It is customary in Hong Kong for 5 star hotels to have a house fragrance, pumped into lobbies in heady clouds and sold at great expense in the gift shop. However, it’s not often one steps out of a car onto the street in China to be greeted by a similar olfactory experience. In fact quite the reverse. But in Hangzhou, one of northern China’s more elegant and green cities, the autumn air is now delicately infused with the smell of ripe peaches. The plant responsible for this fruity scent is Osmanthus fragrans, known locally as guìhuā (桂花) and in the UK as sweet or fragrant olive. Whilst not sophisticated, the scent is light and youthful, reminiscent of the fragrance used in apricot and peach-scented cosmetics.

The flowering of sweet olive is much celebrated in China, with Hangzhou and Suzhou selecting it as their city flower. Another city, Guilin (translated as ‘forest of sweet osmanthus’) is named after the numerous sweet olives which can be found there. It’s no wonder then that Osmanthus fragrans is used so extensively in China for public landscaping. Even moving at speed along the expressways of Taizhou, the pale orange flowers of Osmanthus fragrans var. aurantiacus are unmistakable, smothering the neatly trimmed bushes at the roadside.

Osmanthus fragrans (photo Apalachee Hills landscape)

All osmanthus species are related to the olive, so the common name is appropriate. For those who, like me, enjoy a bit of latin, the name osmanthus is derived from the Greek ‘osma’, meaning fragrant, and ‘anthos’, meaning flower. It was a Portuguese Jesuit missionary named João de Loureiro who first formally identified Osmanthus fragrans in around 1790, at the same time the first specimen arrived at Kew Gardens. Having been collected in South China the plant did not take well to the English weather and failed to flower well. Today, a specimen can be found in the more clement surroundings of the temperate house at Kew.

Although relatively new to British gardens, sweet olives have been cultivated in China for over 2,500 years, and are still an important part of the culture there. The flowers, in Chinese guì huā 桂花 (literally translated as ‘cinnamon flower’), can be used to make teas (guì huā chá 桂花茶), jams, soups, liqueurs, deserts, confectionery and medicines – a little like our own delicate elderflowers. My colleagues in China told me about a particularly delicious desert made by stuffing a lotus root full of of sticky rice and glazing it with osmanthus jam. In Chinese herbal medicine a tea made from sweet olive bark is used to treat boils and carbuncles, whilst the essential oil is considered to have insect-repelling properties.

Osmanthus fragrans var. aurantiacus (photo Il Giardino)

Osmanthus fragrans naturally occurs in the Eastern Himalaya, through China and into Taiwan and southern Japan, but is now widely planted throughout the warmer parts of Asia, the USA and Europe. In the UK, sweet olive is considered slightly tender, tolerating short spells below 0°C but preferring temperatures a little more on the balmy side. In the south of England a warm wall might offer enough winter protection, otherwise a cool conservatory might be a better choice. The fragrance in a confined space would be superb. Sweet olive is not a small shrub or tree, reaching 12 metres in time. The leaves are green to slightly silvered and the flowers white, cream or pale yellow and insignificant – similar in some ways to Elaeagnus ‘Quicksilver’ . For more of a showy plant, track down the the orange-flowered variant, Osmanthus fragrans var. aurantiacus, a plant your neighbours are very unlikely to have. The flowers’ scent is especially powerful in the evening, so plant close to doors, windows and terraces to get the best from them in late summer and autumn.

The scent that greats me on my return to London is rain on tarmac and damp leaves. Fragrances just as evocative, but that would not fetch a great sum in the hotel gift shops of Hong Kong. I look forward to returning to Hangzhou again next year to experience this scent again, and perhaps track down a pot of osmanthus jam.

The white form of Osmanthus fragrans is available from Burncoose Nurseries in Cornwall.

Spending time in Hong Kong is no great hardship. But after a week in showrooms so crammed with Christmas sparkle that you can almost feel the glitter in your lungs, it is good to get some fresh air.

Hong Kong’s climate is naturally subtropical – warm and humid, but with definite seasons. October temperatures remain well into the 30′s. This is the principal reason why the British colonial elite chose Victoria Peak to build their homes. The higher altitude here means the air is several degrees cooler and fanned by breezes from the surrounding sea.

In the early 1900′s, access to the precipitous peak was a challenge. The British were at the height of their Imperial wealth (New Delhi was well under way at this time) so, resolved to circumnavigate the eminence by building one of the most technically difficult roads in the world. Sir Fredrick Lugard, the 14th Governor of Hong Kong, gave his name to the new carriageway, constructed between 1913 and 1914 at a cost of 50,000 Hong Kong Dollars. A special construction method was chosen, similar to a plank road but using concrete instead of wood. The result was literally ground breaking. Electrical lighting was installed and benches erected along the route, many of which survive. Today, Lugard Road would struggle to handle anything but the lightest modern-day traffic and serves just a handful of prestigious residential properties. Providing the most spectacular views of Hong Kong and its harbour, it is now a much loved circular route for dog walkers, joggers, naturalists and tourists. Being level from start to finish, it’s not uncommon to see the elderly taking a gentle stroll or enjoying the scenery.

