowed to grow and produce fruit throughout the season, ensuring a continuous supply for the market. In greenhouse production, the lower leaves are sometimes removed, mainly for hygiene purposes as disease can strike where the humidity is highest. Otherwise the vines are allowed to grow naturally and become a jungle of hanging fruit.

In the backyard, however, where the season is shorter, indeterminates won’t reach the size of the greenhouse plants, but they do need serious staking, with a large cage or strong stakes. And this is where the reason for pinching out the “suckers” probably began. With secondary branches shooting off in all directions, there’d be a need for even more support. By restricting the plant to a main stem, it made sense and was much easier to train the plant. Consequently, the habit of sucker pinching took off and it continues today.

If you need to keep your indeterminate plants under control, go ahead and remove any secondary branches that aren’t required, but don’t feel it’s essential to remove them all. Some like to remove lower branches to improve airflow or keep leaves off the soil. Otherwise, the question is, does it really make any difference?

The answer is yes — sort of. If you leave the secondary stems on the plant, you’ll likely harvest far more tomatoes than you would if you removed them, except they might be a tad smaller than the ones from a plant that had the suckers removed.

So there you have it, to pinch or not to pinch the suckers? The choice is yours. You’ll still get tomatoes.

You don’t need a license to grow trilliums

I can’t say the now defunct design of the last Ontario licence plates concerned me particularly, but it was nice to see the trillium featured on them. I also liked the reference to gardening with the statement that Ontario is a place to grow. The trillium has been Ontario's floral emblem since 1937, and as I’m sure everyone knows, that funny little symbol with three points does represent our provincial flower.

The trillium is also the state wildflower of Ohio, but they don’t honour it the way we do in Ontario. During World War I, the Ottawa Horticultural Society suggested the gentle white trillium should be planted on the graves of Canadian soldiers to signify the homeland left behind, however it was never pursued.

I have a trillium flowering in my garden now, despite suggestions circulating that anyone with a trillium must have plucked it from the wild and in doing so broke the law.

I’m happy to report that I have not, nor am I likely to end up in jail or even be arrested. That’s because it is not against the law to pick or remove trilliums from woodland, unless of course the location is private land. With a slow spring this year, trillium blooms are peaking, or may have passed further south, after lighting up the forest floor. With so many in bloom it’s not surprising that someone is tempted to scoop a few blooms, or even dig up the whole plant.

Although not protected by law perhaps they should be, as should all our precious wildflowers. Picking the trillium for its flower causes damage to the leaves and stems that are essential to future growth. Trilliums don’t transplant at all well from a woodland, and besides harming the plants, it removes the enjoyment for others.

Fortunately, you can grow them in your own garden because they can be purchased from many nurseries that specialize in, and propagate, wildflowers. The trillium you most likely see growing everywhere is Trillium grandiflorum, although according to Ontario Parks, there are another four species.  There’s the red trillium, the painted trillium, the drooping trillium (listed as at risk) and the nodding trillium — I’m not sure I’d be able to tell the difference between the drooping and the nodding.

The red trillium is Trillium erectum, and it’s easy to spot when it pops up in the middle of a patch of white ones. It would even be easy to find one in the dark. Unlike the white variety, which has no fragrance, the red one has the delightful fragrance of day-old roadkill, perfectly designed to attract pollinating flies — and another valuable pollinator plant to add to the garden.

Despite being called the red trillium, the flower has a slightly more burgundy look about it. In fact, deep in the forest there have been reports of ones with slight variations in colour, even orange — I’m still looking. The common name for the red trillium is ‘wake robin’, said to have referred initially to the European robin. Both it and our native robin have similar colouring, and I’m only guessing, but as the breast colour of both birds leans toward orange rather than red, maybe an orange trillium was more common a century or so ago.

There is another species of red trillium I’d like to try growing in my garden and that’s Trillium chloropetalum, the giant wake robin, and it’s a beauty, growing as high as forty-five centimetres high (18 inches). Although native to California, it is a zone six plant, making it hardy enough to grow here.

Wait, there are more. About fifty other species of trillium have been recorded, mostly in North America, though generally further south. So, do watch out for any unique species, but no picking. Unlike those old license plates, they’re not collectors’ items.

