Our garden seems to be the only one festooned with beautifying ivy in our quartier. Perhaps because so many think that ivy is the great destroyer of buildings? In the past, gardeners weren't frightened of its power to cover. It was well clipped. And that it what happens chez nous. I take the shears to it at least four times yearly. Its colour is quite dark and foreboding during winter, but when spring comes along, oh, such a bright, friendly green says, hello! I also hose down ivy covering the pergola and alongside one boundary fence about twice yearly. Become friends with your ivy, and the birds who eat its berries during winter when there isn't much else in the larder will thank you. In addition, roses look scrumptious against a background of ivy.
Ferdinand Pichard (bred by Rémi Tanne France, 1921) is a fragrant, reblooming Bourbon rose. Its pink, cupped flowers are heavily striped with white, crimson, and magenta.
Next to it, is probably another old rose, but unfortunately I have yet been able to identify it. The texture and colour has a mysterious quality. Depending on the angle and distance from which it is seen, it shimmers between coral velvet and pink silk. Its blooms are quartered and huge with a stupendous fragrance. And it loves ivy.
My gardening approach is to watch plants grow so as to ascertain what the best interface with them is. In the process, I get to learn a lot. For example, ivy can gussy up a leggy rose without killing it. Of course, the rose in question is a toughie. I suspect it has been around many decades, scraping out nourishment from being planted smack next to the patio. Miniature gladioli have sidled up to it too. It seems it's a magnet for other plants.
On the first of May in France, sellers of lily of the valley take to the streets for it is a traditional practice to give said blooms to loved ones. Years ago, a neighbour gave me a few plants, and now, they have spread, covering four times their original area. They self-seed readily, and apparently learning the beautifying lesson from the ivy, they fill in cement cracks and grow around the lavender, naturally snuffing out what was once the stomping grounds of some serious weeds like thistles and bindweed.
What a delight it is to bring in a bunch of lily-of-the-valley indoors! Gradually its fragrance filled up my office with its fresh, sweet scent making me feel that somehow I am outdoors in the garden while I write this post.
When the yucca was planted here about ten years ago it had already spent nearly ten years as a potted specimen on our Grenoble balcony. In its former location, it had a wonderful view of the Belledonne range dotted with villages and church steeples. In its present location, I like to think though the view can't match what it had in the past, its robust growth is telling me that it's actually happier here because this spikey beauty can spread its roots. Providing a dramatic background, it's a perfect foil for the fluffy heads of Blue Parrot tulips.
Blue Parrot tulips are closer to lavender in terms of colour, with a bronzy sheen, however their white centres contain an irregular areola of true blue.
In the small patio cut-out, the calla lilies are flourishing most likely at the expense of the Queen Elizabeth shrub rose.
Our garden location is a fortunate one because though it is an urban setting, it is right on the edge of the city giving unobstructed sky views. Having such spaciousness overhead accentuates the coziness of the garden even more.
À la prochaine!
Ferdinand Pichard (bred by Rémi Tanne France, 1921) is a fragrant, reblooming Bourbon rose. Its pink, cupped flowers are heavily striped with white, crimson, and magenta.
Next to it, is probably another old rose, but unfortunately I have yet been able to identify it. The texture and colour has a mysterious quality. Depending on the angle and distance from which it is seen, it shimmers between coral velvet and pink silk. Its blooms are quartered and huge with a stupendous fragrance. And it loves ivy.
My gardening approach is to watch plants grow so as to ascertain what the best interface with them is. In the process, I get to learn a lot. For example, ivy can gussy up a leggy rose without killing it. Of course, the rose in question is a toughie. I suspect it has been around many decades, scraping out nourishment from being planted smack next to the patio. Miniature gladioli have sidled up to it too. It seems it's a magnet for other plants.
On the first of May in France, sellers of lily of the valley take to the streets for it is a traditional practice to give said blooms to loved ones. Years ago, a neighbour gave me a few plants, and now, they have spread, covering four times their original area. They self-seed readily, and apparently learning the beautifying lesson from the ivy, they fill in cement cracks and grow around the lavender, naturally snuffing out what was once the stomping grounds of some serious weeds like thistles and bindweed.
What a delight it is to bring in a bunch of lily-of-the-valley indoors! Gradually its fragrance filled up my office with its fresh, sweet scent making me feel that somehow I am outdoors in the garden while I write this post.
When the yucca was planted here about ten years ago it had already spent nearly ten years as a potted specimen on our Grenoble balcony. In its former location, it had a wonderful view of the Belledonne range dotted with villages and church steeples. In its present location, I like to think though the view can't match what it had in the past, its robust growth is telling me that it's actually happier here because this spikey beauty can spread its roots. Providing a dramatic background, it's a perfect foil for the fluffy heads of Blue Parrot tulips.
Blue Parrot tulips are closer to lavender in terms of colour, with a bronzy sheen, however their white centres contain an irregular areola of true blue.
Our garden location is a fortunate one because though it is an urban setting, it is right on the edge of the city giving unobstructed sky views. Having such spaciousness overhead accentuates the coziness of the garden even more.
À la prochaine!
I think of you each time I engage with my ivy - and yes we have berries up top - not sure our birds have any interest.
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