Search - Articles

first moved here we found a clump of snowdrops just on the edge of the garden, by the woods. Over the years we have split and moved them, so that all of the wilder parts of the garden have little clumps showing their heads.However, I have absolutely

It's easy to be sniffy about the ornamental cabbage. It is quite a strange concept; an odd, Frankensteinish amalgam of vegetable and bedding plant. However, my mind was changed - temporarily at least - during a recent trip to New York. I saw

, laying lawn edging and root pruning cordon fruit trees (while, apparently wearing a pair of white cricket trousers and a double-breasted blazer!). The best tip is for a slug trap: "take an old photographic negative and a piece of tin. Solidified

than plant a rose or another wisteria - there might be some unpleasantness hiding in the soil - I decided to stick with annual climbers. We usually have morning glories (Ipomoea species) in pots, so I moved one of them to fill in and it did an admirable

I love early September: the sun is still hot but the nights are not stifling. The majority of plants have flowered and faded away but there are still some, particularly the dahlias, that are flowering their little heads off. There was a time when

I have always found plants with big leaves fascinating. I love hearing raindrops pattering on leaf canopies whilst pushing through an overgrown path, surrounded by plants that are bigger than me. It is probably a deep-rooted jungle instinct. I have

been quite formal.I initially laid it out about ten years ago, based on a pattern I found in a picture of some pierced stonework in a palace in India. It formed a lattice of little paths around a central brick pond and fountain. But the timber edgings

socked hard round both ears with a large salami. A plant which sets my teeth on edge and sucks the joys of spring right out of my soul.I have confessed to this before and have tried to work on this character defect, but to no avail. I think that forsythia

.The idea of wide, slightly quilted, deep bluish-green hosta leaves is captivating, but often the reality is completely different. The reality involves slugs and snails, nightly chewing the edges and perforating the centres of the leaves, leaving them