Cottage
Gardens:
not as easy as they look
Joan Shaw
The photo above right shows a particularly happy assemblage this year in the roughly triangular white garden across from the house here at DragonGoose Farm – a tumbling mix of Meidiland Alba roses and the tiny white flowers of Feverfew (Leucanthemum parthenium). Feverfew is an excellent cushion for leggy roses with its small white flowers peeping around and through the canes, looking, of course, perfectly natural. Feverfew is also wonderful in a row fronting taller daylilies (hemerocallis), especially mixed with self-sowing red corn poppies (Papaver rhoeas). These are both groupings that are in spots here in which the shade outstrips the sun. When feverfew gets a preponderance of water and sun, however, as it did this year in the long rose and pear tree el a bit north of the cutting garden, the plants shoot up like field daisies. Then is the time we kick ourselves for not nipping down the tops early on so that the feverfew can branch out on the sides and not get so leggy as to grow higher than the surrounding roses. And feverfew isn't the only culprit.
For
instance, in the
back of the rose and feverfew bed
shown above was the earlier blooming rose, 'Nevada,' a shrub rose with
enormous, single creamy white blossoms. The plant is shown at
left struggling its way up through an invasion of red valerian (Centranthus ruber). This is a prime
example of the need for constant vigilance to keep cottage gardens in
line. Though the mix of white rose and red valerian here is charming to
look
at, the valerian is overwhelming the rose. And, besides, that little
bed is
supposed to be a white creation – though
keeping it that way is a
nearly futile exercise. The valerian is in the
surrounding U-shaped border, you see, and the plant seeds heavily.
Spencer Barzee, our landscape manager, dug out all the valerian after this photo was taken and, though we'll most likely still have valerian seedlings coming up next spring, they can be nipped out easily with a small, sharp hoe while still young and the feverfew allowed to take over with its more gentle (and white) undergrowth.
On the other hand, if you're planning a cottage garden, you don't want precise mounds of perennials regulated as though in straight jackets, anymore than you want a choked-up mass. We've started a new perennial bed to the north of the cutting garden, and the young plants distributed through the slightly kidney shaped bed look not only precisely placed but positively lonely, surrounded as they are by composted soil with the next plant more than two feet away. But I chose plants that will eventually weave companionably together by the second and third year, and thus know they'll be spreading and filling in before I know it. I just have to keep a firm hold on myself, so that I don't don't start adding things among the now-skimpy planting or I'll be throwing plants on the compost heap by next August.
Why-Don't-They-Stay-Where-They're-Put Department
This
grouping has another charming low growing plant, Campanula carpatica, that crept its
way into the lilies and valerian this year and even curled around the
peonies behind the
lilies. My friend, Helen, remarked the other day on its weediness in
her own garden, and
its weedy tendency can be
troublesome, but I do love the sweet
blue, bell-like flowers, shown here above right meandering through an
old
bench.
It's true that the plants tend to fall all over each other and make cutting a few for use in a bouquet like unraveling a mass of green spaghetti. They're especially spaghetti-like to walk through, too. Below is our landscape manager's daughter, Madalyn, standing in one of these masses, attempting to "smell" some of the flowers. Her dad says she's still not clear whether it's her nose or her mouth that does the smelling. It looks as though she tried both methods.
Maddie in the Campanula
Photos of Madalyn and the Barzee family by Amber Willie
All other photos - Joan Katherine Shaw
not as easy as they look
Joan Shaw
The
Cottage Garden Defined
Taylor's Master Guide to Gardening describes the cottage garden as a "casual profusion of floriferous plants stuffed in a small area." (See the photo below right.) The cottage garden type evolved, it goes on, from the era many centuries ago when the common folk finally began to have a bit of land of their own and "ushered in the era of gardening for pleasure." It appears to have been an exclusive province, for a while, of the English.
"From 1870 to 1920," reads the forward in the exhibition catalog of nostalgic garden paintings from the Montgomery Gallery in San Francisco, "coinciding with the development of the informal garden, and growing nostalgia for simple village life that was disrupted by industrialization in Britain, British watercolorists painted a romantic vision of these gardens and country cottages." It was this nostalgia for a disappearing past that kept alive the notion of cottage gardens.
