Soil, that is. Ton upon ton of it being delivered here as phase 1 of the hanging gardens of Babylon draws to a close. The guys from Anemone returned to work two weeks ago, and suddenly it is all coming together, with diggers beetling around the site from 8am until 4pm every day. In some of the new beds there was an almost impenetrable layer of old roots and large stones, so we decided that thy should dig deeper and fill with bought-in compost/loam mixes. Not that there is anything wrong with our Herefordshire clay - once plants are established in it, it is extremely nutritious - but clay interlaced with the roots of 40ft trees and large tablets of sandstone is a different proposition for the middle aged and slightly creaky diggers and sowers waiting to take over.
I have spoken before about the difference between plan and reality. I thought I knew how this area would feel as it neared completion: I have been here so much, and watched every day as the guys laid beds, marked out paths and built steps. Now however it is the smoothing out which is so visually arresting, as the corten steel edges disappear and banked areas such as around the terrace are filled. Even with different colour surfaces still present - grey scalpings slowly being covered by the first layer of pinkish-brown hoggin, basic topsoil where there will be turf, higher grade stuff where the flower and veg beds are - it still stops me in my tracks when I walk through to the conservatory and look out and marvel that I am now looking at a garden not a building site. I suppose if you have years of experience of designing and making gardens you perhaps feel that thrill from the moment you finish your draft design, but for first timers, I think we may be standing and gawping for quite some time to come. There is a considerable sense of responsibility as well - not to mess it up, to make something beautiful and ecologically beneficial - not to mention my first foray into planning being played out on one of the more technically challenging of garden settings, with the terrace bed viewed in the round, and from above (the garden) and below (the conservatory) and sloping on two angles.
With soil comes plants - the (possibly) even more exciting part! The orders we had already made are a small portion of the significant quantity of green and gold things needed to fill these expanses. In terms of division of labour, Neil is planning his raised beds and the beds around them, while I am painting in the areas near the woodshed and the terrace. For me as a novice, plant names in Latin were a challenge, though I am now (finally) starting to think in Latin when I picture a plant. There is also the horticultural mantra of “all year round structure” - typically the largest and/or longest to establish elements of any plan - which all need to go in sooner rather than later, and which has preoccupied me in a site where there is significant sloping down from one level to another. Winter structure typically means trees, large shrubs, tall seed heads - but no point creating loads of height around the front of the terrace if that then means you cannot see the far end of the garden or the raised beds when you are in the conservatory. To that end, I am placing the tall shrubs/small trees at the outer edges - a viburnum plicatum “Kilimanjaro” and a cotinus “Royal Purple” nearer the oak tree, with three trios of coloured stem dogwood (“Midwinter Fire”, “Sibirica” and “Flaviramea”) screening the garage/drive, and then a mid-size magnolia stellata near the opposite corner. Near the woodshed my baby quince “Vranja” flanked by white currants, and crab apple “Butterball” accompanied by red currants will take up height duty.
The terrace is sun-drenched and thus my perfect excuse to try a hot coloured bed. Neil grew the most fabulous dahlias when we lived in London, and I wanted to return some of that exuberant flowery joy for him in the planting here. So, eighteen dahlias are sitting on the lawn in pots awaiting their new home, ranging from dinner plate extravagance to metre high pom-poms of colour from Jowey Mirella and others; a big batch of bronze and gold coreopsis arrived yesterday, two dozen orange geums are en route to us, and a large order for briza media (the quaking oats grass) and stipa gigantea went in yesterday. I now experience the flip side of having plants in waiting here, with an order placed earlier now having to be transferred to the trade supplier in the hope they can come through with heleniums and also lobelia cardinalis to thread as a scarlet ribbon through the zingy lemon balm. Fingers crossed.
I also have a particular dislike of roses being somehow cordoned off into traditional pastel cottage garden schemes, so am including the almost black-red rose Munstead Wood and its burnt orange cousin Summer Song - in addition because I can’t imagine sitting there on a summer’s day without fragrance. Edging along the low retaining wall comes from herbs like golden marjoram and the ubiquitous but still invaluable alchemilla mollis, and ribbons of gold in the shape of the briza (quaking oats) tie the left and right hand beds together. On the far side, by the boundary wall, the stipa will provide a gauzy screen from one of our few overlooked points and also some weight and balance to the huge and rather unappealing leaves but wonderful pollinator-beloved flowers of inula (magnifica and hookeri) that wander happily about the place. And the British weather has pulled another spectacular volte-face, laying on weeks of glorious sunshine - a marvellous contrast to the winter flooding but an interesting prospect as I watch topsoil blowing off the bone dry beds. Time to invest in more hosepipes.
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