THE COMMON SHRUBBERY, WOODS AND WOODLAND DRIVES.
It must not be thought that the wild garden can only be formed in
places where there is some extent of rough pleasure–ground. Excellent
results may be obtained from the system in comparatively small gardens,
on the fringes of shrubberies and marginal plantations, open spaces
between shrubs, the surface of beds of Rhododendrons, where we may have
plant–beauty instead of garden–graveyards. I call garden–graveyards the
dug shrubbery borders which one sees in nearly all gardens, public or
private. Every shrubbery and plantation surface that is so needlessly
and relentlessly dug over by the gardener every winter, may be
embellished in the way I propose, as well as wild places. The custom of
digging shrubbery borders prevails now in every garden, and there is
in the whole course of gardening no worse or more profitless custom.
When winter is once come, almost every gardener, although animated
with the best intentions, simply prepares to make war upon the roots
of everything in his shrubbery border. The generally–accepted practice
is to trim, and often to mutilate the shrubs, and to dig all over the
surface that must be full of feeding roots. Delicate half–rooted shrubs
are disturbed; herbaceous plants are destroyed; bulbs are displaced and
injured; the roots as well as the tops of shrubs are mutilated; and
a sparse depopulated aspect is given to the margins, while the only
“improvement” that is effected by the process is the annual darkening
of the surface by the upturned earth.
Illustrations of these bad practices occur by miles in our London
parks in winter. Walk through any of them at that season, and observe
the borders around masses of shrubs, choice and otherwise. Instead of
finding the earth covered, or nearly covered, with vegetation close to
the margin, and each individual plant developed into something like a
fair specimen of its kind, we find a spread of recently–dug ground,
and the plants upon it with an air of having recently suffered from a
whirlwind, or some calamity that necessitated the removal of mutilated
branches. Rough–pruners precede the diggers, and bravely trim in the
shrubs for them, so that nothing may be in the way; and then come the
diggers, plunging their spades deeply about plants, shrubs, or trees.
The first shower that occurs after this digging exposes a whole network
of torn–up roots. There is no relief to the spectacle; the same thing
occurs everywhere—in botanic gardens as well as in our large West–end
parks; and year after year is the process repeated.
While such is the case, it will be impossible to have an agreeable
or interesting margin to a shrubbery or plantation. What secrets one
might have in the central hidden portions of these now dug and bare
shrubberies—in the half–shady spots where little colonies of rare
exotic wildlings might have their first introduction to our wild
garden! Of course all the labour required to produce this miserable
result of dug borders is worse than thrown away, as the shrubberies
would do better if let alone, and by utilising the power thus wasted,
we might highly beautify the positions that are now so ugly.
[Illustration: Large White Achilleas spread into wide masses under
shade of trees in shrubbery.]
If we resolve that no annual manuring or digging is to be permitted,
nobody will grudge a thorough preparation at first. When a plantation
of shrubs is quite young it is well to keep the ground open by lightly
stirring it for a year or two. Then the planting should be so arranged
as to defeat the digger. To graduate the vegetation from the taller
subjects behind to the very margin of the grass is of much importance,
and this could be done best by the greater use of dwarf evergreens.
Happily, there is quite enough of these to be had suitable for every
soil. Light, moist, peaty, or sandy soils, where such things as the
sweet–scented Daphne Cneorum would spread forth its dwarf cushions,
would be somewhat more desirable than, say, a stiff clay; but for every
position suitable plants might be found. Look, for example, at what
we could do with the dwarf–green Iberises, Helianthemums, Aubrietias,
Arabises, Alyssums, dwarf shrubs, and little conifers like the creeping
Cedar (Juniperus squamata), and the Tamarix–leaved Juniper, in
spreading groups and colonies. All these are green, and would spread
out into dense wide cushions, covering the margin, rising but little
above the grass, and helping to cut off the formal line which usually
divides margin and border. Behind them we might use other shrubs,
deciduous or evergreen, in endless variety; and of course the margin
should be varied also as regards height.
