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Once again, dear friends, my attempts at posting increasingly commonly have been thwarted: not this time by work, but by the sheer volume of watering we’ve had to do to alimony the garden and sponsoring growing.
2022 has wrenched all records in terms of heat and low rainfall, bringing the harsh realities of climate transpiration into sharp focus. Yes, this summer will be deemed unrenowned – this time next year we’ll probably be when to moaning well-nigh the cold, wet and rampant sear – but it’s rhadamanthine overly clearer that UK gardens and gardeners are ill-equipped to cope with extended, hot summers. Planting and husbandry will have to transpiration in order to make our gardens increasingly resilient and sustainable. Gardening extensively in containers, as I do, just isn’t practical during a drought since plants have no ways of fending for themselves. Although arguably nothing is wasted as very little glut water runs away, plants require less superintendency and sustentation when growing in the ground. Here in Broadstairs, we don’t have a hosepipe ban, but it can only be a matter of time until we do.
Like most gardeners, we planned our garden and sponsoring anticipating a typically, cool, wet English summer. Hence, we have no option but to coax our precious plants through successive heatwaves or bravely make decisions to cut unrepealable areas loose and see how they fare. We haven’t watered our herb patch once and everything from mint to sage is flourishing: many herbs are naturally drought-tolerant but it helps that they’re moreover established and happy in our free-draining chalk soil. We moreover decided not to water our raspberries, occupying a large space on the allotment. Our resolve lasted until the first fruits began to swell and we noticed how small and dehydrated they were. Now the ground underneath them is getting a thorough soaking once a week and that seems to be unbearable to produce plump fruit. What they lack in size they increasingly than make up for in flavour.
There, alas, ends my list of plants that can do without. Everything else has to be attended to regularly or sacrificed to the sun.
By and large, our dahlia hodgepodge is loving every minute of this summer. It’s perhaps no surprise given the prevailing weather conditions in the South of England have had increasingly in worldwide with Cuernavaca (Mexico) than Canterbury. Unwatered, they’d be short, sulky little things, but fully quenched they’re tall, lush and magnificent. Flowering began early and will protract for flipside two, possibly three months, by which time every plant will have repaid us tenfold for the effort we’ve invested. A few cultivars have scrutinizingly flowered themselves out, taking a short rest surpassing producing a second well-to-do of flowers. We’ve discovered some wool beauties this year including ‘Cream Diane’, ‘Normandie Delight’, ‘Fashion Monger’, ‘Hallmark’, ‘Kenora Wow’, ‘Coral Jupiter’ and ‘Bonaventure’. Making a list of favourites will have to wait until the end of the season but so far no variety has disappointed. It’s not all nirvana – there are early signs of powdery mildew that suggest this will wilt a significant problem as the season progresses. Removing a dahlia’s lower leaves can help to unstrap powdery mildew by improving air diffusion virtually the wiring of the plant. It’s a job I find quite therapeutic provided there’s a comfy kneeler to hand.
Last year we didn’t pick a single tomato thanks to the severe sear that swept the country. Along with our sponsoring neighbours, we ripped out scrutinizingly 50 plants just as the fruit was starting to ripen. We’ve had no such havoc this year and harvesting began at the end of August. The Beau planted 8 plants of each of 5 variegated varieties including ‘San Marzano Plum’, ‘Black Russian’, ‘Zlatava’, ‘Banana Legs’ and, at my request, ‘Gardener’s Delight’. Despite a rigorous and regular watering regime, we’ve suffered a little bit of floweret end rot and the fruit of ‘Black Russian’ insists on splitting, which we have found it unchangingly does. ‘Banana Legs’ produces a weak plant for us despite a reputation for vigour and heavy cropping: maybe our soil is not to its liking. I don’t think we will grow this variety then despite its lulu yellow fruits – there are so many increasingly to try.
I squint when at photographs of previous years (my only method of keeping a record as I’ve never been good at making notes) and it’s well-spoken that most flowering plants have come and gone at least a month older than usual. The gladioli usually see us through until September but noninclusion a few late-comers they’re once gone. Cosmos, lantana and mirabilis (Marvel of Peru) have been planted in between so that there’s something to squint at untied from serried ranks of dull, pointed leaves. As soon as the first-early potatoes were dug we planted zinnias – ‘Benary’s Giant Mix’ I think – and they’re in seventh heaven, producing huge flowers on well-branched plants. Flipside Mexican native, zinnias enjoy the same conditions as dahlias, perhaps tolerating slightly drier, hotter conditions. The Aztecs referred to zinnias as ‘plants that are nonflexible on the eyes’ owing to their unashamedly unexceptionable blooms: I understand this sentiment, unchangingly feeling they’re just a bit too stiff and gaudy for the garden. However, on an sponsoring or in a wearing garden they’re glorious. I particularly like the coral and hot-pink shades for their sheer clarity and brazenness.
Back in the garden, it’s a pity that we pulled yonder from some of the increasingly borderline-hardy plants that we dabbled with in 2020; they’d have unprofane the hot days and warm nights. The primeval gingers had flowered and gone over by the time we’d normally unshut the garden and now those that typically make an visitation in September and October are ready to bloom. Hedychium ‘Tara’ has once put out its curious flower spike and I can see Hedychium greenii towers up to produce a fine exhibit of perfumed coral butterflies.
On the subject of butterflies, I will end on a upper and mention what an incredible year it’s been for pollinators. We unchangingly welcome a preponderance of bees to the garden and sponsoring but this year has been exceptional. Bees flock to dahlias of all shapes and sizes, not just the single ones. Daily I am tickled by The Beau’s little welps of surprise as he cuts a deadhead and out flies a bee the size of damson, usually in the direction of his nostrils. Bumble bees towards to climb inside the tomfool petals and go to sleep, or perhaps they’re resting their wings or reorganising their pollen sacks. Whatever they’re up to, they’re welcome to lodge with us for as long as they’d like.
Gatekeeper butterflies are a welcome sight, as are the commas, peacocks and red admirals. We’ve let a few nettles grow on an zone yearningly known as the ‘dump of doom’ (twinned with the ‘cupboard of doom’ in the kitchen – venture inside if you dare!) and trim these lanugo every so often to encourage fresh growth. I should like to learn increasingly well-nigh what conditions butterflies like as it’s been a real joy to see so many fluttering by as we water or deadhead. There are crickets and grasshoppers too, which in turn has encouraged a few foraging birds. A lack of feathered friends is a thwarting but no unconfined surprise thanks to the sponsoring cat, Mr Findus, and a sparrowhawk, as yet unnamed. The latter hovers over the sponsoring most days, sometimes mobbed by jackdaws. When the untried woodpecker takes a low undertow over our plot I am unchangingly thrilled to see and hear it – combined with the screech of ring-necked parakeets the sponsoring soundtrack is scrutinizingly tropical.
For anyone reading this in an zone where water restrictions are once in force, you have my sympathy. Although we all need to be less reliant on treated tap water, it’s nonflexible to be prepared at the waif of a hat. Over at Dan Cooper Garden, I’ve pulled together a few of my top tips, although most will be second nature to experienced gardeners. One thing we can be sure of is that the hot weather will come to end, perhaps forthwith and violently. It’s no-go to think that most plants in our garden haven’t experienced increasingly than a few reluctant drops of rain all season. They’ll be ill-prepared for a torrential downpour so if you can’t find me watering, I’ll be rented staking. Stay tomfool folks. TFG.
