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.

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.

CHEERFUL REDS

 It's been a while since my last post. No excuses, just the general lethargy brought on by the pandemic swirling around us.

The garden doesn't care about human pandemics, however, and has been a source of pleasure as always. I can't remember being so excited by red flowers in other years, but this summer and fall they've provided some of my most cheering moments.

My self-seeding poppies always surprise me with their variety of colours. Although they all started out as doubles, they now come in single, double and semi-double forms. Not the reds however, which are determined to remain double. This year they were as brilliant as ever, but one that was slightly less double than the rest stood out with a subtle touch of black in its heart.

An Echinacea that I recently acquired was another bright exclamation point. I can't remember its name but I'll annotate this post when I find it again

I've had Lobelia cardinalis 'Victoria' for years, loving its value as a late summer bloomer and its combination of scarlet flowers with purple foliage,

...but this year I acquired the species parent, which has grass-green leaves and is perhaps even more attractive.

A surprise this summer was the reappearance of a plant I thought I'd lost, Alstroemeria psittacina.

It only produced one flower stalk, but I'm hopeful that it will give an improved performance now it has turned up again.  When the stem broke, I brought it inside where it continued to delight us for almost two weeks before fading. Psittacina means "parrot-like", which suits it very well.

I have several clematis on the east fence, including what I believe is the only red variety, Clematis texensis 'Gravetye Beauty', 

All the texensis varieties flower from midsummer on and produce fluffy white seedheads after the flowers die. You can cut the whole plant down to about knee-high once the leaves turn brown, so there's no risk of broken stems from wind or snow and no tangle of dead leaves hanging around over the winter months. It will spring again in spring and reach a height of about 10 feet by the time it blooms.

Finally, the wonderful transformation of Hydrangea serrata 'Beni' has made it my favourite plant for this year.

'Beni' means "red" in Japanese and when this little shrub began to bloom, I thought I'd got a mislabelled specimen. Here it is in early June:

In early August:

And in late August:

By this time, there's just one last white flower and the leaves are becoming suffused with purple.

By September, the whole plant is truly living up to its name:

Two late entries in this post, both added at the end of December:

First, the fallen leaves of Rosa pimpinellifolia, whose praises I've sung for its year-round contribution to the garden. Even at the end of the year, its fallen leaves create a carpet of colour on the ground.

In the same bed, a sturdy red chard is as as ornamental in the garden as it is useful in the kitchen.

 

CHEERFUL REDS

 It's been a while since my last post. No excuses, just the general lethargy brought on by the pandemic swirling around us.

The garden doesn't care about human pandemics, however, and has been a source of pleasure as always. I can't remember being so excited by red flowers in other years, but this summer and fall they've provided some of my most cheering moments.

My self-seeding poppies always surprise me with their variety of colours. Although they all started out as doubles, they now come in single, double and semi-double forms. Not the reds however, which are determined to remain double. This year they were as brilliant as ever, but one that was slightly less double than the rest stood out with a subtle touch of black in its heart.

An Echinacea that I recently acquired was another bright exclamation point. I can't remember its name but I'll annotate this post when I find it again

I've had Lobelia cardinalis 'Victoria' for years, loving its value as a late summer bloomer and its combination of scarlet flowers with purple foliage,

...but this year I acquired the species parent, which has grass-green leaves and is perhaps even more attractive.

A surprise this summer was the reappearance of a plant I thought I'd lost, Alstroemeria psittacina.

It only produced one flower stalk, but I'm hopeful that it will give an improved performance now it has turned up again.  When the stem broke, I brought it inside where it continued to delight us for almost two weeks before fading. Psittacina means "parrot-like", which suits it very well.

I have several clematis on the east fence, including what I believe is the only red variety, Clematis texensis 'Gravetye Beauty', 

All the texensis varieties flower from midsummer on and produce fluffy white seedheads after the flowers die. You can cut the whole plant down to about knee-high once the leaves turn brown, so there's no risk of broken stems from wind or snow and no tangle of dead leaves hanging around over the winter months. It will spring again in spring and reach a height of about 10 feet by the time it blooms.

Finally, the wonderful transformation of Hydrangea serrata 'Beni' has made it my favourite plant for this year.

'Beni' means "red" in Japanese and when this little shrub began to bloom, I thought I'd got a mislabelled specimen. Here it is in early June:

In early August:

And in late August:

By this time, there's just one last white flower and the leaves are becoming suffused with purple.

