Autumn Colours

 I haven't posted many summer photos because I'd only be repeating what I've recorded in previous years - a sign that the garden is maturing after ten years of cultivation.

However, changes are coming this winter so I'll probably have a few different plants to highlight next year.

Meanwhile, in my ongoing quest to create a garden that offers year-round interest, I've been slowly adding more plants that offer fall interest. In fact, this October has been more vibrant than ever.

As always the back garden is dominated by the brilliant blue of the late blooming monkshood, Aconitum carmichaelii 'Arendsii'. Closer to the house, my dwarf oakleaf hydrangea has turned red and gold, and gets an echo in the back corner from the red leaves of Stewartia pseudocamellia and the blueberry beside it. 

In front of the old pear tree, Hosta 'Krossa Regal' has turned lemon yellow and is beginning to flop. 

By November other hostas in this shady bed are turning yellow too and adding a suggestion of sunlight in this shady area.

In the corner by the house, there's another golden echo from Corylopsis pauciflora, which has swapped its pale yellow blooms of spring for its rich gold leaves of autumn, just as the purple of  Aster 'Monch' below begins to fade.

Meanwhile, out front, the sycamore maples on the street, which usually turn a dull brown, are showing brighter colour than usual - just in time for Halloween.

Summer Whites

 Gardens are rich in many different colours during the summer months, but just to continue the colour theme I started in April, I'm going to focus on white for this post. 

Ranuculus aconitifolius 'Flore Pleno'is a long name for a small button of a flower. What it lacks in individual size, however, it makes up for in generosity of blooms.

Although it is a member of the buttercup family, it doesn't run. I have two plants side by side each making a sturdy clump that remains quite narrow at the base while spreading twice as wide at the top to make a cloud of bloom. I find that quite a few white flowers turn an unattractive pink as they age, but this perennial stays fresh-looking right until it starts to die. Various sources recommend it for boggy areas and it could probably use more water than it gets in my garden, but it doesn't seem to mind.

Brightening the shade garden in late June, Gillenia trifoliata spreads its constellation of dainty white stars over its lower neighbours. Reddish stems and calyces only heighten its pristine effect. It was a surprise to learn that it's a member of the rose family.

By the end of July it will have completed its bloom cycle and be overpowered in its turn by  the dark leaves of Actea 'Hillside Black Beauty' and the pleated green ones of Hosta 'Krossa Regal'.

Also enjoying the shade is Astrantia major, whose flowers have a more substantial presence. The stamens start out pink but gradually turn greenish-white like the central flower in this cluster. 

This particular plant is self-sown as the Astrantia family is inclined to do, but plants that will flower in dark corners are not common and its easy to edit out unwanted seedlings.

Another shade lover is my tree hydrangea (Hydrangea aspera ssp. sargentiana) Its flowers are actually the tiny purple dots in the centre, but I'm including it here for the fringe of pristine white bracts that give each bloom the look of an exploding firework.

Rosa 'Lykkefund' prefers bright sunshine. Every year it extends its reach along the west fence, casting its powerful scent across the whole garden on warm summer evenings.  Huge trusses of flowers cascade down behind whatever is blooming below. Here they are providing a backdrop to a stand of electric blue aconites.

Although the effect is of a white curtain, a close inspection of individual flowers shows them to have  golden stamens and pale salmon-pink buds.

Across the garden on the east fence, Clematis 'Huldine' also provides a curtain of white. Like the rose its buds are deceptive, being striped in two shades of pink, but as the flowers open to show only their upper surfaces, they glisten satin-white in the sunshine.

Also enjoying the sun is Stewartia pseudocamellia. It's easy to see how this tall slender tree got the pseudocamellia part of its name as soon as it flowers. Some people call it poached egg tree but I feel that doesn't do justice to the elegant fringed white flowers that do indeed imitate camellias.

Giant clover (Trifolium ochroleucum) grows beneath it and flowers at the same time. It's a bit of a stretch to call it white since the flowers are partly green and the petals quite quickly turn to cream but for a little while it fits the description.

It is makes a sturdy clump that needs dividing every few years, but is not at all invasive like some of its cousins. 

The same can't be said of Eryngium giganteum, the giant thistle better known as Miss Willmott's Ghost. This biennial plant is inclined to seed itself around, and small offspring have to be pulled out before their tenacious tap roots get too strong a grip. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful sight in flower, perhaps more silver and green than white.

Harvested and allowed to dry naturally, the flowers make excellent additions to dried flower arrangements, slowly turning the colour of old linen.

MAYTIME BLUES

 If April is yellow, then May is blue - at least, it is in my garden.