It’s a Numbers Game

Fertilizer is confusing, and no wonder. Shelves are stacked with more types of fertilizer than supplements in a health food store. All are in brightly coloured packaging adorned with pictures of gorgeous flowering plants and unblemished vegetables. 

There are fertilizers for tomatoes, ones for roses, another for perennials and so on. All you need to do is match the plant to the fertilizer, right? It couldn’t be easier, except if you grow roses, tomatoes, and dozens of other types of plants, you’ll soon have a full shopping cart. The truth is, you could get by with only one type of commercial fertilizer, or even none if it’s for the garden. By using compost and mulch there, you’d still be fertilizing, but as nature does it.

You’ll note packages of fertilizer always have three numbers. These represent the three main nutrients plants require — nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium, noted as N-P-K. If the K is throwing you off, that’s because it comes from the scientific term, kalium. These numbers indicate the percentages of each element in the package or bottle. 10-15-10 means it contains 10% nitrogen, 15% phosphorus, and 10% potassium.

You might be wondering why there are so many different proportions listed, and why manufactures can’t agree on those proportions. Next time you’re shopping for fertilizer, ignore the glossy images that were shot in a studio and compare those numbers.

You’ll immediately see they differ from brand to brand even though they’re specified for the same type of plant. I’ve seen brands of fertilizer formulated for tomatoes with the numbers 6-12-12, 4-6-8, 8-24-8, and 18-18-21. No wonder the consumer is confused.

Now you might be wondering how they came up with the numbers in the first place. When plants were first analyzed, it was found they contained different proportions of these three nutrients. It was then assumed that each type of plant required fertilizer in the same proportion, except plants don’t use nutrients the same way at the same time as they’re growing. They take up what they need from the soil when they need it.

It’s much like going to the grocery store when you’re out of milk, butter, or eggs. You buy what you need rather than stuffing the refrigerator. A balanced fertilizer, that is one with equal percentages, say 5-5-5 or 10-10-10, is fine in most situations, but by juggling the numbers manufacturers were able to make their products appear unique. And that’s when marketing with numbers began. But do you really need all that fertilizer? If you’re growing in pots and planters, indoors or out, yes you will need it, as most soil-less mediums have little or no nutrients, unlike real soil.

In the garden it’s a different matter. Remember that middle number, the one representing the phosphorus percentage? The soil in this area began with a limestone base, and as it degraded over time we were left with plenty of phosphorous in the soil. Garden soil doesn’t need any extra. In fact, so much has been added waterways are being polluted by it. 

As for the last number representing potassium, it’s only likely to be deficient in light, sandy soils, not in the typical clay soils we have in our gardens. This leaves nitrogen, the first of the trio. Nitrogen does not stick around in soil, which is why we’re forever fertilizing lawns. By adding compost and mulch, nitrogen and other nutrients are returned to the soil as the organic material is broken down.

Bottom line: If your plants are growing poorly, fertilizer is rarely the solution, and too much can be deadly.Your pots and planters will need it, so use the fertilizer of your choice, ideally, one with a ratio corresponding to 3-1-2 (24-8-16 or 12-4-8, for instance). Also look for additional micro-nutrients that are usually found in the fine print of contents.

Finally, do heed the directions. Like soap powder in the washing machine, more is not better. 

What a spring tonic.

I couldn’t resist those large, papery blooms of ranunculus I saw massed on a rack at the garden centre. The blooms, which resemble a small peony or a large carnation, are so vibrant, and vibrant is not how I’d describe my garden right now. The plant I brought home with its all too perfect to be real flowers is now at home, sitting beside a sunny window. The flowers last for ages, despite looking as delicate as crepe paper and they’re surprisingly tough. This makes them popular as cut flowers for the florist and in a wedding bouquet. They should keep me going until the daffodils and tulips appear. 

Ranunculus, and not ranunculi if there’s more than one, unlike octopuses, are greenhouse reared to satisfy the craving for colour everyone has when there’s not much going on in the garden in early spring, and they do it well. Commercial growers typically plant in fall for flowers to tempt us in late winter or early spring. With luck and TLC, they can be planted out in the garden after last frost and will continue to bloom until the weather heats up.

