It's Dirty Work

It’s all hard, dirty work, battling insects, diagnosing diseases, dealing with erratic weather, and chasing critters. That’s what gardening must seem like to those without a hint of digital green, so I suppose it’s no surprise when someone tells me they just don’t get it. Like many who feel that way, they like a garden to look nice, in a vague sort of way — mainly tidy, I guess, but that’s as far as it goes.

So what is the attraction? I have a hard time explaining. I try the whole being connected with nature thing, hands in the soil feeling the energy of the earth beneath, yet the thought of dirty hands elicits only a frown.

But what about a beautifully landscaped garden that incorporates all the features that are designed to appeal to one’s sense of aesthetics — the winding pathways, subtly balanced colours, sculpted trees and shrubs mirrored in still pools? Makes it hard to hang out washing, they say, not that many still do.

Consider the fragrances that waft across the patio on a warm summer evening. People spend a fortune on being fragrant, but are not heavenly scents produced in a garden equally attractive? No, I suppose a spray can is more reliable and convenient, even if it is filled with questionable chemicals. And yes, for some, a steak sizzling on the barbecue trumps lavender any day.

Then what about the salad that goes with the steak; surely there’s nothing finer than a freshly picked tomato? Red and round, they’re all the same, says the one with dead taste buds.

See what I’m up against? But for those who have discovered gardening and the joy it brings, despite the dirty hands and all the challenges a gardener must face, you know it’s all worthwhile. I know I do, for all the reasons above, and more. I enjoy all aspects, but one in particular always inspires me and that’s the art. Not the art of design, at least not the gardener’s, but that of plants and flowers.

To stop and smell the roses is as relevant as ever, but when I remember to slow down and actually look at things closely, intensely, there’s a whole world of artistry that isn’t immediately apparent, especially if the bifocals are sitting in the house.

This is when I recall my favourite garden quote by Sally Carrighar, one I should inscribe on the fence as a reminder: “The important thing is to know this flower, look at its colour until its blueness becomes as real as a keynote of music”. To this I’d add a reminder to observe artful intricacy of design.

There are many reasons for the variety of colours and forms taken by flowers and foliage, though I doubt any were originally designed to look appealing to a human perspective — insects mainly — yet we are the beneficiaries of these amazing works of art, many of which inspired the great masters.

Take a closer look at some of the flowers in your garden and you’ll be endlessly fascinated. Take the African daisy, or Osteospermum. It’s a genus of annual plants popular in bedding schemes and there are numerous hybrids and cultivars in a wide range of lively colours. Sun lovers and easy to grow, I have them in flower beds and in containers.

Most are daisy-like, some double, but one in particular always catches my eye thanks to the unique design of its petals. They radiate out in a perfect circle, each one resembling a tiny spoon. I stop, I look, I smile, then I shake my head at this miniature work of art. It’s just one of the reasons to “get” gardening.

   

Quis est nomen illius planta?

"Quis est nomen illius planta?" I heard that frequently during the days of my open garden. It wasn’t spoken in Latin, which is just as well as I probably wouldn’t have understood the question anyway. My command of Latin is pathetic. Most often, the plants for which I do know the botanical names are the ones that haven’t been given a common one, at least none that I’m aware of.

One in particular that attracted a lot of attention was a vine on the trellis. It has small, maple-like leaves and sprays of red flowers that turn yellow as they mature. I grew it easily from seed this year and it’s performed rather well. Naturally, the question arose — Quis est nomen illius planta? — about a couple of hundred times. I was happy to answer, but the only name I had for the plant was the botanical name from the seed packet that I had stuck in my back pocket (be prepared).

The plant in question is Ipomoea lobata and it’s a member of the morning glory family, except it doesn’t look anything like a typical morning glory. Hence the Latin, except it made me sound so pretentious. I’ve since learned, however, that it’s also known as firecracker vine or Spanish flag, but since no one else appeared to know it by either of those names, I’m going to make up my own. Henceforth, in my garden, it will be known as the ‘question’ vine.

On the other hand, the true name of certain plants is used more often than the common one, especially if it doesn’t sound too botanical. I was frequently asked about a plant in the perennial bed. It has sword-like leaves and show stopping red flowers. I was happy to reply that the plant was Crocosmia. It’s sometimes called copper tip or falling stars, but those names don’t seem to be in use around here, so I’ll stick to the botanical name.

Crocosmia is a great plant and deserves to be grown more often. There are only a few varieties available, ranging from yellow to red. Cultivars go by the names ‘Lucifer’ (orange-red) ‘Jenny Bloom’ (orange buds open yellow), ‘Meteor’ (yellow tinged with orange), ‘Red King’ (red with orange-yellow center), and ‘Emily Mckenzie’ (orange). ‘Jacanapes’ is red and yellow while ‘Golden Fleece’ is lemon yellow. In a group planting, they’ll pop out flowers for a month or two, and they’re also excellent as a cut flower.

Crocosmia are small corms and are usually sold in time for spring planting. Look for them in bulb catalogues if you don’t spot them at a garden centre. They may not flower the first year, but then they reproduce nicely. Interestingly, they’re not supposed to be hardy in this region, and it’s often suggested they be lifted for the winter, 

yet mine have been coming back year after year without the slightest care. They aren’t too fussy about soil as long as it’s reasonably fertile and well drained.

If you have any doubts about their hardiness, plant them against the house in full to part sun, but I have hundreds of witnesses who can confirm that mine grow just fine in the middle of the garden, and they all know the correct botanical name, should anyone ask.

It's a pleasure to share, to discuss plants, and to answer questions from so many garden lovers, like "What’s the name of that plant?" Why, I frequently replied, it's Anonomenthanum something or other.