by James Alexander-Sinclair
For me, buttercups will always be a reminder of early summer, of lush young grass and slightly debauched picnics.
On Saturday I returned home after five days at the Chelsea Flower Show. As often happens when I return after being away at this time of year, everything has tripled in size, including the weeds. The winner is a rodgersia, which is now obstructing the footpath.
We have a bit of wilder ground by the orchard, which tends to grow unmolested. As a result it's completely swamped by buttercups at this time of year. Buttercups may seem to be a terribly annoying weed, but they belong to a huge and distinguished plant family (Ranunculaceae), which contains such diverse plants as aconitum, hellebores, clematis and thalictrum.
Anyway, we are mildly overrun by creeping and field buttercups. Creeping buttercups lodge in my lawn and many happy hours are often spent pulling them up with a strong spike. They have roots that hang on like anything and spread fast by sending out runners - in the same manner as strawberries. They thrive in the slightly compacted clay soil upon which my lawn grows.
But in the orchard they are no longer a pest but something extremely beautiful - a classic example of a weed simply being a plant in the wrong place. There is a thick blanket of the creeping variety, through which the occasional cranesbill forces its head later in the season. Not much else survives there so it's best to just live with things as they are.
But it's the field buttercup that really takes my breath away. Where its creeping cousin is lumpen and solid, this is tall and gorgeous. It grows here amongst long grass, vetch and clover, and is as elegant as Marlene Dietrich (but without the German seriousness).
For me, buttercups will always be a reminder of early summer, of lush young grass and slightly debauched picnics. However, if they migrate to borders all romance is lost and they become a complete pain.
