It’s beginning. The signs have been there for weeks; the Betwixtmas scent of the sarcoccoa, the hellebores, the snowdrops. The tulip foliage thrusting eagerly upward through the soil, the red points of new paeony shoots. The first of the daffodils. None of this has called for any intervention, though notice and appreciation has been lavished upon each in its turn. It’s been enough to be out here, minding my own business, pruning and mulching the roses, dismantling raised beds and dreaming of things to come. But the last few weeks of winter and the first few weeks of spring (and who knows quite where one ends and the other begins) see me as busy in the garden as I’ll be all year, and whilst I might have cultivated something of a laissez faire reputation when it comes to horticultural discipline, I can’t deny the how much I’ve been looking forward to re-establishing some boundaries, to at least setting out upon the season with some clear notion of the direction of travel.
The dogwood gets it first. Cut down to a few centimetres above ground, the coppicing regime ensuring a fresh supply of vigorous, brightly coloured young stems every year, though setting to the task this year I noticed a distinct lack or gnarly, grey, knuckled growth at the base, suggesting I’ve not been as assiduous about it as I thought I had. But then I remember that the dogwood presents a welcome, if slightly transluscent screen against the length of the garden being overlooked from the houses behind, and I’ve been repeatedly playing function off against form for years. Well, this will change soon anyway, as I’m rethinking the colours – there are three different varieties planted here, and it’s not quite working as it should. My favourite, Cornus sanguinea ‘Midwinter Fire’, each stem a thin, flickering tongue of flame, ombre of scarlet through orange to yellow, is growing far more slowly than it should, outpaced by the crimson stems of Cornus alba ‘Sibirica’, its admittedly more established neighbour. But more vigorous by several degrees than either is the mustard yellow mass of Cornus stolonifera ‘Flaviramea’, a branching tangled thicket that sends creeping stems out from its coppiced stools to claim new territory, and threatens to overwhelm its cousins. For this reason, and the fact that the greeny yellows don’t quite work with those of a more orangey hue, I need to break the group up; an exciting prospect that promises to bring colour and interest – more purposeful planting, I realise – to another section of the garden. One wrested away from the grip of brambles and damson saplings, perhaps – that’s the next job to tackle.
Three new Midwinter Fires are planted, and I push hardwood cuttings of the Siberian dogwood into the ground in front of them – leaves will appear on those that root, and these can be transplanted later in the year to bulk up the display. This is the most, if not the only interference the dogwood will receive from me all year, and I find myself wondering why we tend not to fill our gardens more densely with plants that show such a reliable combination of self sufficiency and showiness. For all the years I’ve been disappointed in an intensively reared crop of sweet peas or an underperforming batch of zinnias, I’ve never had to worry about the dogwood not doing its thing, even if the balance of the different varieties could do with some fine tuning.
Not for the first time, I toy with the idea of filling the garden with flowering shrubs and grasses, accented by things that are happy to sow themselves about. I tell myself I never want to see another seed tray, and then I remember lettuces and beetroot and the slugs that make direct sowing here impractical. And messages begin to appear in my inbox and Instagram feed to alert me to the opening of the gorgeous Alma Proust seed shop, and I know there will always be room for seeds, even of ornamental annuals. Though I’m not done with the whole shrub thing, and can already feel it’s a thought I’ll be returning to with increasing frequency over the coming months.
In the meantime, I’ve got to find a new home for the yellow dogwood. More garden taming, and lines to be drawn upon the soil. Not so much a fleeting feeling of control as a declaration of intent, and that’s as fine a thing as any to announce in the final week of winter.
Blimey, sericea or stolonifera? I only ask because I wrote about this recently on here and opted for sericea. T'internet seems equally befuddled! Great piece whichever it is Mr O'Brien.
Those cuttings look deeply pleasing just popped in like that