But back in the United States of the early to mid 1900s, the style didn't seem to be much in favor among landscape people who often preferred the regimented look of neatly ranked and well behaved shrubs and perennials. Perhaps this preference was born of a reaction to the Victorian "startling jungle." Mostly, they deplored the hit or miss manner in which these beds were put together -–
with
gardeners adding plants as they bought them
from time to time in nurseries or received them as gifts from relatives
and neighbors down the street, the gardens growing more or less like
topsy.
Well, I'd be the first to admit that this place has grown like topsy, too, the entire place, though I have made a stab at planning and the planning wasn't too much hit or miss. And there's no sin -– is there? -– in striving for a natural look? Especially in a farm community? True, we've welcomed gifts from neighbors and relatives of plant material, some of it exceptional and full of family history, and often rare. But we have tried to be careful where we placed these plants, though we've made our share of mistakes.
In short, creating a cottage garden is not entirely easy, and one must be always on guard against stuffing too much in too small a space. And you can take that from a first-class stuffing artist.
The Pitfalls of Planning
Moreover, no matter how much planning goes into a bed for color, height, contour, and fragrance so that all of the flowers planted can actually be seen while still cultivating the English country look, it can often turn out looking a bit thrown together. One of the ongoing jobs here at DragonGoose Farm -– a font of cottage gardens -– is moving wildly robust perennials, and even roses, identified by nursery tags as tame and low growing, away from the front of border to the middle or even the back. A couple of plants I've exiled to the compost heap as completely unmanageable.
Taylor's Master Guide to Gardening describes the cottage garden as a "casual profusion of floriferous plants stuffed in a small area." (See the photo below right.) The cottage garden type evolved, it goes on, from the era many centuries ago when the common folk finally began to have a bit of land of their own and "ushered in the era of gardening for pleasure." It appears to have been an exclusive province, for a while, of the English.
"From 1870 to 1920," reads the forward in the exhibition catalog of nostalgic garden paintings from the Montgomery Gallery in San Francisco, "coinciding with the development of the informal garden, and growing nostalgia for simple village life that was disrupted by industrialization in Britain, British watercolorists painted a romantic vision of these gardens and country cottages." It was this nostalgia for a disappearing past that kept alive the notion of cottage gardens.
But back in the United States of the early to mid 1900s, the style didn't seem to be much in favor among landscape people who often preferred the regimented look of neatly ranked and well behaved shrubs and perennials. Perhaps this preference was born of a reaction to the Victorian "startling jungle." Mostly, they deplored the hit or miss manner in which these beds were put together -–
with
gardeners adding plants as they bought them
from time to time in nurseries or received them as gifts from relatives
and neighbors down the street, the gardens growing more or less like
topsy.Well, I'd be the first to admit that this place has grown like topsy, too, the entire place, though I have made a stab at planning and the planning wasn't too much hit or miss. And there's no sin -– is there? -– in striving for a natural look? Especially in a farm community? True, we've welcomed gifts from neighbors and relatives of plant material, some of it exceptional and full of family history, and often rare. But we have tried to be careful where we placed these plants, though we've made our share of mistakes.
In short, creating a cottage garden is not entirely easy, and one must be always on guard against stuffing too much in too small a space. And you can take that from a first-class stuffing artist.
The Pitfalls of Planning
Moreover, no matter how much planning goes into a bed for color, height, contour, and fragrance so that all of the flowers planted can actually be seen while still cultivating the English country look, it can often turn out looking a bit thrown together. One of the ongoing jobs here at DragonGoose Farm -– a font of cottage gardens -– is moving wildly robust perennials, and even roses, identified by nursery tags as tame and low growing, away from the front of border to the middle or even the back. A couple of plants I've exiled to the compost heap as completely unmanageable.
And if we took a certain amount of care in
planning our gardens, the birds and the wind and the propensity for
plants to seed as though their lives depended on it (they do) took no
care at all. Hence the south copse became choked with an
especially aggressive double purple columbine after piggy-backing there
in a pot of Oregon grape (Mahonia
aquifolium). I took years of hoeing and digging to even
partially eradicate it, and to this day we find plants of it mixing in
with the other varieties of columbine and interbreeding.
