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Codonopsis.
Ann & Bob Armstrong 2005
Anyone who has visited our garden in mid and late summer will know we have great affection for the genus Codonopsis. It often surprises us how few people grow them and indeed how many people have never heard of them (Hardy Planters excluded of course!) so we'll try to redress the balance. The name is taken from the Greek “kodon”- bell and “opsis”-resembling, a reference to the shape of many, but by no means all, of the flowers.
The genus contains some 40 or so species from mountainous regions of central Asia, across the Himalaya to the far-east but many of them are not in regular cultivation. However of those that are more easily obtained there are some garden plants of great subtlety that deserve to be better known. Ignoring the botany it seems to us that there are three main groups:-
Twining climbers with blue or white saucer shaped flowers; other climbers with bell shaped or tubular flowers in green, cream and purple, often with fritillary type markings; scramblers and sprawlers, many with pale blue flowers with lovely markings, again with variations on the bell shaped theme.
In their natural habitat Codonopsis grow on cliffs, stony hillsides and light woodland in well-drained soil with plenty of moisture in the rainy season. In the absence of a rainy season in Lincolnshire we find they survive well without extra watering provided that the soil is not too dry and dusty. In the garden winter wet is their main downfall. We know from bitter experience that they do not like unimproved heavy clay soil but are happy in a raised bed slope in decent soil. Most species like to have their feet in shade and their tops in sun or light shade so a host shrub is ideal for providing shade supporting the rather lax growth and helping to dry the soil in winter.
We are experimenting with some of the smaller ones in our leafy woodland soil and also in the lee of rocks on a stony scree. They are readily raised from seed sown thinly in autumn with germination occurring the following spring and, if possible, the seedlings should be left until the following March by which time the small tubers can be separated and potted up. Young plants generally flower in their second or third year. They are much loved by “slugs so we do have to be vigilant, and the unusual foxy smell does put some people off although some species are less pungent than others e.g. C.cardiophylla.
One problem we have experienced is the question of correct identification. It appears that many seeds offered and indeed plants in nurseries turn out to be C.clematidea, C.pilosula or C.grey-wilsonii despite what is claimed. However these are all great plants but it can be annoying. There is an excellent website (www.kneebone.freeserve.co.uk run by the NCCPG holder Paul Kneebone who has been extremely helpful in identifying our various plants. Because of their great geographical range Codonopsis can be quite variable. And Paul quickly whittled our “20” or so down to 9! It would be pointless to run through a long list of plants but a few of our favourites here at Woodlands are: C.grey-wilsonii – lovely saucer shaped clear blue flowers with an inner ring of maroon hairs. We grow ours in a deep pot climbing up a Schizophragma. There is a beautiful white form known as “Himal Snow”. C. pilosula – very variable climber up to 8 ft with greenish bells and cream internally. Masses of flowers in mid August. C.rotundifolia var angustifolia- another climber with greenish bells with dark red veins. C.clematidea- probably the most well known of the genus and the easiest to grow. Very variable in size and vigour but all have lovely orange and purple rings inside the pale blue campanulate bell. C.cardiophylla- superficially similar to C.dematidea but the inside of the bell is stained deep purple and the foliage has pale edges. C.ovata- new to us but the one flower we had wash pale blue with darker blue veining in a flared tubular shape. Sadly something pecked off the seed head so fingers crossed for next year.
We hope this article has whetted appetites to try a few species of this lovely genus, you wont regret it.
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Marooned!
Judy Harry 2005
One of the advantages of having an area of flower garden next to where we take our tea and coffee breaks is that you really notice what is going on. Day by day in spells of good weather, you see the plants come into flower, and more importantly, you see how their colours look in different lights.
Sitting there, it took a while for me to realise what an important part was being played by a collection of deep plum coloured flowers: or perhaps maroon would better describe them. It is a shade that has none of the blue tints that take you perilously close to cerise, and really seems to be characterised by having a dash of brown stirred in to the mix, giving a rich, light-absorbing 'full stop' of a colour.
The well-known 'Chocolate Cosmos' (Cosmos atrosanguineus) typifies the sort of maroon colour I'm talking about, with its suggestion of brown velvet overlying deep red. Dianthus 'Sooty', a rather superior Sweet William with dark leaves and deep velvety flowers, has the same look and I can think of various early Polyanthus that share these qualities. So the season can get off to an early start in the 'marooned' garden. Tulips too can contribute to the theme, and 'Queen of the Night' certainly has none of the bluey-pink about it, just yards of the richest, darkest, maroon satin. I shall have to plant some this autumn.
