A LONG the roadsides and across the fields, fading foliage takes on shades of yet-low, chestnut trees and limes far outdoing the efforts of sycamores, and the beech only beginning to make a show, content still in tattered greens as will the oak trees be for weeks to come.
There is a pleasure in this final flourish as the cold and wet begin to take hold. In the garden all can seem yellow too, rugosa roses outdoing themselves with every leaf turned from green and harmonising with the yellowing foliage of agapanthus, thaliotrum, Solomon's seal and loosest rife. Even the currant bushes are in on the act with a hefty chorus of Jerusalem artichokes to back them up.
Our autumn colours may seem tame and insipid enough when measured against the annual American spectacular in New England, and few gardeners can afford the luxury of planting specially for autumn affect. Most things which give pleasure with dying foliage are expected to do other things during other seasons.
The efforts of the Cercidiphyllum Japonicum were short-lived this year, with my specimen stripped unkindly by mid-month wind and rain. Interesting to note the colour variations in this Japanese tree (it also occurs in China, incidentally). This year it turned a clear pale yellow with only the slightest traces of pink. The colouring can vary considerably from year to year - red, yellow, orange, pale pink, even mauve, are the known possibilities.
One feature which never varies is the surprising aroma from the turning leaves, a distinctive smell of maple syrup, much more a domestic smell than a garden scent. While its tiny flowers are insignificant, the Cercidiphyllum is a pleasing tree where there is a bit of space. The opening leaves in April are a bronzed honey shade and when they escape an April frost they create a most pleasing sight in the spring garden.
After 25 years my specimen is over 25 feet in height, somewhat bigger than I intended it to be. Funny how we can develop rather set ideas about the ideal and preferred height and spread of trees chosen for the garden. Rarely will a tree reach an agreeable size and then opt to stay there. Living things are just not like that.
It was somewhat alarming to read recently of the biggest specimens known in China - some as tall as 130 feet and one with a girth of 55 feet. Needless to say such a thing could swamp the average garden, the gardener and his or her house too, but the best known specimens in our part of the world are between 40 and 60 ft high. Such eventualities should not alarm us - plant the tree and enjoy it for years, even a generation; few of us will survive long enough to be bothered excessively by our folly and if we do regret it, then it can be chopped down, or perhaps one could move house.
ANYWAY, we do not need a referendum to get rid of something which has outgrown its space, it is not as if one were married to it.
What value the host as provide right now. The first to hit the floor is Hosta fortunei, collapsing before any others. In its decline it is not at all inelegant, especially when seen in quantity. The yellowed leaves make a rich jumbled bed for the spent flower stalks which project outwards and upwards at every possible angle like so many drunken knitting needles. Having pleased all summer it is nice to applaud their final heroic act. Hosta sieboldiana goes out with a nice flourish too, the large leaves turning yellow, buff and brown tones at the edge. The colouring steadily advances inwards with the green retreating towards the stem. Unlike H. fortune these make every effort to stand and to go with dignity.
Meantime the peerless Hosta `Halcyon', which looks cool and blue in a glaucous way from spring onwards, has now turned a sober green, making contrast with dishevelled loveliness of its many relatives. We never think of planting hostas for autumn colour and enjoyment - what a nice bonus they give.