In one spot we might have a wide–spreading tuft of the prostrate
Savin pushing its graceful evergreen branchlets out over the grass;
in another the dwarf little Cotoneasters might be allowed to form
the front rank, relieved in their turn by pegged–down Roses; and so
on without end. Herbaceous plants, that die down in winter and leave
the ground bare afterwards, should not be assigned any important
position near the front. Evergreen Alpine plants and shrubs, as
before remarked, are perfectly suitable here; but the true herbaceous
type, and the larger bulbs, like Lilies, should be in groups between
spreading shrubs. By so placing them, we should not only secure a far
more satisfactory general effect, but highly improve the aspect of the
herbaceous plants themselves. To carry out such planting properly,
a little more time at first and a great deal more taste than are now
employed would be required; but what a difference in the result! All
that the well–covered borders would require would be an occasional
weeding or thinning, and, in the case of the more select spots, a
little top–dressing with fine soil. Here and there, between and amongst
the plants, such things as Forget–me–nots and Violets, Snowdrops
and Primroses, might be scattered about, so as to give the borders
interest even at the dullest seasons; and thus we should be delivered
from digging and dreariness, and see our once ugly borders alive with
flowers. The chief rule should be—never show the naked earth: clothe
it, and then allow the taller plants to rise in their own way through
the turf or spray. Here is a little sketch of what is meant. A colony
of the white Arabis carpets the ground in which strong hardy Lilies are
growing; and the Lilies are pushing up their bold unfolding shoots. The
latter are none the worse in winter for this light carpet of foliage
over the border; and then for a long time in spring it is bedecked with
white flowers. Indeed, in fairly good seasons it blooms in winter too.
It would take a big book to tell all the charms and merits belonging
to the use of a variety of small plants to carpet the ground beneath
and between those of larger growth. It need hardly be said that this
argument against digging applies to two or three beds of shrubs, and
places where the “shrubbery” is little larger than the dining–room, as
much as to the large country seat, public park, or botanic garden.
[Illustration: Lilies coming up through carpet of White Arabis.]
There are great cultural advantages too, in leaving the whole of the
leaves to nourish the ground and protect it from frost or heat. I
append a note from a correspondent inquiring about what he supposes
practical difficulties, and an answer to them:—
You draw a pretty picture of what a shrubbery border should be and
how it should be kept in winter. There should be no digging, and the
fallen leaves should be left. I fully agree, except as to the leaves.
Theoretically, it seems quite right to allow the leaves to lie and decay
amidst the surrounding plants, but in practice it does not answer. There
are, for instance, in most gardens such things as slugs and snails.
These delight in a leafy covering, and, protected from frost by the
shelter, will prey upon the perennial green leafage and the starting
crowns of the herbaceous plants, and do an immense amount of mischief.
Then there are usually in gardens in winter, especially in hard weather,
blackbirds and thrushes, which in their efforts to obtain food set all
notions of tidiness at defiance. A troop of fowls would hardly turn a
flower border more topsy–turvy than would a few of these birds. The
first storm that came would whirl the disturbed leaves all over the
place, much to the disgust of the cultivator, and the hardy plants would
find that the theory of a natural dressing of leaf manure had broken
down. I detest the forking of borders so common in winter. A moderate
stirring of the surface first with a two or three–tined rake is good,
then a dressing of soot or guano, or both, and over all a thin surfacing
of old pot soil, or the rough screened produce of the rubbish heap,
or, in fact, any kind of refuse soil that may offer. I think that most
cultivators will agree that such a plan would answer better than the
natural, but very inoperative leaf–dressing.—A.
[Illustration: Colony of Narcissus in properly spaced shrubbery.]
How do the swarming herbs of the woods and copses of the world exist in
spite of the slugs? A good protection for them is hard gravel walks and
paths, where they lay their eggs without danger. Against the door one
may do what one likes, but not one leaf would I ever allow removed from
a clump of shrubs or trees on my lawn or in my pleasure ground. I would
prefer the leaves all over the place to a dug border, but I would, if
need be, meet that difficulty by scattering a light dressing of soil
over them. In what I should call a properly managed shrubbery or clump,
with the bushes well spaced, and their branches resting on the ground,
with low shrubs between, and evergreen and other herbs, there are
natural impediments to the leaves rushing about in the way you suppose.
This is a subject of the greatest interest and the utmost practical
importance. Our annual digging mutilation, scraping away of leaves,
and exposing on bare sloppy borders plants that in Nature shelter each
other, and are shielded from bitter frost and burning heat by layers of
fallen leaves, gradually sinking into excellent light surface soil for
the young roots, are ignorant and brutal practices that must be given
up by all who really look into the needs of our hardy garden flora.