The north copse had its own invasion of the otherwise sweet little Johnny Jump-ups (Viola tricolor). Johnny Jump-ups are a wonderful addition to the garden as they pop up inbetween certain larger plants, up against foundations here and there, and peeping through cracks in the bricks. But an entire 100ft by 60ft mat of what was planned to be a bark-covered base under small trees was a bit much. And it was the direct result of our looking at the many patches of them scattered in the understory and cooing, "Awww, how pretty they are!" And leaving them there to seed. The next year, we had a major eradication effort staring us in the face.
As I've written elsewhere, a cottage garden can be simply a mix of ground cover, low-growing perennials, and a variety of roses and shrubs. This is a nice plan and can look exceptionally beautiful. The engagingly old-fashioned touch of soaring hollyhocks in the background or a climbing rose, particularly a species rose, can add interest and, in fact, is especially appealing in a cottage garden. Often, a rambler rose scrambling through the undergrowth (for instance, the salmon-flowered ground cover rose, 'Leontine Gervaise') or a clematis mingled with the light blue flowers of campanula and soapwart weaving through low growing contoneaster make a lovely picture. Asters and other tall perennials such as the floriferous Hollyhock Mallow (Malva alcea) and lower-growing hydrangeas, can look delightful surrounded by low plants in a border to set off the larger plants and help keep them erect.
The north copse had its own invasion of the otherwise sweet little Johnny Jump-ups (Viola tricolor). Johnny Jump-ups are a wonderful addition to the garden as they pop up inbetween certain larger plants, up against foundations here and there, and peeping through cracks in the bricks. But an entire 100ft by 60ft mat of what was planned to be a bark-covered base under small trees was a bit much. And it was the direct result of our looking at the many patches of them scattered in the understory and cooing, "Awww, how pretty they are!" And leaving them there to seed. The next year, we had a major eradication effort staring us in the face.
As I've written elsewhere, a cottage garden can be simply a mix of ground cover, low-growing perennials, and a variety of roses and shrubs. This is a nice plan and can look exceptionally beautiful. The engagingly old-fashioned touch of soaring hollyhocks in the background or a climbing rose, particularly a species rose, can add interest and, in fact, is especially appealing in a cottage garden. Often, a rambler rose scrambling through the undergrowth (for instance, the salmon-flowered ground cover rose, 'Leontine Gervaise') or a clematis mingled with the light blue flowers of campanula and soapwart weaving through low growing contoneaster make a lovely picture. Asters and other tall perennials such as the floriferous Hollyhock Mallow (Malva alcea) and lower-growing hydrangeas, can look delightful surrounded by low plants in a border to set off the larger plants and help keep them erect.
The "White Garden"
and a Not-so-happy Assemblage
The photo above right shows a particularly happy assemblage this year in the roughly triangular white garden across from the house here at DragonGoose Farm – a tumbling mix of Meidiland Alba roses and the tiny white flowers of Feverfew (Leucanthemum parthenium). Feverfew is an excellent cushion for leggy roses with its small white flowers peeping around and through the canes, looking, of course, perfectly natural. Feverfew is also wonderful in a row fronting taller daylilies (hemerocallis), especially mixed with self-sowing red corn poppies (Papaver rhoeas). These are both groupings that are in spots here in which the shade outstrips the sun. When feverfew gets a preponderance of water and sun, however, as it did this year in the long rose and pear tree el a bit north of the cutting garden, the plants shoot up like field daisies. Then is the time we kick ourselves for not nipping down the tops early on so that the feverfew can branch out on the sides and not get so leggy as to grow higher than the surrounding roses. And feverfew isn't the only culprit.
For
instance, in the
back of the rose and feverfew bed
shown above was the earlier blooming rose, 'Nevada,' a shrub rose with
enormous, single creamy white blossoms. The plant is shown at
left struggling its way up through an invasion of red valerian (Centranthus ruber). This is a prime
example of the need for constant vigilance to keep cottage gardens in
line. Though the mix of white rose and red valerian here is charming to
look
at, the valerian is overwhelming the rose. And, besides, that little
bed is
supposed to be a white creation – though
keeping it that way is a
nearly futile exercise. The valerian is in the
surrounding U-shaped border, you see, and the plant seeds heavily. Spencer Barzee, our landscape manager, dug out all the valerian after this photo was taken and, though we'll most likely still have valerian seedlings coming up next spring, they can be nipped out easily with a small, sharp hoe while still young and the feverfew allowed to take over with its more gentle (and white) undergrowth.
