The garden in December
Kari-Astri Davies is looking back at an unusual year and welcoming Christmas with a wreath of festive plants
IT IS JUST after 4pm, and the sun has slipped away, leaving a pale orange glow in the sky. It is nearly dark already. Catching the flitting of small birds from the corner of my eye, I watch as latecomers seek roosts for the night under the house eaves.
It has been an odd year for the garden. Despite many hours spent gardening during the spring, tasks often were not completed in a timely fashion. My mother, on a ‘state visit’ in late summer, suggested that the level of finish I had given my lawn, in mowing, edging and hedge clipping, was rather slapdash and not up to her standards. She, too, spent even more time in the garden than usual.
The weather was particularly unkind in this corner of Wiltshire. In April, warm sunny days brought plants on apace. Two hard frosts between the warm spells destroyed new growth on many woodland plants, hit the wisteria, which was in full bud for the first time, and put paid to both the ‘Merryweather Damson’ and the quince crop.
Later on, less pollution in the air, as a result of the reduction in travel, made the sun’s rays more intense. With barely any cloud cover, delphinium ‘Fenella’ was left a washed-out shadow of her intense blue, showstopping self. Large-leaved hosta ‘T. Rex’ went from green to blonde: acer leaves were toasted.
After the wet winter, subsequent long, dry periods held back growth. Despite frequent watering, beetroot and carrots were small to non-existent. Some plants, including Verbena bonariensis, grew shorter than usual. Others disappeared underground earlier. When the rain finally came, autumn flowerers took advantage and shot up.
My favourite garden moment of this year was three ‘Beauty of Livermere’ oriental poppies flowering for the first time: huge, rich-scarlet bowls of silken petals held aloft on sturdy, white-bristled stems. Illuminated by the sun, they were fleetingly, powerfully beautiful.
Banding together
When so many of us could not get out and about, the community of private and professional gardeners, nursery owners, naturalists and artists on social media provided a much-needed, outward-looking perspective.
I enjoyed the chronicling of wild flowers, orchids and associated bees, butterflies, beetles and birds as the blooming year rolled out.
I shared in the daily pleasures, triumphs, and even some disasters of new gardeners and old hands. And I participated in the ‘sunflower challenge’, without which I would not have grown them this year or discovered that
“Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid A million buds but stay their blossoming And trustful birds have built their nests amid T he shuddering boughs”
Robert Bridges, ‘The Growth of Love’
‘Earthwalkers’ buds face upwards, then nod down when they are ready to flower.
Woven from nature
This year, I decided to try to make a Christmas wreath for the front door out of natural materials from the garden.
Hunting around for whippy lengths of branches, I ended up with a mix of zingy, pinky-orange-coloured stems from cornus ‘Midwinter Fire’ and wild willow.
An initial circle of willow was shaped and secured with jute string. One by one, the rest were wound around. As they built up, it became easier to tuck in the ends neatly to anchor the stems. The resulting framework was a bit skinny, as there was not a plentiful enough supply of stems of appropriate length or malleability. Once holly, ivy and fir sprigs were secured to it, my festive wreath looked fine, even if not quite up to professional standards.
The small wooded area at the bottom of the garden comes into its own in winter. It is home to evergreen ferns and many snowdrops, which are already tentatively emerging. We have made a small bench out of a stone-filled gabion which divides the space, creating new planting opportunities. Here, I can sit awhile contemplating, and planning for spring.
“The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air”
George Crabbe, ‘Inebriety’