Like pansies, ranunculi are cool weather plants that dislike warm temperatures and they’ll tend to fade out as summer progresses. In warmer climates they’re as perennial as daffodils, returning each year. Unfortunately, they can’t take our winters and are gone after one season. They can, however, be treated like summer flowering bulbs such as dahlias and gladiolas. The tuberous root that a ranunculus develops can be dug in fall and stored over winter.

If planted in the garden, it would be best to mark the location as any sign of them will be long gone before fall. Planting in a container would make it easier to track them down, and in fact, it would be a better choice. That way you’ll get a close-up of the gorgeous blooms. Remove spent blooms to encourage more buds to pop open.

Besides trying to keep your spring purchase going outdoors, actual tubers can be bought and planted in spring, the same as summer flowering canna or calla lilies. That way they’ll grow through summer and flower in late summer to early fall when days are cooler.

The tubers are odd shaped, resembling a dark bunch of over ripened bananas, or gardener’s grubby fingers, I suppose. That makes it easier to be sure you’re planting them pointing the right way — fingers downwards with a couple of inches (50mm) of soil over them.

To attain the best plants, the larger the tubers the better. Whether in ground or in a container, don’t plant in soil that stays wet. If planted in a container, they will need fertilizing.The ranunculus family is huge, with over 500 species, and it marsh marigolds that will soon be popping up around wetlands anytime now, along with croaking frogs — if spring ever arrives. The Latin name for frog, rana, is where ranunculus got its name because many species grow in damp places.

Ranunculus asiaticus is the one that’s been bred most often to produce the varieties we see with huge flowers. The pot plants may not be labelled, but two common series are Tecolote and Bloomingdale — no connection with our Bloomingdale. Bloomingdale is a dwarf variety while Tecolote has longer stems. Because of its popularity as a cut flower, ever more hybrids are being developed, particularly in Japan.

If you can distract your eyes from the gorgeous flowers, you might find the foliage looks familiar. It looks a lot like parsley, except it can cause intense burning of the mouth and throat if swallowed, so keep them well apart in the garden or kitchen.

Low budget gardening

If you love gardening and it's at the bottom of  the list when it's time to dispense funds from a limited budget that is food, mortgage payments, or phone plans for teenagers, then consider dirt-cheap gardening, or if you prefer, gardening for the frugal. Better still, call it smart in a world where practising the three Rs (reduce, reuse, recycle? is considered a virtue.

Gardening is the ideal place to practice the above. Not only can it save you a tonne of money, but you'll also be helping the planet, and everyone knows it needs all the help it can get.

Begin indoors by extending the life of plastic containers before they reach the blue box. Blue box day is a treasure hunt for all kinds of garden stuff. Those 20-litre water bottles with the bottom cut out make an excellent cloche to protect young plants when there’s a risk of frost.

There are also surprising finds on garbage day such as decorative planters that someone tired of. I see coils of hose that only need a new end. Repair is another R to value. Garden tools are tossed out when downsizing is underway. While out curb shopping, scoop any old snow shovels; the handles are usually in perfect shape and make great replacement handles for the spade you broke trying to lever a rock out of the garden. Afraid of being seen as a scavenger? It’s a way of to survive in parts of the world. Wear a mask if it helps, but don’t stop by a bank on the way home.

Before those garden items make it to the curb, they pass through the garage sale stage. Garage sales are a major source of planters. Even an old suitcase can be filled with flowers — have plants will travel — and I don't know why, but wicker baskets seem to end up in driveways in quantities to rival the vast number of VCRs and vintage stereo systems from the ‘80s. Line the baskets with plastic and you'll have a lovely planter that will do at least a couple of seasons.

Depending on the number of fashionable planters you bring home from the garage sale trip, it can be pricey when you come to fill them with potting soil. Garden soil is fine but it may need lightening for better drainage if it’s clay based. Add sand or perlite to ensure it drains freely. Coir or peat moss will help retain moisture. Rather than peat moss, there is a more environmentally friendly medium produced with wood fibre.

