Autumn borders can bring a late burst of colour to the garden, writes Jane Powers
A few weeks ago I was getting that low-spirited end-of-summer feeling. It's heralded by the first leaves wafting mournfully off the trees, and the realisation that it's finally too late to accomplish everything that I had hoped for in the heady days of spring, when all was charged with optimism. In our garden, the foxglove tree (Paulownia tomentosa) is the earliest to start shedding - and it goes on for months, dropping its big, old leaves one by one. Before they fade, they are among the best "architectural" leaves on any tree: huge, angular hearts of pea-green suede. But they don't make pretty corpses - all dark and rumpled, like a discarded brown paper bag from the chip shop.
Yet my mourning period for summer is usually brief, as autumn brings a contagious and bracing energy, with cooler temperatures and a sharpness in the air. When the sun chooses to emerge, its low, golden light sets gardens aglow, making late flowers appear to shine from within.
None shines with a brighter, warmer light than the yellow members of the daisy family. Rudbeckia grows wild in North America, where it kindles strips of flame on the edges of woodland and in moist meadows. The variety 'Goldsturm' (which means "gold storm") is one of the most popular, and rightly so. It is covered in light-emitting golden stars from midsummer until well into autumn, and as it doesn't grow much taller than 60 centimetres, it's just fine for the front of a border.
The great German nurseryman, Karl Foerster, introduced it in 1949, but it had been discovered 12 years previously in a Czech nursery by his employee, Heinrich Hagemann. The second World War had prevented its earlier appearance.
For the back of the border there's Rudbeckia 'Herbstsonne' (German for "autumn sun") which rises to two metres and is capped with floppy yellow flowers. Almost as lofty are the perennial sunflowers (Helianthus). Although they have smaller blooms than the big dinner plates produced by the annuals, they flower continuously from late summer to mid-autumn. 'Lemon Queen' has, as her name suggests, paler flowers, while 'Gullick's Variety' has yellow ray florets (plant-speak for the outer petals) and brownish disc florets (the button in the middle). 'Loddon Gold' has bright yellow, double blooms.
The Michaelmas daisies (Aster) are time-honoured autumn plants, usually blue or violet, but also pink or white. The novi-belgii cultivars are prone to mildew, especially where there isn't enough air circulation, but there are so many other kinds around now, it is easy to avoid them. Mount Venus Nursery in Rathfarnham, Dublin, (01-4933813) has around a dozen varieties.
No late border would be complete without the pink mounds of the large sedums. Although there are many handsome new ones with sophisticated dark leaves, these don't die half as elegantly as the bog-standard 'Autumn Joy' (whose official name is 'Herbstfreude'). Its bright pink, tightly-packed flowerheads age to a warm brick-red, and remain intact for months. If you have a penchant for dried flower artistry, these make interesting flat shapes in an arrangement.
The only mark against this otherwise versatile plant is that, unlike most large sedums, it does not attract butterflies (but bumblebees adore it). The best for the flutter-bys are Sedum spectabile and its cultivars.
I can't grow dahlias, as the slugs and snails mash them into their maws as soon as they poke their noses out of the soil. But they lend a crazy jauntiness to the autumn border, with their intense colours and unrealistically precise shapes. One of the most gorgeous is 'David Howard', with cartoon blooms of rich amber, which deepen to the sugary colour of concentrated orange squash in their neatly-packed centres. The shiny flower buds and stems are chocolate brown, while the leaves are bronzy.
Dahlias, I think, look best in warm, saturated tones. Their complicated engineering creates countless shadowy furls and crevices where the colour is intensified and multiplied. You just don't get the same sumptuous effect with the acidic pinks and yellows that you sometimes see in park bedding schemes.
The stately Joe Pye weed (Eupatorium purpureum) is a native of the eastern United States. It grows to two or three metres high, making pinky-purple clouds above a border. Bees and butterflies flock to it, as they do to our native hemp agrimony (E. cannabinum), which is paler and frothier than its American cousin. Our Irish eupatorium is not as statuesque as the Yank, and it is a shameless self-seeder. Crowds of babies appear for years after you've put mammy on the compost heap. In other words, it's a plant for wild or casual gardens.
Cimicifuga simplex has a lovely lilting quality to its Latin appellation, with all those sibilants and narrow vowels. So let me translate the genus name for you. Cimex and fugo mean "bug" and "to drive away", which leads us to its common name, bugbane - thus coined because the related C. foetida was used as an insect repellent. Despite the ignominious function of its relative, C. simplex is an elegant plant, with nicely-cut leaves and slim spires of lacy white flower. The variety 'Brunette' has oxblood-coloured foliage and stems.
There are plenty of other autumn bloomers, but I don't have room to mention them all. There are those, such as the wiry-stemmed Japanese anemones, that flower in late summer and peter out a few months later. And then there are those that chug along in one way or another from early summer or even late spring until they give up late in the year. Some of these - such as penstemon and certain hardy geraniums - take quiet, re-energising breaks before blooming anew. Others (evening primrose, and Gaura for instance), are continually putting out flowers: pop, pop, pop ... until they finally run out of steam.
Which leaves me just enough space for a quick graze among the grasses. Ornamental grasses, in the correct proportions, are a superb ingredient in any border. Their definite, but lightweight, vertical lines weave an agreeable back-cloth fabric for perennial plants.
At this time of the year, cultivars of Miscanthus sinensis catch the light with their feathery plumes. And fox-tails of Calamagrostis brachytricha are dancing energetically through the golden borders. Winter may be on its way, but there's an exhilarating last fling going on in the garden.
DIARY DATE: Sunday, October 17th, at Our Lady of Dolours Church Hall, Glasnevin, the Irish Garden Plant Society annual plant sale. Doors open at noon and plants sell out fast, so be on time. Admission free.