For the past two weeks I have been clearing and cleaning the herbaceous borders. It’s about time: the job hasn’t been done properly for two years. They were quite overgrown.
So in this sometimes sunny, sometimes chilly winter weather, I have cut the roses (R. sinensis) and the plumbago (P. capensis), both white and blue, right down. Most of the hibiscus (H. rosa– sinensis) received less drastic pruning, especially my favourite with the deep pink double flowers.
The white bougainvillea, which was overarching an entire section, also needed attention. It had gone into overdrive after we cut the hedge back severely during the summer.
Now, it has been cut down to size. In my experience, bougainvillea (B. x buttiana) is an unpredictable shrub: it can grow to enormous proportions, covering whole walls with cascades of papery bracts in unforgettable shades of magenta, yellow-to-orange, or white. But young plants may also resolutely refuse to thrive, having perhaps taken umbrage at the manhandling they received when transplanted into position. I have watched specimens sulk for several years in a row, then suddenly take off. After that, there’s no stopping them!
Over the past two years I have spent much time trying to persuade our pinks and carnations (various Dianthus), which have a tendency to sprawl and to lose potential blooms as the fragile stems break, to develop more compact – or at least tidy – habits. To no avail, for the most part. One, with white flowers, is a fine exception: it both covers the ground and offers up dozens of sweet smelling blooms all year round. Now I have added a companion plant, one with the sweetest fragrance, keeping it in its pot but sinking the pot into the border.
This brings me to the touchy subject of lifting pots with their resident plants out of one bed for transfer to a more suitable spot. My experience has been a torment, to say the least. Without fail, the Engineer or gardener yanks them up without a jot of sensitivity; as I hear the roots tear I feel the plants’ pain. Better to do it myself.
The aeoniums (A. arboreum), which my husband brought as babies from the Scilly Isles, are sited among the white carnations. Odd plants, native to Morocco, they have been working on relocating themselves, either by falling over and taking root in the sunnier spot just in front, or by presenting new growth about 30cm away. The deep purple-red variety (“Atropurpureum“) continues to tower over the others, but it has lost foliage and looks weak, certainly by comparison with its relatives on the island of Tresco.
As I worked, I discovered the Arabian jasmine (J. sambac) had obligingly layered itself to form two new plants. A welcome bonus! But the big surprise on Friday was encountering a praying (or is that “preying”?) mantis sunbathing among the cannas (C. indica).
Intrigued, I got up a bit closer. After eyeing me back for a while, she turned aside, assiduously engaged in her morning grooming, first working her way up and down a fore-limb with her mandibles, and then raising the limb to rub over the side of her head again and again – just as our dog would do! I was spellbound: there are many times when you sense a kind of pattern or template in nature, but it’s enthralling to see it in action across entirely different parts of the animal kingdom.
Perhaps irritated by my intrusion, she serenely moved off, demonstrating the advantages of those oh-so-long legs as she balanced delicately between stem and leaf.