Beyond planters for work in the garden, you will need a spade to dig or shovel the soil, but one trip past the tool racks at the garden centre can be frightening for the new gardener — "You mean I need all that stuff just to grow a few plants?" No. Garden tools are becoming like workshop tools/toys — a different one for every conceivable project or task. You'll get by surprisingly well with a minimum of a spade, a rake, hoe, trowel, and pruners. The spade is important for planting, but regular digging of flower or veggie beds can be reduced by top dressing with compost or leaves and letting the worms do all the work, and compost is usually free from most municipalities.

Plants for your pots or garden are the easiest. Grow your own from seeds or watch for plant swaps. Gardeners are constantly digging and dividing plants or sharing seeds and are eager to see them go to a good home. Remember, too, when buying plants, that small trees and shrubs will eventually grow into big trees and shrubs but will cost much less. Be a real gardener — be patient and be resourceful, and that’s another R.

Buyer Beware

While gazing at the gorgeous images displayed in seed catalogues, you might be wondering, have I seen that plant before, and is that a new colour? We always assumed catalogues had accurate representations of plants, and those of reputable suppliers always do. However, the world is changing and especially the online world where fact checkers, even for plants are lacking. 

In the early days gardeners relied on drawings and descriptions of the material in catalogues. Even Group of Seven artist J.E.H. MacDonald, designed many catalogue covers for Sheridan Nurseries. Photography eventually became the norm, first black and white then colour. These images depicted plants in an actual garden before it became easier to produce better ones under lighting in a studio.

There, images could be more easily adjusted to ensure the colours matched the real plant. I picture ex fashion photographers using their skills to show flowers in their best light where you might hear them cajoling poor plants with “Stretch that stem, unfold that petal, tint that pink, more stamen, more stamen. Work with me, work with me. Come on pansy — show me a pout.”

It’s hard to know what’s genuine now when nefarious vendors online have realized there’s a huge market of gardeners waiting to be tempted by new plants in never-before-seen colours. First it was editing software which made it easy to generate images, and strange new ones appeared. Now we’re dealing with artificial intelligence that can conjure up anything a creator desires.

We’ve long been awaiting a truly blue rose. With only a few clicks, it’s easy to produce an image of a blue rose with yellow polka dots or pink stripes, or any combination. And the same goes for vegetables that can be made to appear larger, taller, and produce amazing crops. Stick these images on social media with a thrilling description of a revolutionary new plant plus a link to where to send your money — click, click.

Seasoned gardeners might not be easily fooled, even though some probably are. I know I’ve been tempted. Beginners can’t be expected to recognise flowers as obviously fake when they’ve only recently discovered there are thousands of plants in a rainbow of colours to choose from. Of daylilies alone, there are over 80,000 registered varieties in vibrant colors and diverse shapes. So why not a rainbow rose?

It might not be easy to determine the legitimacy of a company, but all plants have, or should have, a genuine botanical name listed somewhere. But what copywriter wants to clog up advertising text with challenging words when a catchy new name attached to an AI image will produce instant clicks. It can give anyone a headache trying to remember the Latin names of all the plants in their garden but knowing that a plant should have a legitimate one will help avoid those budget breaking clicks.

That’s the plants. Don’t get me started on the products that claim to produce plants even more productive or floriferous. Buyer beware — everywhere. Buyer beware — click, click.

Art and Sculpture in the Garden

I only caught a glimpse of the couple as I entered the garden. I followed the path around the lawn, past the pergola that gave shade to the bench below. The pair were in a corner, almost hidden in foliage. As I approached, I felt I was intruding on an intense conversation between lovers that had fallen silent at that very moment. Had they declared their love? Had they quarrelled? What had she asked of him? Had he answered? I tried to interpret their expressions, to imagine their thoughts. I wanted to hear them speak, however, the silence continued. But then why would five feet of inanimate concrete have words for me?

They’d been lovingly placed there when the garden was young; so many years ago that bright yellow lichen now adorned his jacket. The quiet presence of this piece of statuary enhanced the garden, perhaps evoking pleasant memories in the one who tended it throughout the seasons. For me, a casual visitor to this garden near Portsmouth, England on a sunny day in 2005, it caused me to pause and to ponder, just one of the reasons artwork is created.