One of the most vibrant blues comes from Geranium 'Terre Franche', whose wiry flower stems rise above a compact clump of contrasting green foliage.

Close by, spikes of Salvia officinalis, the familiar kitchen sage, bloom in similar colours but contrasting shape.

It may not be quite as attractive to me as the geranium, but it is certainly more so to the bees that bustle around it. A single hummingbird is another daily visitor. This year both the sage and the geranium have been particularly luxuriant and I've had to pin them from back from competing to block the narrow path that divides them.

Iris pallida 'Variegata' is worth having for just for its decorative leaves, and becomes even more dramatic when its blue flowers open.

 It's now such a large clump that I'm making a note to divide it this winter. The only problem is going to be where to find space for the extras.

To the left of it, a quite different iris, less showy but to my eyes more elegant, is sending slim spears of flowers up behind our little water feature. It came to me unnamed but I think it is Iris sibirica 'Shaker's Prayer'. That's a lovely name so until I hear otherwise that's what I'm calling it.

I have three clumps of it that, with the bamboo screening behind, give a slightly Japanese air to this corner of the garden. It's a shy bloomer for me because it's in shade for at least half a day. Ideally it would like more sun.

A bolder combination occupies a dominant position in the middle of the garden. The lime-tinted leaves of oakleaf hydrangea 'Sikes Dwarf' look as if they have suddenly sprouted large cobalt-blue flowers. 

In fact, these blooms belong to Clematis x durandii which is planted underneath. This clematis lacks the clinging tendrils of most vining clematis and needs a host like the hydrangea to scramble through. The two plants combine so well that visitors are occasionally fooled into thinking it a single plant.

Ajuga reptans has the mystifying common name of Bugle. A vigorous spreader, it's perfect for my sidewalk garden, which is home to various plants too enthusiastic for the main garden. 

Anything that will survive in these dry beds, infested by roots from the street maple, is welcome here.

There are few plants that will cope with all-day shade but one that seems unfazed is Corydalis temulifolia 'Chocolate Stars'. Its pale blue tubular flowers are floppy, but they brighten a gloomy corner on the north side of the house. 

By the time it blooms, the foliage is a tender green so you might wonder at the name. However, the reason for it is not so much the flowers but the emerging foliage, which I've celebrated in an earlier post.

 

It used to be called Corydalis quantmeyeriana and is still occasionally sold under that name, but this is a rare instance where the nomenclature experts have given us a shorter, more pronounceable name than the old one.

A last contender in the blue range is ice-blue Amsonia hubrichtii. 

It's unusual to find flowers this pale and it needs a suitable companion not to look washed out, so I'm happy to find it a good companion for the muted pink flowers of Astrantia 'Roma'. 

In the fall, the Amsonia's feathery leaves will turn golden, making it a really good two-season addition to the garden.

Spring is Yellow

 Of course, there are other colours in spring gardens, particularly the bright greens of emerging foliage, but it always strikes me how many April flowers are rich or pale reflections of the sunshine we also welcome to our gardens at this time of year.

Daffodils are a spring staple and I've already enthused over 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation', which has almost gone before the end of March.

Just as it fades, 'Jack Snipe' opens.

I like this narcissus for its airy presence, as if it's on the point of taking flight. Being less bold in both size and colour than Rijnveld's creation, it blends better with other delicate spring hues. Another attribute is how quickly it forms large clumps, allowing me to spread it around the garden, as well as give some away to other gardeners.

This is also prime time for Corylopsis pauciflora, which is anchoring a corner by the house. I celebrate its flowering every year, and this year it seems better than ever.

I tuck my birdbath under the overhanging branches so that only small birds like the house finches can get access to it.  When I had it in a more exposed location, local crows were inclined to use it to wash various disgusting bits of food they'd salvaged from neighbouring green bins.

"Pauciflora" means "few flowers", which used to surprise me until I saw a specimen of Corylopsis multiflora, which has double flowers hanging in pairs.

Under the Corylopsis, among blue-flowered Anemones, the slender stems of Tulipa turkestanica display their starry flowers with golden centres.

They never spread as vigorously as I'd like, but they'd probably prefer conditions more like the stony hillsides of Central Asia that are their natural habitat.

In the same bed are some snow crocus in complementary colours.

I think the yellow one is 'Cream Beauty', but as these came to me in an unmarked package, I'm only guessing.

My last spring yellow is the aptly named Ranunculus 'Brazen Hussy'.

It's a small plant, but the combination of those waxy, golden flowers with the dark, metallic leaves creates a contrast that is hard to miss. Like a lot of its family it spreads, but so far only a little and only in its immediate vicinity. For now I've been happy to let it do that, and since it's easy to dig up, I'll have even more plants to share with friends if it gets too enthusiastic.