By September, the whole plant is truly living up to its name:

Two late entries in this post, both added at the end of December:

First, the fallen leaves of Rosa pimpinellifolia, whose praises I've sung for its year-round contribution to the garden. Even at the end of the year, its fallen leaves create a carpet of colour on the ground.

In the same bed, a sturdy red chard is as as ornamental in the garden as it is useful in the kitchen.

 

Early Summer Treats

The best part of summer for me is the blooming of the big rambling roses. When we lived on acreage in the Fraser Valley, I had many of these lovely plants, but now on a Vancouver city lot I have room for just two.

Why these particular ones? Well, 'Ghislaine de Féligonde' has the distinction of being just about the only rambler that produces a second flush of bloom. It's not as spectacular as the first flush, but it does give something extra to look forward to later in the summer. Flowers start out as apricot buds, open in shades of buff-yellow and peach, then fade to cream. All colours are present over its bloom period. 

If this rose has a drawback it has to be the fleeting scent, not really noticeable unless you put your face close against a flower.

'Lykkefund', on the other hand, has a perfume that drifts across the whole garden, especially in the evening. 

Like most ramblers, produces all its flowers in one great cascade: the photo below shows only half of its full length along the fence.

It begins with peach-coloured buds, which open to loose-petalled white flowers.

What makes it rare among among ramblers is its lack of thorns, a really useful quality in a tight space like a city lot.

A view across the garden from the house shows 'Ghislaine de Féligonde' at the centre top with just one truss of 'Lykkefund' visible on the right behind the old pear tree.

Over to the left a trio of perennials are in bloom.

In the foreground is blue star (Amsonia hubrichtii) with pale blue flowers on willowy stems. At the back the haze of little white buttons belongs to Ranunculus aconitifolius 'Flore Pleno', which will bloom generously for at least two months. Although it's a buttercup relative it stays in a well-behaved, tidy clump.

Between them are the sturdy stems of Astrantia 'Roma'. Unlike many of its family, 'Roma' is sterile so it doesn't necessitate ongoing weeding out of its many children at other times of the year.

Elsewhere in the garden a Roscoea has slowly progressed from one flowering stem per summer to several.

I think it's Roscoea cautleyoides, although it looks paler than other images I've seen. Whatever it is, it lights up a shady spot under the pear tree with its curious blooms.

Early Summer Treats

The best part of summer for me is the blooming of the big rambling roses. When we lived on acreage in the Fraser Valley, I had many of these lovely plants, but now on a Vancouver city lot I have room for just two.

Why these particular ones? Well, 'Ghislaine de Féligonde' has the distinction of being just about the only rambler that produces a second flush of bloom. It's not as spectacular as the first flush, but it does give something extra to look forward to later in the summer. Flowers start out as apricot buds, open in shades of buff-yellow and peach, then fade to cream. All colours are present over its bloom period. 

If this rose has a drawback it has to be the fleeting scent, not really noticeable unless you put your face close against a flower.

'Lykkefund', on the other hand, has a perfume that drifts across the whole garden, especially in the evening. 

Like most ramblers, produces all its flowers in one great cascade: the photo below shows only half of its full length along the fence.

It begins with peach-coloured buds, which open to loose-petalled white flowers.

What makes it rare among among ramblers is its lack of thorns, a really useful quality in a tight space like a city lot.

A view across the garden from the house shows 'Ghislaine de Féligonde' at the centre top with just one truss of 'Lykkefund' visible on the right behind the old pear tree.

Over to the left a trio of perennials are in bloom.

In the foreground is blue star (Amsonia hubrichtii) with pale blue flowers on willowy stems. At the back the haze of little white buttons belongs to Ranunculus aconitifolius 'Flore Pleno', which will bloom generously for at least two months. Although it's a buttercup relative it stays in a well-behaved, tidy clump.

Between them are the sturdy stems of Astrantia 'Roma'. Unlike many of its family, 'Roma' is sterile so it doesn't necessitate ongoing weeding out of its many children at other times of the year.

Elsewhere in the garden a Roscoea has slowly progressed from one flowering stem per summer to several.

I think it's Roscoea cautleyoides, although it looks paler than other images I've seen. Whatever it is, it lights up a shady spot under the pear tree with its curious blooms.