 It was a little disconcerting to see the face peering from the foliage at the foot of the garden, the late afternoon sun casting shadows, further obscuring the figure. It wasn’t that I was startled; I’d been forewarned on entering the garden to look out for Leila. She’d be waiting beyond the rose garden, near the stand of Japanese Silver Grass. I said hello Leila, not expecting a response. I mean, why would five feet of inanimate concrete graced by a soft patina of pale green lichen have words for me.

But then she didn’t need to speak. Her silent presence enhanced the peacefulness of the garden; she was a part of the garden, part of the family, at home where she stood. She’d been placed there some years previously, when the garden was young. At the time she stood alone in a corner of a lawn. As the garden grew, evolved, shrubs and trees took their place, and Leila, no longer standing alone in a bare expanse of manicured green became one with nature, as I discovered her.

Artworks in the form of statuary and sculptures have long been used to elevate the sometimes prosaic nature of gardens since the earliest times. The ancient Greeks and the Romans had their peristyle courts; enclosed gardens where classical sculptures would be displayed, typically reflecting philosophical or religious motifs and set on pedestals to be gazed at in awe.

It was during the Italian Renaissance in the fourteenth century when gardens became larger, symmetrical, and besides the grottos and fountains, there was always classical statuary. The Italianate style found its way to Britain, particularly during the nineteenth century when travelers returning from a
Grand Tour of Europe developed their own Renaissance gardens and filled them with statuary.

Travel the great gardens of Britain today, those built long ago by the aristocracy or early industrialists, and it’s soon apparent statuary was big business in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Materials were still the traditional marble, stone, or bronze, but in far greater numbers — every garden owner of note wanted to enhance their estate.

The need was filled by using composite materials, though often of inferior quality — a crumbling David would be unlikely to inspire or impress anyone. This was resolved around 1770, when enterprising Eleanor Coade invented Coade stone, an artificial material used for moulding neoclassical statues and garden ornaments. Of such high quality and virtually impervious to the eroding effect of weather, it outperformed natural stone. By the 1840s artificial stone produced using Portland cement came on the market and the more expensive Coade stone was largely phased out.

Lost over time, the original secret recipe, a form of ceramic using crushed flint, fine quartz, and crushed glass was rediscovered and further refined by sculptor and stone carver Stephen Pettifer. In 2000 he founded the Coade Company in London, England, which continues to produce all forms of statuary.

In those great gardens, even now, two centuries later, what may appear to be an original piece carved from stone could well be Coade stone.

By the start of the twentieth century the popularity of classical sculpture waned somewhat with the advent of modern sculpture, beginning with the work of Auguste Rodin, who exhibited at the Universal Exhibition held in Paris in 1900. Since then, every form of abstract artistic expression has made an appearance, in galleries and as public installations, in gardens as originals or more often replicas, and produced now in every possible medium.

Just as the Greeks and Romans created places to display their sculptures, today, parks are created specifically to display sculptural works, or they are exhibited in existing gardens. Somehow, the placing of sculptures in a natural setting enhances the moment, and is a way of introducing such works to the public. Cambridge has its delightful Sculpture Garden located on Grand avenue South alongside the Grand River. At the Homer Watson Gallery in Kitchener, there are whimsical works by local artist, Glen Smith on display in the small garden there.

The Seattle based revolutionary blown glass artist Dale Chilhuly exhibits his work in gardens around the world with multicolored pieces that can be mistaken for plants and trees of the natural world. At Kew Gardens in London, his work was once exhibited both in the gardens and inside the majestic palm house because, as he said, he always wanted to show his glasswork in a glasshouse. His pieces have also appeared at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, Arizona. While visiting, I could easily have mistaken his spiky, chartreus cactus for a rare saguaro if it hadn’t been sparkling so in the bright desert light.

I’d much rather wander a park or garden than a gallery or museum, and it was first in those large stately gardens of Britain where classical statuary abounds that I first discovered my love of sculpture. Renishaw Hall in the north of England is typical of the nineteenth century style with its stunning Italianate gardens. Statuary there graces the pathways, at flights of steps, between garden rooms and within them, where they stand in the shade of topiary hedges five meters high. Sometimes the topiary works are sculptures in their own right.