On the other hand, if you're planning a cottage garden, you don't want precise mounds of perennials regulated as though in straight jackets, anymore than you want a choked-up mass. We've started a new perennial bed to the north of the cutting garden, and the young plants distributed through the slightly kidney shaped bed look not only precisely placed but positively lonely, surrounded as they are by composted soil with the next plant more than two feet away. But I chose plants that will eventually weave companionably together by the second and third year, and thus know they'll be spreading and filling in before I know it. I just have to keep a firm hold on myself, so that I don't don't start adding things among the now-skimpy planting or I'll be throwing plants on the compost heap by next August.
Why-Don't-They-Stay-Where-They're-Put Department
Red valerian when it behaves itself and
stays where it's put is truly
beautiful, however, as
it was
in the cutting garden of early June. What a beautiful sight from my
study window -– the
reds and pinks of the valerian showing through the lilies in the same
bed and then
through the
half-grown hollyhocks and blooming roses in the long bed between.
It's true that the plants tend to fall all over each other and make cutting a few for use in a bouquet like unraveling a mass of green spaghetti. They're especially spaghetti-like to walk through, too. Below is our landscape manager's daughter, Madalyn, standing in one of these masses, attempting to "smell" some of the flowers. Her dad says she's still not clear whether it's her nose or her mouth that does the smelling. It looks as though she tried both methods.
Maddie in the Campanula
We also
have a smaller campanula variety ('Blue Clips') that
stays more compact at about ten inches high with starry blue flowers
covering the low mounds of dark green leaves. This variety doesn't
spread nearly as quickly, though it does seem to mutate. I noticed
the other afternoon that a white-flowered variety has appeared among
the blue.
Another Invasion
Joining the red valerian surprise in the white garden was another one in the 'Annabelle' hydrangeas, an easily overlooked U-shaped bed on the southeast. The huge 'Annabelle' blossoms were just beginning to come out and I went to take a look at them because the sprinkler water falls just short of the bed when the irrigation pressure is low and the lack of water stunts the size of the flower balls. When I came around the corner, what should I see but two chest-high goldenrod clumps that had sprung up in the middle of the low-growing strawberry plants and golden ear drops (Corydalis lutea), edging the hydrangeas. I laughed out loud when I saw them because they looked so much like bullies crowding in front of the hydrangeas as though searching out the best spot to watch a parade. They were soon cut down to allow the 'Annabelle's some space, but the roots are still there, and I've been trying to think of a suitable spot in which to transplant them for next year. The dinner-plate size hydrangea flower heads need a bed of their own, in any case, so they can tumble over as the flower heads get bigger and heavier.
Another Invasion
Joining the red valerian surprise in the white garden was another one in the 'Annabelle' hydrangeas, an easily overlooked U-shaped bed on the southeast. The huge 'Annabelle' blossoms were just beginning to come out and I went to take a look at them because the sprinkler water falls just short of the bed when the irrigation pressure is low and the lack of water stunts the size of the flower balls. When I came around the corner, what should I see but two chest-high goldenrod clumps that had sprung up in the middle of the low-growing strawberry plants and golden ear drops (Corydalis lutea), edging the hydrangeas. I laughed out loud when I saw them because they looked so much like bullies crowding in front of the hydrangeas as though searching out the best spot to watch a parade. They were soon cut down to allow the 'Annabelle's some space, but the roots are still there, and I've been trying to think of a suitable spot in which to transplant them for next year. The dinner-plate size hydrangea flower heads need a bed of their own, in any case, so they can tumble over as the flower heads get bigger and heavier.
And
now here is Spencer Barzee, a teacher and coach during the school year,
who also has the dubious pleasure of taming our
jungle of cottage gardens. He's shown with his wife, Sherri, holding
little
Madalyn.
More later,
Joan Katherine Shaw
August
2005
Photos of Madalyn and the Barzee family by Amber Willie
All other photos - Joan Katherine Shaw
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Member:
American Rose Society
American Horticulture Society
National Wildlife Federation
National Arbor Day Society
The Nature Conservancy
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