With reference to this point, I print this letter from an observer of
what goes on in the woods of New England. Our own woods are full of
lessons, and so it is in all countries. Mr. Falconer’s letter is very
suggestive of the revolution in method which must be carried out in the
gardens of the future:—
I go into the woods in the spring time, and find them carpeted with
Dog’s–tooth Violets, Wood Anemones, blue and purple Hepaticas, Spring
beauty, Trilliums, Blood–root, Star–flowers, False Solomon’s Seal,
Gold Thread, trailing Arbutus, wild Ginger, and a host of other
pretty little flowers, all bright and gay, arising from their bed of
decaying herbage and tree leaves, and many of them are in perfection,
too, before a tree has spread a leaf; and thus they glow and revel in
their cosy bed, fed and sheltered by their tree friends. When their
petals drop and their leaves are mature, the trees expand their leafy
canopy and save the little nurslings from the torture of a scorching
sun. And early as the earliest, too, the outskirts of the woods and
meadows with hosts of Violets are painted blue and white, and speckled
everywhere with Bluets, or little Innocents, as the children call them.
Woodsias, tiny Aspleniums, and other Ferns are unfolding their fronds
along the chinks among the stones; the common Polypody is reaching over
blocks and boulders; and even the exposed rocks, with their rough and
Lichen–bearded faces, are aglow in vernal pride. Every nook and cranny
among them, and little mat of earth upon them are checkered with the
flowery print of the Canada Columbine, the Virginia Saxifrage, and the
glaucous Corydalis. But to the carpet. What can be prettier or more
appropriate than the Partridge–berry (Mitchella repens), the Twin–flower
(Linnæa borealis—does well with us), Creeping Winter Green (Gaultheria
procumbens), Bearberry (Arctostaphylos Uva–Ursi), Cowberry (Vaccinium
Vitis–idæa), Dwarf Cornel (Cornus canadensis), Fringed Polygala (P.
paucifolia), the Common Pipsissewa (Chimaphila umbellata) with its
shining deep green leaves, the Spotted Pipsissewa (C. maculata), the
sombre–hued Pyrola and Galax, and that bright and easily–grown Club Moss
(Lycopodium lucidulum)? Add to these such plants as Winter Aconite,
Apennine Anemone, Creeping Forget–me–not, and the like, together with a
few of the most suitable kinds of the host of bulbous ornamental plants
which we now possess, and our shrubbery carpets may be replete with
garden jewels. It is now generally conceded that shrubs thrive better in
beds whose surface is undisturbed than where it is annually loosened by
digging or pointing. This, coupled with a yearly top–dressing of decayed
leaf–soil or light rich vegetable heap compost, is equally beneficial
for the shrubs and their carpet.
[Illustration: The American White Wood–Lily (Trillium grandiflorum) in
Wild Garden, in wood bottom in leaf–mould.]
“One day last spring, when strolling through the Medford wood, I came
upon an open meadow with a high bank—cleared timber land—on one side.
Adown this bank in a rough and rocky course, came a little stream of
water, bordered on both sides with streaks and patches of Blood–root in
its gayest state. The large and showy blossoms, clasped erect in their
own leaf–vases and sparkling in the sun, while the sward and other
vegetation around were yet dormant, had a cheerful influence indeed.
True, near by in the hollow, the malodorous Skunk Cabbage was rank
in leaf and flower, and the Indian Poke was rushing out its plaited,
broadly oval leaves, and away in the streamlet a few Marsh Marigolds
glittered on the water. But the Blood–root is neither an aquatic nor a
bog plant, but most at home in the leaf–mould beds and linings of rich
woodlands.”
“Hereabout, a little wild flower (Erythronium americanum) more commonly
known as Dog’s–tooth Violet, is a charming plant, with variegated
handsome leaves, and comely flowers in earliest spring. In low copses
in rich deposits of vegetable mould it grows around here in the utmost
profusion. In one place by the side of a wood is a sort of ditch,
which is filled with water in winter but dry in summer, and wherein
is collected a mass of leaf–soil. Here the Erythronium runs riot,
and forms the densest kind of matted sod, all bespeckled with yellow
blossoms before a bush or tree has spread a leaf. Then blackberry
bushes get a growing and sprawling everywhere, the trees expand their
leafy shade, and Grass and weeds grow up and cover the surface of the
earth. But all too late for evil, the Adder’s–tongue’s mission for a
year is ended; it has blossomed, matured, and retired. The next densest
mass I know of is in a low piece of cleared timber land, where, besides
the profusion in the hollow, the carpet extends, thinner as it ascends,
for many yards up the slope of the hill. As garden plants they are at
home anywhere, underneath bushes, or in any out of–the–way corner,
merely praying to be let alone. But what I desire to urge is their
naturalisation in your rich woodlands, where Anemones and Primroses,
Buttercups and Violets, grow up and flower together.”