Likewise in the south of England at Hever Castle, the childhood home of Anne Boleyn, the American millionaire and philanthropist William Waldorf Astor, beginning in 1906 added a magnificent Italian garden and filled it with his own collection of statuary retrieved during his European travels.

More a park than a garden, the Yorkshire Sculpture Park was developed specifically for the display of sculpture, including a number of Henry Moore pieces. Not sure how Henry would feel about sheep wandering around his work, although it honours his commitment to having his work placed in the open air.

It was in a more formal part of the park that I discovered the 'Moon’, a piece I’d perhaps unfairly describe asa large scale version of a Victorian gazing ball.  Hand-blown glass garden accents were first recorded as being produced in Venice 13th century. In the 16th century the English philosopher Francis Bacon commented that a proper garden would have round coloured balls for the sun to play upon, and by the Victorian era they became a popular garden feature, and are still. They are intriguing, the way they reflect and shimmer as the light changes, but I’m happy to gaze at them in someone else’s garden.

The ‘Moon’, however, by Swiss artist Not Vital (a confusing name in English) is something I’d covet if my garden were large enough to house it. ‘Moon’ is a highly polished sphere in stainless steel replete with tidy, random dimples representing, I suppose, the more ragged craters of the moon.

Three meters in diameter, it sits in an expanse of grass, and like the real moon’s gravitational field, it draws viewers to touch, to marvel, to observe the distorted reflections of the tree filled park. It now has its own Saturn like ring, formed by the circling footsteps of a captivated audience.

One of the finest, though fleeting, exhibitions of garden art is to be found at the Chelsea Flower Show held annually in London, England. It’s here where designers compete for gold medals in garden design. The gardens are imaginative wonders, works of art in their own right, and typical contain sculptural pieces to complement and enhance the experience.

At the 2016 show, a garden by Russian designer Tatyana Goltsova explored the complex relationships between Russia, Ukraine and the UK, though not in the current political sense. A work by Ukrainian sculptor Victoria Chichinadze that embodied the spirit of the traditional lace makers of Eastern Europe was allowed to beautifully dominate the garden. Crafted from 600kg of aluminum, the white, lace-like form, in sharp contrast with the surrounding green, swirled through the garden to skim the surface of a water feature called River of Time, culminating at a transcendent female figure.

Also at the 2016 show, a gold medal winning garden by Chris Beardshaw prominently featured a haunting, contemplative face. Named The Fallen Deodar, it was one of a limited edition of six in verdigris bronze. At 1.5 meters across, the original was carved from, and inspired by, a massive Deodar tree (Cedrus deodara) that had fallen on bleak Dartmoor, not far from the home in Devon of artist Jilly Sutton. The original work now resides in a garden somewhere in Tokyo, fittingly owned by one of the tree leaping Japanese actresses who appeared in the movie Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon.

Given the long historic association of art and gardens, it would almost seem that a garden is not complete without a sculpture or piece of artwork. Ensuring each complements the other is the challenge. Those who design both sculptures and gardens understand the importance of scale, texture, and appropriate placement, and it’s no less important in a home garden.

I’ve always believed a garden is a personal space, accepting of anything the owner chooses to place
there. Garden gnomes, super heroes, well-dressed mannequins and even the many nefarious Lord of the Rings characters have all found a place in gardens. A monstrous orc, however, would be more suited to a huge gothic garden rather than lurching out of a flowerbed, unless, of course, it happens to frighten rabbits.

Besides these outliers an endless supply of decorative, often beautiful accoutrements awaits the browser at every garden show and gift store where there’s something to suit anyone’s taste. Smaller items are useful for punctuating an entrance or creating particular interest within a planting, but too many are . . . well, too many.

Plonk something in the middle of the front yard, though, and it’s on public display. That group of fake deer on a country property viewed through a morning mist can for a moment be delightful — or induce a moment of panic, but in the harsh light of midday . . . well, they’re still plastic deer. And massive concrete lions rampant at the foot of a suburban driveway somehow don’t capture the essence of the veldt — they’d be far more effective lurking in the shrubbery.