Later on, other perennials continue the mood. Although the flowers are small, Geranium phaeum has just the right colouring, and if you choose to grow G. p. 'Samobor', the flowers have a slightly warmer glow to them, and of course leave with very distinct maroon markings on the leaves. Take care though! There are of course lots of foliage plants that give you the sort of colour we've been talking about, but I think if you have maroon foliage and maroon flowers, the whole thing gets too heavy and sombre. So I think it is better to keep dark foliage for other places, providing a backdrop for rich scarlet and orange perhaps, or more subtly, putting some drama into pale pinks and blues. The marooned blooms can supply all the necessary drama on their own!
Clematis 'Kermesina' (one of the Viticella group) has a bit of brown about its deep plum flowers and in my experience this is a thoroughly reliable plant. The only trouble I have with it is that it steadfastly refuses to grow up the tripod provided for it, and strains with obstinate determination towards the north and thin air: a few rounds of twine soon puts paid to that! By great good fortune last year, some volunteer dark coloured Opium Poppies (Papaver somniferum) came up right next to the tripod, and made it look as if I had pulled off a really sophisticated bit of plant selection and placing. Since this happenstance, I have of course encouraged them to seed into the same spot. At the foot of the tripod is a rather nice Achillea millefolium 'Faust' with deep browny red flowers. This has performed well. There are others that could do the job just as well, I expect, but this is one that I know in this colour range and which keeps its colour for longer than many. And not far from these is a wonderful herbaceous Potentilla called 'Emilie'. What a colour! Like many of these border plants, she flops about a bit, but can be forgiven in view of the rich velvet of her flowers.
I love Bergamot, but find it almost impossible to grow, with the exception of Monarda 'Panorama Hybrid'. I have had this for years, and it is in a cool spot beside a path where I think there must be sufficient run-off to keep the plants in the manner to which they are accustomed and without the mildew that has spoiled any others I have tried. There's only one colour left from what started as a mix of colours, and it has a deep purple flower that only just comes into our range, saved by the fact that the prominent bracts are much more maroony brown. The overall effect is very attractive. Acanthus hungaricus, in the same bed, also has brawny bracts that long outlast the flowers, and the stiff stems need no support. Not far from this is a new plant to me, Sidalcea 'Mrs. Borrowdaile', and I am very taken with this. Tall, but self-supporting, with deep, browny-pinky flowers, it really stands out.
It is the tendency towards floppiness that puts people off including Knautia macedonica, with its masses of scabious-like flowers, in their borders. I can report however that the variety K. m. 'Mars Midget' by growing slightly shorter, finds itself able to stand up all by itself: clever little thing. The flowers are in our colour range, and several varieties (e.g. 'Ace of Spades' and 'Chile Black') of Scabiosa atropurpurea have the same shape and even darker flowers, so there is plenty to choose from to get the effect of those neat little pincushions. Which leads me naturally to Astrantia major, whose country name is 'Hattie's Pincushion'. On the national HPS Summer Gardens Day in East Yorkshire, there was plenty of opportunity to compare the many dark red forms of this very popular plant. We saw 'Hadspen Blood' and 'Ruby Wedding' and then in one garden, there was a group of seedlings of A. 'Claret'. One of them was particularly fine, with big deep maroon flowers and black stems. Needless to say, we encouraged the garden owner to mark it and propagate from it. I also have the similarly coloured A. 'Roma', which I understood to have a very long flowering season: someone ought to have told it, because so far it hasn't actually performed as well as some of the other Astrantia that I have.
As you can see, the maroon theme can be pursued quite easily into high summer, and with the later-flowering Cosmos, as well as Dahlia and Chrysanthemum (wonderful excuse to spend hours over catalogues) can go through to the summer's end. So there is no shortage of flowers, but since I have already discounted dark foliage as an accompaniment, you are no doubt asking what does go well with them?
Hold your breath ... I think that orange – rich, flagrant, glowing orange – can look absolutely wonderful next to maroon. Have you noticed how often orange flowers have brown stamens or centres? It is this that can make this combination really work, but I can see that it might be too dramatic for some. The best accompaniment of all, however, is sunshine: this brings out all the richness and depth of colour that makes maroon flowers so special. It also brings us out into the garden to see them. If the summer of 2005 had been grey and wet, I probably wouldn't have been writing this article at all! That's gardening for you.
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Some Unsung Heroes?
Judy Harry 2005
Do you find that it sometimes takes you a while to realise how good and useful a plant is in your garden? It was like that with me and Lysimachia ephemerum with its elegant spires of white flowers and subtle grey-green foliage. This plant looks good for several weeks, in our garden creating a very pretty contrast in both shape and colour to a drift of Monarda, and asking for little in the way of attention and fussing. Over the years, it has slowly spread to create a good-sized clump.
