gardener

RHS Wisley: A Tom Stuart-Smith garden and thoughts on innovation

I've been a Royal Horticultural Society (RHS) member since moving to Britain, and I treasure their monthly magazine, The Garden, as an exemplar of horticultural journalism. However, I'd yet to visit one of their four major gardens (soon to be five when RHS Bridgewater opens in 2019). But today I was on an errand in Hampshire and realized I was very close to the RHS flagship garden, Wisley. Of course I stopped in, flashing my membership card and gaining free entry for myself and my companion. 

On this clear and cold Sunday in November it seemed that every London family had chosen Wisley to exercise their children. The garden had the feel of a theme park totally overrun with strollers and overly-cautious city parents. "We don't touch red berries," warned one hipster dad to his daughter, probably setting her up for a lifetime of soft-fruit aversion. 

The garden surrounding the large glasshouse complex was less populated than other areas of the property, and it was pure joy to wander amongst the plants under a clear blue sky. This area was designed by Tom Stuart-Smith, one of Britain's most well-regarded garden designers. I've always wanted to see this garden, and as I am now working in a Tom Stuart-Smith-designed garden I'm particularly keen to experience more of his work. I enjoyed pointing out plants at Wisley that I tend every day and noticing stylistic similarities between the two properties. 

I am also particularly interested in the management of gardens in the style of Tom Stuart-Smith, which are designed for four-season interest. Traditional herbaceous perennial management has dictated that all plants are cut to the ground in autumn, leaving bare earth over winter. The newer thinking--led by the New Perennial et al. movement--advocates growing herbaceous perennials that "live well and die well," in the words of Piet Oudolf, the Dutch master who popularized the style. This means growing plants that look good even as they turn brown and crispy, and that are able to stand up through winter providing not only visual interest but also food and shelter for animals, birds, and insects. 

In my nascent professional horticulture career I've come across more than one gardener who still believes all herbaceous material must be cut down, removed, and the garden "put to bed" for winter under a thick layer of compost. I've no truck with the compost layer--more compost is usually always a good thing--but I do believe that gardens designed in the style Tom Stuart-Smith uses should be left standing as long as possible into winter. On the flip side, though, I do understand that time, staffing, weather, and seasonal changes dictate what happens when in large gardens. Sometimes there are simply too many other jobs in an already packed calendar to delay the autumn chop. What's most interesting to me is the intersection between what designers are creating and what boots-on-the-ground gardeners believe is the best way to manage these same gardens, even if they aren't actually able to put their knowledge into practice. I notice a disconnect here, as I do in many areas of horticulture. The "newer" ideas about garden design and management--including new best practices backed up by scientific research--so very rarely make it into everyday gardening at many established properties. 

For example, this summer I interviewed for a gardener job at a historic garden run by the largest gardening charity in England. On my walkaround I noticed American skunk cabbage, Lysichiton americanus, growing along a stream that ran through the property. Lystichon americanus is a bog-dwelling North American native that was introduced to Britain in 1901 as an ornamental. Like so many ornamental plant introductions, Lystichon really liked its new territory--so much so that it's run wild, outcompeting native British plants in boggy and marshy areas. Lystichon is now considered an "invasive non-native species" subject to EU regulation, according to the RHS, which does not recommend that the plant be grown in Britain. At Dawyck Botanic Garden, part of the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh portfolio, all the Lystichon was dug up and removed from the garden once gardeners realized that even with frequent deadheading to remove seeds before they could spread through the watercourse, the plant was still making its way downstream:

"American skunk-cabbage (Lysichiton americanus) has also been removed following its recognition nationally as an invasive non-native species of significant concern. The plants at Dawyck were popular for their spring flowers and grew well for many years...Dawyck has taken the lead on the removal of this plant and will look forward to replanting new species in the areas once occupied by the skunk cabbage." --RBGE

And yet the gardener who was interviewing me for this job openly scoffed at the idea that Lystichon could ever be a problem.  

All this to say, I wonder how best to disseminate new ideas about gardening out to professional gardeners, particularly when many still have "old-school" attitudes rooted in Britain's Victorian horticultural glory days. I wonder how much change will really happen, outside of botanical and research gardens such as the RHS, until that old guard returns to the nitrogen cycle. 

Anyway, I would love to know the management strategy used at Wisley to care for such a large area (two hectares) of herbaceous perennials. I know similar gardens use hedge cutters or even mowers to take everything off in one fell swoop in late winter--eliminating much tedious and hand-numbing secateur work. If anyone is reading from Wisley or Tom Stuart-Smith's team is reading, please let me know what you do so I can make better management decisions going forward. 

Packwood House and the smirr: Part one

During today's rainy plant ident walkaround I learned a new Scots word to add to my collection of ways to describe horrible weather: smirr, a mist-like drizzle that coats everything. Now I know what to call this phenomenon whereby it seems to rain upward, from the ground, soaking pant legs as much as shoulders. 

The weather's been pretty horrible, with only a few days of sun since Nov. 1. Even the hardy natives are confessing clandestine trips to tanning beds for emergency Vitamin D top-ups. Instead of posting images of grey, grey, grey, let's take a trip back in time to last June, which was the last time I was outside and somewhat warm barring my trip back to the U.S. this autumn. And the kicker is I wasn't even in Scotland! I was much further south in England, on study tour with my class.

We stopped by Packwood House, in Warwickshire, and looking at these brightly colored and blooming garden photos is just what I need on this cold, wet night. 

Packwood House dates back to a humble farmhouse built in 1556. The property was home to the Fetherston family for 300 years before being purchased by Alfred Ash in 1904. The home stayed in the Ash family until it was signed over to the National Trust in 1941. 

Packwood House gardens are most notable for their collection of more than 100 yews (Taxus baccata) representing the "Sermon on the Mount. Each tree is clipped in a distinct fashion to represent, as my professor said, the diversity of humanity. The yew garden was designed in the mid-17th century by John Fetherston, and some of the shrubs are more than 50 feet tall. The head gardener, and our guide for the visit, explained the challenge of maintaining the yews on clay soil that's prone to water logging as well as compaction by the many visitors to the garden.

I found the yews the least interesting of all the areas at Packwood. Though they are technically impressive, I am not a huge topiary fan, and the dark and looming shrubs created a foreboding feeling in that section of the garden. Much more enjoyable were the bright borders and dry garden, which came into being in a trouble spot where more water-loving plants failed to thrive. 

The nearby borders made me rethink my feelings about purple. The Allium sp. were pretty impressive, and the color worked so well with the red brick behind. 

Here's one of the staff cutting a perfectly striped lawn with a cylinder mower. 

Pretty gardens are all good, but I'm always interested in showing the horticulturists who work so hard to keep them looking nice. All too often garden photography shows sterile perfection, with entire landscapes looking as though they'd sprung fully formed from the goddess Flora's green finger. But as anyone who's hefted a spade knows, gardening is hard, dirty, physically taxing work. I like to see the people doing that work, and their tools, which are just as beautiful to me as perfectly pristine, but empty, landscapes. 

Up next we'll venture further afield at Packwood House, visiting the orchard, forest follies, and the vegetable garden...Until then, I leave you with evidence of the weather: my winter twigs from today's walkaround. Two hours after getting home, the paper is still puddled! It's the smirr, I tell you, the smirr!