Many an expanse of green lawn does indeed cry out for a focal point, yet it is so worthwhile to reflect on those masters of design when choosing a sculpture and the way they considered theme, scale, location — and the garden. The appropriately placed classical statue awaiting discovery at a random turn in the garden will gently delight the unwary visitor.

A graceful Aphrodite, framed naturally in an arch of trees can be perfect. Position her at distance point to become a silhouette at sunset or sunrise and the effect is magical. When a piece such as this has attained an ancient, mossy patina, and is revealed only when a breeze stirs foliage, it becomes an enchanting dreamscape, and sometimes startling part of the garden.

Spring is for Daffodils

Winter truly ends with the appearance of the first bright, yellow daffodil. Daffodils evoke joy in spring, and maybe a tinge of regret that someone forgot to plant bulbs the previous fall. Oh sure, there were snow drops as early as January, followed by crocuses, even an eager tulip, but for me, it takes a daffodil; they’re much cheerier, nodding and waving a greeting. As Wordsworth described them in his classic poem, “tossing their heads in a sprightly dance, fluttering and dancing in the breeze”.

Wordsworth claimed he saw ten thousand at a glance. This may be so, but I doubt it rivals the numbers planted at the East Texas ranch of the late Mrs. Helen Lee. She used her Texas oil fortune to plant daffodils by the boxcar, millions of them, scattered over approximately 20 acres.

A few years ago a local man decided to become a guerrilla gardener and began planting daffodils on grassy banks along the Conestoga Parkway in KW. Since it was technically illegal to trespass, he did this under cover of darkness, and his name was never revealed — he called himself the Unknown Gardener. To further brighten the day of commuters, he planted the bulbs in the form of happy faces that may still be seen today.

Happy face or random clump, daffodils will always prompt a smile. In England as a child, I rode a bus to school that stopped each day beside a cottage with a hillside garden that merged at its upper end into woodland. Daffodils grew there in profusion. Each day I looked forward to seeing the springtime progression as they sprouted, flowered, and then vanished, overtaken by taller grass. Now, when the clump of yellow daffodils in my garden appears, I can’t help recalling an image that’s stayed in my head for half a lifetime.

Yet after a recent springtime visit, that image has been eased aside slightly by one that is suggesting maybe there can be too much of a good thing. At some point over the years (many years), someone decided it would be a good idea to plant daffodils along roadsides throughout the country. Some say it began in the dark days of postwar Britain to brighten up the place in the 1950s; however, I don’t recall any particular abundance in my youth. Regardless of when and where it began, the idea spread.

It became a pastime for many. Town councils large and small joined in, some with planting schemes of their own, others donating thousands of bulbs to charitable organisations. The daffodils grew and spread like dandelions, snaking mile upon mile across the country. The sight was amazing — at first. I soon began to picture them as yellow snowbanks, and I confess that after a couple of weeks driving the highways and byways of Northern England, even I was ready for a change of scene, or at least a change of colour.

Despite the popularity, so many were planted it’s feared they’re now becoming a problem for the country’s native species of daffodils, the ones that inspired Wordsworth's poem and the same ones that even Shakespeare mentioned in The Winter’s Tale — “When daffodils begin to peer”. They’re under threat now due to cross-pollination between the non-native species and the many hybrids, especially the larger, brightly coloured ones. The original, more delicate British species are becoming a rare sight in the wild. To counter this, heritage groups are undertaking mass planting campaigns using native species in historic gardens where they can be protected (the roadside battle is lost).

This over abundance isn’t likely to be an issue in Canada as we have no native daffodils. I feel I should point out that the daffodil is not native to Britain, either. Known since antiquity, it’s believed to have originated in North Africa and southwest Europe on the Iberian Peninsula. Somewhat isolated in Britain, the original introduction, perhaps brought by an early traveler or Roman invader, was able to naturalise undisturbed for centuries. At some point it became the national flower and a symbol of Wales where it’s worn on St David's Day each March 1st, potentially supplanting the leek, which has long been the national symbol of Wales. This may be due to some innocent confusion because in the Welsh language, the name, Cenhinen, is almost the same for both plants.