Unfortunately, not all the species in this genus share this characteristic. L punctata is one of those plants that is given to the unwary, novice gardener. “Oh this is a nice easy plant” says the generous benefactor, “you can't go wrong with this one”: famous last words which you might well be muttering under your breath a year or so later, as you try to eradicate its rampaging roots from those most sought after, dampish and fertile parts of your flower border. It's a shame really that this plant is so enthusiastic in its attempts to prove how 'easy' it is, because the clear yellow starry flowers are quite pretty, prove how 'easy' it is, because the clear yellow starry flowers are quite pretty, but it's best friend could not call the plant either subtle or elegant. There is the rather intriguing variegated form, L. p. 'Alexander', whose young foliage is a mix of cream and pink in the spring. I think it is Bob Brown who describes it as looking like a pile of shrimps on the ground. The variegation becomes less conspicuous as the plant grows up, which is probably as well, since the yellow flowers would not sit too happily in a dish of seafood.
It must also be admitted that L ciliata is another enthusiastic spreader, but its habit is much more refined, with thinner stems and more starry flowers of a paler, more lemony yellow. As a bonus, the foliage often turns to fiery reds and oranges in the autumn. It also revels in damp conditions, but will do passably well (and travel more slowly) in much drier situations and even in some shade. It is for its bronze-leaved cousin though, that this plant is best known. L c. 'Firecracker' looks stunning in the spring, when it forms good clumps of very dark leaves: these contrast particularly well with the fresh green of other new foliage. Later on, the typical flower stems develop, and it is really a matter of taste whether you like the combination of bronze leaves and lemon yellow flowers. This plant too will spread freely in ideal conditions, less so where it is more challenged.
A very different character is displayed by L clethroides. This is another white flowered member of the genus, again enjoying and really needing, damp conditions. The distinguishing feature of this plant is the way in which the flower stems bend over at the top, like shepherds' crooks, giving it a very appealing outline. The little starry flowers are held in generous spikes, and it is one of the most handsome of the genus. Returning to yellow flowered members of the genus, and directing our gaze down to ground level, we of course come across the well-known 'Creeping Jenny', L nummularia. This carpeting plant has long, rooting, stems of rounded leaves which are arranged neatly into pairs, and scatted along these stems are the starry yellow flowers typical of the tribe.
This should really only be let loose where complete ground cover is wanted in a damp spot. More usually grown is the golden-leaved form, whose leaves are like little pats of butter. The flowers are hardly noticeable against the vivid gold of the foliage, but it can be most effective in the garden (although it needs watching for its territorial ambitions) and looks terrific, for example with purple leaved Ajuga. Rarely seen in gardens, but very pretty, is the smaller version, our native Lysimachia nemorum. The leaves this time are pointed, but also arranged in pairs along creeping stems, and the flowers are smaller but just as starry. I like this very much, although I have taken the precaution of keeping it confined to a shady raised bed where it lays a pretty carpet around some ferns.
The common name for this genus is Loosestrife, which is itself a literal translation of Lysimachia. This came about through an intriguing legend, for King Lysimachus of Thrace apparently “as a last resort” waved a plant of lysimachia in front of a pursuing, maddened beast in order to calm it. Just the sort of thing you would do. Gerard, in his Herbal, recommended the use of the plant for 'appeasing the strife and unrulinesse which falleth out among oxen at the plough'. So, even if one of these plants does start to run amok in your garden, think like an ox: it should make all the digging a much more tranquil experience.
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The Yellow Garden.
Ruth Ward 2005
On the eastern boundary of our garden there is a sudden curve outwards which gives us a shield-shaped patch cut off from most of the rest. In the past this area, which is on a slope towards the south-east, has been used as a rubbish dump and ash pit, so the sandy soil has been made even better drained and since it also once accommodated a chicken run it is reasonably fertile. When we first arrived, this was demonstrated by the shoulder high nettles among an improbable number and apparently random selection of bushes and trees. When we had removed young hazels, plums, limes, yews and willows, we were left with an older apple tree, a couple of sweet chestnuts, some potentilla and a sea of daffodils and narcissus. The yellow Crown Imperials responded to increased light levels and spread rapidly, and I scattered a handful of winter aconite seed from our previous garden.
This was the almost accidental beginning of the Yellow Garden, which was added to over the years by plants that were not welcome among more refined rose and pink neighbours in the relatively formal front garden, or that were too strong coloured for easy placing. It has made a bright and sunny corner all year round, and has gathered to itself almost all the yellows in the garden, creating an individuality and change of emphasis that I find very pleasing.