I cannot better conclude this chapter than by showing one of the most
interesting aspects of vegetation I have ever seen.[1] It was in an
ordinary shrubbery, forming a belt round a botanic garden. In the inner
parts, hidden from the walk probably from want of labour, the digging
had not been carried out for some years. Some roots of the common Myrrh
(Myrrhis odorata), thrown out of the garden in digging, had rooted by
accident and spread into a little colony. The plant grows freely in
any soil. Among the graceful tufts of Myrrh were tall white Harebells,
and the effect of these, standing above the elegant spreading foliage
of the Myrrh in the shade of the trees, was very beautiful. Note
particularly that the front of the shrubbery in which this exquisite
scene was discovered was as stiff and hideous as usual in winter—raw
earth, full of mutilated roots, and shrubs cut in for the convenience
and according to the taste of the diggers. The beds in the botanical
arrangement near were ugly beyond description.
Longleat is one of the first places in which the idea of the wild
garden was practically carried out and ably by the forester, Mr. Berry.
With such a fine variety of surface and soil, the place naturally
offers numerous positions in which the plants of other countries
as cold or colder than our own could be naturalised, or so planted
that they would increase and take care of themselves in the woods.
A forester’s duties and opportunities are generally such as make it
extremely difficult for him to carry out such an idea. To know the
plants even that are likely to succeed is, in itself, a species of
knowledge which every planter does not possess; however, the idea
was clearly understood and carried out well, so far as possible in
the face of rabbits, which are the great destroyers of almost all
flowering ground vegetation. To get the necessary quantities of
subjects necessitated a little nursery in which a sufficient number
could be raised of the more vigorous perennials, bulbs, and climbers.
If this new idea in gardening be carried out on the old dotting
principle of the herbaceous border, its great value and its charming
effects cannot be realised. To do it rightly we must group and mass
as Nature does. Though we may enjoy a single flower or tuft here and
there, the true way is natural fringes and masses of plants, one or two
species prevailing in a given spot; in that way we may secure several
important ends—distinct effects in different places, a variety as we
walk along, and better means of meeting the wants of a plant, inasmuch
as, dealing with a group, or mass, or carpet, we can best observe the
result of our judgment in putting them in any soil or place. Therefore,
although the quantity of vigorous hardy flowers essential for making
good effects in a place of this size has not yet been planted out,
some very charming effects have been obtained. Among the features that
Mr. Berry is working to introduce are vigorous hardy exotic creepers
on old and inferior trees, Thorn, and other bushes of little value.
Many are already planted, but will be some time before they show their
full beauty—among them Japanese and other Honeysuckles, Virginian
Creepers, Clematis, Wistarias, and others. A part of the arboretum
is more particularly devoted to this kind of decoration, and will
eventually form a very wild wood and wild garden, where the Poet’s
Narcissus may be found among Sweet Briers, Lilacs, and many kinds of
fragrant–flowering shrubs and vigorous perennials. While carrying out
the scheme of wild gardening, pure and simple, that is to say, the
naturalisation of foreign hardy plants, opportunity has been taken to
establish beautiful native kinds where they do not happen to be present
in sufficient abundance. Thus the Lily of the Valley has been brought
in quantities and planted in wide–spreading colonies along the drives,
and so have the Meadow Saffron and the Snowflakes and Daffodils.
To group and scatter these in a natural and easy way has required
considerable care, the tendency of the men being invariably, and almost
in spite of themselves, to plant in stiff and set or too regular
masses.
[Illustration: The Lily of the Valley in a copse.]
Few things are more delightful to anybody who cares about hardy
plants than naturalising the Lily of the Valley in pleasant spots
about a country house. It is in every garden, of course, and very
often so crowded and so starved that it seldom flowers well. A bare
garden border is not so suitable for it as that in which it may be
found in a thin wood, or in little openings in a copse, where it
enjoys enough light, and gets shelter too. Frequently the fresh wood
soil would be more welcome to it than the worn–out soil in a garden;
also by planting it in various positions and soils, we may secure an
important difference as regards blooming. In a cool woody place it
would bloom ten days later than in an exposed warm garden border, and
this difference could be increased by carefully selecting the position.
Apart altogether from the wild garden and its charms, this difference
in the time of blooming of the Lily of the Valley would be a great
advantage to all who have to provide cut flowers, inasmuch as it would
give them late bloom in plenty without trouble. However, giving reasons
for the naturalisation of the Lily of the Valley is surely unnecessary.
