One out of the box
As nearly everything in the garden is hit by frost, MICHAEL McCOY marvels at the reliability and staying power of his trusty hedges
Ihave been gazing out of the kitchen window while making myself yet another cup of tea, and while surveying the spectacularly destructive powers of Mother Nature via frost, and squinting hard to see if there’s some way I can perceive the consequent havoc as romantic decay, I’m filled anew with gratitude for that ancient, irreplaceable, unsurpassable garden stalwart – English box (Buxus sempervirens).
Each of the 12 circular raised vegie beds visible from the kitchen window is partially enclosed by a short arc of box hedge. These were, and remain, a pretty stupid idea. They would probably look great from a drone, resembling that port that
R2D2 locks into on the Death Star, with broken concentric rings around an inner circle. But as I only see them from a standing position, they look a bit lame.
They fail in practical ways as well. For instance, most of these hedge segments are now as tall as the raised beds they curve around, and they are so wide that I can no longer reach across to the centre of the bed to weed or plant.
They also harbour pests. If I pull the hedge away, the steel sides of the raised beds are loaded with snails three deep in a disgusting, congealed mass of slimy flesh, crunchy carapace and mollusc foam.
But what the box hedges do succeed in doing, and the main reason they remain (other than abject laziness), is they provide a base level of carefully groomed, stable greenery when all the rest of the plantings in the vegetable garden pass through their highly volatile, highly unstable mood swings across the passage of the seasons.
This is the unique genius of English box. It’s like that silent, stable member of your friendship group. They’ll never win the popularity stakes, but you can’t imagine life without them.
In my garden, box appears in several forms, from lumpy, amoeboid plantings, to near-perfect spheres, to super-crisp, straight-sided, flat-topped hedges. In every case the plants are astoundingly solid and deliciously dark green, and as near to indestructible as anything I grow – they are unconcerned about sun, shade, frost or drought (though admittedly floods aren’t so kind to them).
They grow slowly, which is a huge advantage once they’ve got to the height you want. They also grow evenly all over, and can be cut back hard into old, leafless wood if necessary, for drastic reduction.
Let’s raise our teacups and drink to English box. It must be about time for another cup anyway. Michael blogs at thegardenist.com.au
“The plants are astoundingly solid and deliciously dark green”