Chris Young

The sad nod to autumn

2009-09-03T15:46:00Z

I have always thought of sunflowers as happy plants, their bright colours almost glowing in the sun and their statuesque frame personifying good health and seasonal growth. So, having just spent the past week or so in the Bergerac area of France, it was a bit of a shock to find ourselves surrounded by the sad, nodding and lifeless forms of the sunflower fields. In fact it was more than a shock - it was quite depressing. Row after row, field after field seemed to mimic the serried ranks of the surrounding vines, standing to tired attention.

Future Gardens – opening

2009-06-08T15:33:00Z

I visited the new Future Gardens ‘show' last week. I say show, as I'm not quite sure what it is - an exhibition? Demonstration gardens? Design inspiration? Installation art? Designer showcase? However you define it, there is no getting away from the fact that this is a great addition to the summer-garden-visiting line-up.

Some of the gardens are beautiful, some shocking; some will take time to grow, others give instant gratification now. This isn't about perfect plants or high horticulture, but it is about what gardens can be and how you might want to think differently about yours. It is also, thankfully, about letting ‘show' gardens settle into the ground and grow from now until 4 October. Watching how they change will be particularly exciting.

Overjoyed by Overbeck's

2009-04-17T15:13:00Z

I visited Overbeck's garden and museum, in south Devon, last week when I was on holiday. It is lovely garden – completely unassuming, but with interesting nooks and crannies, and some great plant specimens. At this time of the year it is most well known for its range of magnolias. The famous pinky-white Magnolia campbelli – which was planted in 1901 on a sheltered terrace, then tipped over after heavy rain in 1999, but was successfully (and thankfully) saved and continues to grow today – had just finished flowering, but others (see pictures) were in full song. (See also The Garden, March 2007, pp168-169.)

Making do - and loving it

2009-02-17T04:49:00Z

Surely one of the most common traits between gardeners is making do with the materials around you. This is exactly what I have been doing since December, whenever I have had a few hours spare – and I’m loving every minute of it.

I am lucky enough to live in Rutland, on the Northamptonshire / Lincolnshire / Cambridge border – it really is the mid-lands. As a result, we are blessed with an endless amount of local stone, some of which is just a couple of centimetres from the top of the turf. Raised beds and lots of soil preparation are essential for planting, but when it comes to dry-stone walling we are really fortunate.

In my back garden, I am digging out a small area (2 x 3m) which eventually – wife / children / family permitting – will become a seating area to catch the evening sun. All the spoil is being used to form a low mound, hiding the kids’ sandpit and other children-paraphernalia. At the front of the mound comes the dry-stone wall (or technically, I guess, dry-stone retaining wall): slowly growing to about 70cm in height, it is my pride and joy. Getting the lines right, balancing the stone depths and making sure that the ‘cock-and-hen’ coping runs smoothly are self-imposed but achievable demands.

Uncovering some of the stones dug up from the patio area, combined with other stones lying all over the garden, makes for a satisfying feeling of using local materials for a simple but effective garden feature. I have already planted it 20 different times in my head, but two plants I bought almost this time last year (Viburnum tinus ‘Eve Price’ and Pittosporum tobira) will help with screening.

When all else seems to be getting a little gloomy in the world, time digging and making my wall is all the tonic I need. Next time I blog, I hope I will have got it planted!