The tulips are long past it, the euphorbias are looking post partum and the bluebells have blown it, writes
IF ONLY I KNEW last year. You see, my sister, who lives in America, and who has not been in Ireland for more than a decade, will be visiting me in a week and a half. We talk all the time about gardening, we send pictures to each other of our efforts, and one of us is always holding forth about the clement climate in Ireland.
When New England was hidden under several feet of snow, jolly photos were issuing from the Emerald Isle of pristine snowdrops and pert daffodils. And while the Massachusetts vegetable patch was showing only a lump of ice and some piteous dried sticks (ex-beans? deceased tomatoes?), there was much talk from this quarter of the joys of purple sprouting broccoli straight from the modest but productive Co Dublin garden.
And, if I recall rightly, there was also the perennial rocket that doesn’t mind the winter here, the salad leaves that would be ready in weeks, and all the rest of the dreadful bragging. You get the idea: I was indulging in that most Irish of Irish gardening vices – taking all the credit for the Gulf Stream.
But now, to my shame (how could I have let this happen?), I am suffering from “May gap”. The year, which produced a more luxuriant than usual springtime jungle, has suddenly moved into an early summer desert. The tulips are long past it, the euphorbias are looking post partum and the bluebells have blown it. What’s next?
It’s too late now to rescue this year’s display, because really, I should have been thinking about it 10 months ago (not 10 days before the sibling visit). As most plants need a season to settle in and fill a space, there’s not much I can do now, except stand in front of the gaps and make distracting noises – about the marvellous hawthorn in the Irish hedgerows, perhaps? Or maybe I can draw my sister’s attention to the few lonely plants that are flowering now: the aquilegias and alliums, for instance, and the Solomon’s seals.
Once you have aquilegias, you have them forever, as they tend to seed about the place. There are many species and varieties. Most are short-lived perennials, and are not too fussy about soil or position: they are happy enough in light shade.
They are also known as columbine, which prompts me to share an interesting bit of trivia. The name aquilegia derives from the Latin for “eagle” – because the petals supposedly resemble its wings, whereas columbine is from “dove”, which refers to the flower form. When you look at a flower sideways, the upturned spurs and flared petals look like a circle of doves having a little chat.
Alliums, or ornamental onions, are among everyone's favourite plants, with their appealing ball-on-a-stick shape. If you can give them a sunny position, and soil that is not too damp, they will come back year after year. There are many cultivars, but two easy-to-find ones (usually as bulbs in autumn) are the tall 'Purple Sensation' and the football-sized A. cristophii.
There are plenty of different Solomon's seals, but the one that is most frequently seen is Polygonatum x hybridum. This robust woodland plant has arching stems, with dangling, elongated green-tipped pearls. It spreads by knobbly rhizomes; don't give it a prime position, as it may make itself too much at home, and make a nuisance of itself.
Instead, plonk it in a dark and unloved corner, where its pale flowers can brighten the darkness. This genus is a martyr to Solomon’s seal sawfly. The near-invisible larvae strip the leaves in a two- or three-day eating marathon. There is no “cure” except to spray with an insecticide (which will kill every other invertebrate that walks and flies nearby). But take heart, this pest doesn’t seem to affect next year’s growth, except perhaps to keep it from overtaking the garden.
Solomon's seal looks as if it should be related to the bleeding heart ( Dicentra) genus, as both have shapely flowers hanging from arching stems, and both are woodlanders. The latter is, however, a member of the poppy family (Papaveraceae). Its common names also include "Dutchman's breeches" and the pleasingly graphic "naked-lady-in-a-bath". To demonstrate: turn the flower on its head and gently unclasp the two halves of the heart-shaped outer petals – and there she is. (Pause for thought: there are many plants known as "naked ladies", and even one known as "naked boys", but I can't think of a single naked gentleman.)
Dicentra’s relatives, the Oriental poppies, are also in full fig in May. These gorgeously blowsy blooms, with crepe paper petals and baroquely ornate central bosses, couldn’t be more different from their neat woodland cousins. They like sun, and not too rich a soil – so are often seen thriving in the comparatively impoverished and dry soil of town gardens. Oriental poppy seed is offered by seed catalogues, but the results are hit-and-miss.
For plants that are true to their name, buy them or beg them as plants or root cuttings. Oriental poppies disappear underground a couple of months after flowering, so to avoid a hole in the summer picture, grow them among late perennials such as Michaelmas daisies and rudbeckia. The bristly leaves may rise again in late autumn, and stay all winter.
May is also the month for irises. We have a fine flush of the native yellow flag ( Iris pseudacorus) in our tiny pond, so that area will have much attention drawn to it during the sister's visit.
Unfortunately though, we dug up its cousin, the slim blue I. sibirica,when it became devoid of flowers in the middle of the clumps, and forgot to replant. There are scores of Siberian iris cultivars. All are elegant, and don't mind being grown in a border with other plants, unlike the prima donnas of the clan, the bearded irises. These won't stand being crowded, and they like to have their rhizomes baked in summer. Therefore, they must be given a place of their own, or the prime spot on the edge of a sunny border. I'm sorry that our garden isn't big enough to pander to this carry on, because they are an exquisite group of flowers.
There are heaps of other May flowers – that we don't have, or have only a poor show of. These include: tree peonies, several hardy geraniums, the blue or white Camassia, the acid-yellow Asphodeline lutea, and a slew of woodland plants. Now is a good time to seek them out in garden centres, or plant sales.
But, one plant that I know will be unfamiliar to the sister (although it's as common as muck here) is the monstrously tall Canary island echium,
E. pininana– three metres and more of bee-buzzed blue blossom. Of course, the only reason that I can grow it is because of the Gulf Stream.