In English, we call them daffodils, but are they? Is it daffodil or is it narcissus, the other oft used term, or are they different plants? The simple answer is no; all daffodils are narcissus. Daffodil, or at one time daffadowndilly, has simply become the common, accepted name. The scientific name for the familiar, trumpet-like daffodil is Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Smaller daffodils, known as jonquils, are Narcissus jonquilla. Rather than a single bloom, jonquils tend to have clusters of fragrant flowers and dark green, tube-shaped leaves, like chives, unlike the seamed, sometimes triangular stems of daffodils.

The name, of course, is from the Greek myth of Narcissus who was turned into the flower of that name, and consequently, it’s perceived as a symbol of vanity. In the East however, it’s seen as a symbol of wealth and good fortune.

Another flower sometimes called a daffodil is the paperwhite, Narcissus papyraceus. It’s typically grown in wintertime as a houseplant — if you can stand the intense fragrance. Unlike regular daffodils, it can’t survive the winter outdoors.

Now that that’s sorted, I’ll continue to refer to the springtime garden plants as daffodils. Mention the name and predictably, most people will think of the familiar, bright yellow flower; however, daffodils are available in all shapes, sizes, and hues. They can be white or whitish, greenish, yellow of course, pink, and orange. Colours are then mixed and matched between the two parts of the flower head, the perianth (petals) and the corona (cup).

This is mainly thanks to the Netherlands, where daffodils have been cultivated as far back as the
sixteenth century. Today, along with tulips and other bulbs, they’ve become the country’s chief export. In addition, growers and hobbyists everywhere have been breeding new strains. Depending on who is counting, there are as many as 200 different daffodil species and subspecies and a further 25,000 registered cultivars (cultivated variety), including the more flamboyant strains that are causing the problem in Britain.

The best known and most popular variety is the King Alfred. He’s the one said to have burnt the cakes, but there’s no mention of him growing daffodils. The name was chosen by Englishman John Kendall, clearly a long time monarchist. It was first introduced in 1899 when it was immediately awarded a First-Class Certificate by The Royal Horticultural Society, which likely had a bias towards regal names (Kendall was no fool). Regardless, the society was impressed by the rich golden hue of its much larger blooms.

Sadly, Kendall died in 1890 and never saw the astonishing result of his humble breeding program. Successfully promoted and marketed by his sons, for the next fifty years King Alfred the daffodil ruled until production declined in the 1950s when newer, improved varieties were introduced.

Millions of King Alfreds are still being planted and remain available today. You may be watching them bloom in your garden right now, yet it’s unlikely they’re the original. I’m afraid the king is dead — though the name lives on.

So popular was the King Alfred, the name became synonymous with large yellow daffodils, much like Kleenex is commonly used as the name for any tissue. Growers retained the name, and although limited numbers of the original are still produced, it’s been gradually supplanted with superior varieties like Golden Harvest or Dutch Master. These and others are now sold as King Alfred “types”, what you might call floral Elvis impersonators.

They’re big and showy with a golden yellow trumpet — and thanks to Wordsworth and his host of golden daffodils, this is what most people will think of when they picture a daffodil. It represents a country, has Kingly connections, boosts the Dutch economy, was a poet’s muse, and in recent years has become a symbol of hope for all affected by cancer. April is Daffodil Month when the Canadian Cancer Society will be launching their annual fundraising campaign, another reason to appreciate daffodils.

Despite my misgivings after being overwhelmed by the abundance growing along British roadsides, I still love daffodils, even prefer them to tulips, their spring rivals. There’s something about the wild nature of them that’s appealing. Some varieties of tulips will naturalize, but daffs are masters at establishing communities that last for years, as seen by those yellow snow banks in I saw in England. 

And if there’s one major advantage over tulips, squirrels won’t dig up the bulbs and eat them, and nor should you. Despite having been used in traditional medicines since antiquity, and the bulbs do contain potentially useful compounds, they are poisonous if eaten, so don’t confuse them with onions, but do plant them.

Now is the time to admire the beauties that will be appearing this spring. And it’s the time to mark the calendar or set an alert as a reminder to plant lots come fall, hosts of them, but go easy on the snowbanks.