The only surprising thing is that it has not been done to a large
extent already, because it is so very easy and so very delightful.
Recently a good many different varieties of Lily of the Valley—nearly
as many as twenty—have been collected, and are beginning to be
cultivated by some of our growers of herbaceous plants. The difference
in these is not owing to soil or situation. When grown in the same
place they manifest differences in length of spike and size of foliage;
and also in time of blooming. In some the spike is short, and in others
nearly one foot long. This important fact should, of course, be noted
by any who would, in places where the Lily of the Valley does not grow
wild, interest themselves in establishing it.
There are advantages in wood–culture for many hardy plants—the shelter,
shade, and soil affording for some things conditions more suitable than
our gardens. The warmth of the wood, too, is an advantage, the fallen
leaves helping to protect the plants in all ways. In a hot country
plants that love cool places could be grown in a wood where they would
perish if exposed. Mr. G. F. Wilson has made himself a remarkably
interesting and successful wild garden in a wood, from which he sent
me in the autumn of last year (1880) a flowering stem of the American
Swamp Lily (L. superbum) _eleven feet high_. No such result has ever
been seen in any garden or border of the ordinary type. These Lilies of
his grow in a woody bottom where rich dark soil has gathered, and where
there is shelter and shade.
Placing every plant in one border with the same conditions as to soil
and exposure was a great mistake. A great many beautiful plants haunt
the woods, and we cannot change their nature easily. Even if we should
grow them in open places their bloom will not be so enduring as in
the wood. A curious instance of the advantage of planting in a wood is
at Bodorgan in Anglesey, where a much later bloom was gathered off a
colony of the popular Hoteia japonica, owing to planting it in a cool
wood. A little woodland planting may indeed be worth doing for the sake
of a prolonged or later bloom, even from plants that thrive in sunny
places.
THE ORCHARD WILD GARDEN.
Although three years have elapsed since the illustrations of this book
were commenced, I regret to issue it without a satisfactory one showing
the beauty which may be obtained in the orchard from flowers in the
grass or fences around. In our orchard counties—pity it is that all our
counties are not worthy of the name within the possibilities of their
position and climate—one may now and then see a cloud of Daffodils or
a tuft of Summer Snowflake, enough to suggest what happy places they
would be for many bulbous flowers in the grass.
A WILD ORCHARD.
A correspondent of the “Garden” writes:—
After reading in the “Garden” of November 16, about the Bullace there
named, and the Cranberries, the idea struck me of adding unto our
Orchard in Sussex “a wild Orchard,” with fruit trees such as follows,
viz.—Quince, Medlar, Mulberry, Bullace, Crab, Pyrus Maulei, Barberries,
Blackberries (the large kinds for preserving), Filberts, and in a
suitable place, Cranberries. All these, besides the interest of
cultivating them, would yield fruit for preserving, etc. For instance,
we have old–fashioned receipts for making an excellent Bullace cheese,
Crab jelly, Quince jelly, etc. I venture to trouble you with a view to
asking if you can suggest any other similar fruit–bearing trees or
shrubs, as we should like to carry out our idea well. Our house is in
Sussex, between Midhurst and Haslemere.—C. S. R.
[An excellent idea! There are many fruits which could be grown this
way that people do not usually give space to, and this applies to the
varieties of cultivated fruits, as well as species that are never
cultivated. The natural order to which most of our fruit trees belong
contains many other species, not without merit as fruits, scattered
throughout the temperate regions of the northern world. These trees and
shrubs happen also to be most beautiful of flowering trees and shrubs
in spring, and are well worthy of culture on that account alone. In
Japan, North America, and even the continent of Europe, one frequently
sees fruits that are never seen in our gardens; such fruits will be
quite at home in the wild orchard. For the sake of growing one family
of fruiting bushes alone—the fruiting brambles of America and other
countries—a considerable piece of ground might be profitably devoted.
Even amongst the English wild Blackberries there is considerable
variety and a good deal of unrecognised merit. Such plants can only be
grown fairly where there is considerable space. If so much beauty and
interest, and even good fruit, may be found in one neglected family, it
suggests how interesting the subject is when considered in relation to
the great number of our hardy fruit trees and shrubs. A good feature of
such a garden would be plantations of such Apples and Pears as are most
remarkable for the beauty of their flowers and fruit, some being much
more striking in that respect than others.]