We start the year with snowdrops and winter Aconites (Eranthis), together with bright patches of Bowles Golden Grass, soon to be followed by primroses and polyanthus in various shades of yellow and then the sunrays of Doronicum. Erysimum 'Harpur Crewe' is seldom out of flower (regular taking' of cuttings ensures that young plants are always ready to follow on), and the many different daffodils and narcissus give at least two months colour. Fritillaria imperialis steal the show for a much shorter period, but at their height are “worth a detour” or even a special journey.
This early spring period also brings the much less showy but delightful Iris bucharica, which I find relatively short-lived but worth replacing every few years. Two other modest charmers are the Viola biflora (yellow wood violet) and Anemone ranunculoides (a double yellow anemone), both of which seem to flourish in relatively deep shade, between a sweet chestnut and the compost heap. With them are a yellow wood rush, Luzula sylvatica 'Hohe Tatra', a golden sedge, Carex oshimensis 'Evergold' and a grass, Chasmanthum latifloium.
Like Bowles Golden Grass these offer a year-round contribution to this shady and yet bright area. Another plant which does this is the Welsh poppy, Meconopsis cambrica, in differing shades of yellow and a few orange ones, though we find this quite invasive and very difficult to get rid of -1 only wish the blue meconopsis likes us half as well. Usually still in flower on Christmas day and again soon afterwards are the yellow Corydalis; C. lutea, C.ochroleuca and C. cheilanthefolia – again self-seeders but easy to evict and very welcome for example in cracks in the wall. Symphytum grandiflorum is another thug, but gives year-round groundcover and flowers for long periods.
Possibly the plants which most lift my heart here are the Dog's Tooth Violets, which I had never grown successfully before: I am so grateful to them that they not only enjoy this patch, but even increase and have a relatively long flowering season. We have 'White Beauty', 'Citronella' and 'Pagoda'.
As we come into the late spring and early summer, the fading foliage of the Narcissi are unsightly and cause a slight faltering, though now the yellow^ foliaged shrubs, Physocarpus 'Darts Gold' and Philadelphus coronahes Aureus', both pruned to encourage foliage at the expense of flowers, come into their own. There are a couple of yellow tree peonies to give a dramatic, though short contribution, but the delightful P. mlokosewitschii does not like this situation, and after the third attempt I gave up. The shrubby Potentillas start their long flowering too – perhaps they are rather ordinary, but what accommodating and good value plants they are. They precede the climbing roses, 'Maigold' and 'Goldfinch' as well as long outlasting them and their tiny fingered leaves add an interesting texture, contrasting both with larger ones and the velvety Phlomis.
Summer brings the Crocosmias and the Hemerocallis with their many shades from Primrose to brightest orange, which dominate the scene for quite a long period, along with the Kniphofia. Their valuable clumps of grassy leaves balance both smaller ones and the large, rough, heart-shaped and aromatic leaves of Telkia speciosa (whose orange flowers may be the right colour but add much value). Other statuesque plants are Centaurea macrocephela and Cephalaria gigantean, both with big knobbly flowers and strong enough growth to make space for themselves, unlike the lovely Macleaya, which struggles here. Another high summer flower is the Achillea, both the strong fllipendulina (Gold Plate) and more delicate paler ones, in lemon yellow to salmon and flame – beautiful but with an unfortunate tendency, to revert to a muddy grey-white, as they self-seed. #
The lovely daisy flowers of Helenium and Rudbeckia, bring us into Autumn and there is space for both the tall Golden Rod and a delightful dwarf one, Solidago cutieri, only a few inches high with a mound of dark green leaves and a mass of fluffy yellow flowers. This season is most welcome for the Quince tree, with its wonderful golden fruit – the apple of the Hesperides. This stays on the tree quite a long time and as it ripens has a wonderful scent, before being brought into the house in great baskets of harvest glory. The responsibility for colour is then handed back to the grasses and Corydalis and such stalwarts as the Hellebores.
I do not think I would ever have planned this colour for a border – I would have expected it to be garish or boring, or even both – and I have been surprised by the many subtle shades and values of yellow, including those that merge into green. Remaps me very closeness of yellow and green emphasises the differences in textures and shapes, as well as the contrasts between big tough guys and tiny treasures. But we do also have a few points of marked contrast both the apple tree and the Quince bring in a different colour with their pink blossom. The real impact, however, comes from Geranium sanguineum with its wonderful magenta, and an occasional Lychnis coronaria, Gladiolus byzantinus or Digitalis, which offer the same striking accent and emphasise the essential golden quality of the whole.