Hellebores Galore

 One of the great pleasures of March is the blooming of the hellebores. I've posted photos of my small collection in previous years, but to see a whole drift of them, nothing beats a visit to VanDusen Botanical Garden here in Vancouver.

A slight drawback with many hellebores, especially the doubles, is that so many hang their heads, making it difficult to see the beauty of the inner petals. James, the gardener for this area, overcomes this by floating a selection of the flowers in wide shallow bowls.

This year I decided to follow his example, and although I had a limited supply of flowers in my little garden to choose from and had to settle for a smaller container, I'm still happy with my more modest display.

February Snow

In my last post I was celebrating the earliest flowers of the new year. Then yesterday it began to snow. The big goosefeather flakes melted almost as soon as they hit the ground, but this morning we woke to a heavier fall that had smothered most of the smaller plants.

The large box in the upper right corner is covering Euphorbia 'Glacier Blue' in the hope that it will survive these below-zero temperatures. Like most variegated plants it's on the tender side and I've had to replace it a couple of times after weather this cold. I'm afraid too, that Hellebore 'Cherry Blossom' that I featured in my previous post will have collapsed and won't recover - at least not this year, though its roots will probably survive.

What always amazes me is the hardiness of Narcissus 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation', also featured in my last post. Although flattened by the snow, it has already shoved its way through the white blanket and is carrying on flowering as though nothing has happened.

On the left of this photo a double snowdrop is also emerging. Its triumph is likely to be brief however: if the snowfall continues it will be submerged again pretty quickly.

February Flowers

Perhaps it's the restricted life we are all experiencing in these days of pandemic, but the garden seems to be waking up more slowly this year. Maybe it's only that we've had more overcast skies than normal and, according to January statistics, more rain.

Still, now that we're a week into February a few reliably early bulbs are already creating some small patches of colour. First to open as usual are the winter aconites, which aren't aconites at all, but a member of the buttercup family called Eranthis hyemalis. Once you know the connection, the resemblance is obvious.

The earliest ones shoulder their way through the soil in spite of pouring rain and marauding slugs,

... and are quickly joined by the rest.

Given time, they make a cheerful carpet, like these at VanDusen Botanical Garden. 

Snowdrops follow soon afterwards. They are the best known of the early bulbs and collectors can choose from  around 20 different species and well over 2,000 cultivated varieties.

Mine are nearly all the very common Galanthus nivalis, but I do have one with

 distinctive green stripes on the outside petals. 

It's called 'Rosemary Burnham' and the reason I grow it is because it was discovered in the garden of a well-known Vancouver gardener whose name it bears.

Even before the snowdrops, Narcissus 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation' opened its first flowers in January. Apparently it has sometimes been sold under the name 'January' and it certainly lived up to that this year. I like the way that the backs of the petals keep some green shadings from when they were just buds.

Not many of the hellebores are in bloom yet, but 'Cherry Blossom' is ahead of the rest. One of the strongest, it reliably produces a generous cluster of striking and colourful flowers.

As the flowers open, they straighten their shoulders and look up, a desirable characteristic that is lacking in some of its family members, especially the double forms. 

Last but by no means least come the snow crocus, earlier and, to my mind, much more elegant than the later, larger Dutch crocus. They come in various colours and I've planted several different kinds. Even on cloudy days when they refuse to open, their small bright spears are a welcome sight.

Ringing In The New Year

 The lowest point in the year is also the lowest moment in my garden. Yet to my eyes it's still beautiful, never more so than when an overnight frost dusts the ground and the few remaining plants with white.

Colour comes only from Mahonia 'Winter Sun' just outside the back fence. One of the few evergreens I grow, its size (large) and colour (bright gold) would make it a dominant feature at this time of year even if it had more competition.

While I enjoy these winter treats, I wait eagerly for the first signs of new life, and usually by mid-month I get my reward. This year a rare sunny day on January 16 brought the first winter aconites and snow crocus into bloom. The aconites are always a surprise as their stems almost unnoticeably shoulder their way through the soil, and lever themselves upright before suddenly revealing the tiny buttercup-like flowers with their frill of green.

By contrast, the crocus leaves have been visible for some time, and it's just a question of waiting impatiently for the flowers to accompany them. First to open was a lone yellow one by the back steps where the sun is strongest.

Once I saw it, I went looking for others and found several 'Firefly' also in bloom, but still in too much shade to open.

If we can just expect a few more sunny days, more of these little harbingers of spring will be popping up all over the garden.