But despite its unique leisure value, a boutique hotel development raises the prospect of cars using the narrow route once again. Even as an infrequent visitor to The Peak I can see this is an outrage. A petition has been started to try to save Lugard Road for pedestrians and I did not think twice about signing.

The cool damp air which lingers on The Peak’s steep slopes encourages luxuriant growth throughout the year. Trees tend to be slightly stunted due to the wind and rocky terrain, but the under-storey of shrubs and ferns is rudely green and healthy. Butterflies, the size of small birds, flutter lazily across the pathway, untroubled by walkers. The Peak is home to hundreds of butterfly species, some of them particularly exotic looking but none prepared to stay still enough for me to photograph! During the rainy season, water from The Peak feeds Hong Kong’s reservoirs.

Unlike butterflies, ferns do not move a great deal. Their tenacity makes them ideal Peak residents, seeking out moisture wherever they can and clinging to near-vertical surfaces. The compact fern pictured below has beautiful red-tinged leaves, rather like the autumn ferns (Dryopteris erythrosora) that we grow at home.

Of altogether different stature is the Indian rubber tree, Ficus elastica. A long way from home, The Peak’s population is effectively sterile as there are no suitable pollinating insects in this part of Asia. One tree is so large that it straddles Lugard Road, its long rusty-coloured aerial roots hanging down like a curtain.

Every branch of every tree is colonised by mosses, tiny ferns, orchids and other climbing plants. I couldn’t identify the creeper below, but it clung like iron to the branch as it forged its way up towards the light.

In a towering metropolis such as Hong Kong it is wonderful to find a natural, un-manicured green space like Victoria Peak. The contrast between peaceful green summit, silver-capped skyscrapers, traffic-clogged streets and the famous harbour is unique to this fascinating city. It would be a tragedy if hotel developers were to move in and destroy the peace on even the shortest section of Lugard Road. As is so often the case, the experience of thousands of visitors would be diminished for the benefit of a privileged few.  I hope by the time I visit again the future of the The Peak Trail has been secured for future generations of Hong Kongers and visitors to this remarkable island.

Young Boy, Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda Festival, Inle Lake

It was exactly one year ago that we were in Burma, enjoying a magical holiday in this beautiful, friendly country. Twelve months later my memories are dominated by the great hospitality of the people, fleeting sunsets, gilded temples, monumental Buddhas, chrysanthemums biked down from the hill station at Pyin Oo Lwin and the unforgettable Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda festival on Inle Lake. I look back over my photographs today with many happy memories and a longing for warmth, sunshine and adventure.

Below, some of my favourite portraits of this extraordinary country.

Sunrise over the Shan Hills, Inle Lake

Waterlilies, Inle Lake

Shwezigon Pagoda, Bagan

Traditional Burmese puppet, Bagan

Orchid, National Kandawgyi Gardens, Pyin Oo Lwin

Part of the Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

Mums on wheels! Mandalay

Leg rowers, Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda Festival, Inle Lake

Fallen coconuts, Ngwe Saung beach

Ceremonial barge, Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda Festival, Inle Lake

This year’s autumn is turning out to be a long, drawn-out affair – less rocket, more damp squib.  But whatever the weather, a handful of plants are guaranteed to put on a firework display.  Vitis coignetiae, the crimson glory vine, is among them, a sure-fire hit when it comes to blazing colour.  You’ll need a bit of space to get the best out of this vigorous vine, but it’s perfect for sending scrambling through large trees and shrubs, especially evergreens that will provide a backdrop for the leaves as they change colour.  The textural possibilities are endless – imagine the contrast with blue spruce (Picea pungens), lush tree ferns or a simple red-brick wall.  Alas, one can’t look forward to a crop of grapes, as the berries of Vitis coignetiae are small and bitter, but then, one can’t have everything!

The candy jar has been rather empty of late, so I am topping it up today with pansy ‘Matrix Cassis’, planted in a pot at the edge of our pond in London.  This is a new hybrid series which has been bred for bushiness as well as flowers – the plants are meant to stay compact and nicely branched rather than becoming leggy.  Recently planted, they are still blooming now.  When the cold weather finally comes they’ll take a brief rest until early spring and we’ll be able to enjoy the blackcurrant-stained flowers for several months.

With both gardens almost locked-down for winter it’s time to start writing about some of the places that have not yet made it on to The Frustrated Gardener. These half-forgotten visits are like blogging hay – sweet, fragrant and reminiscent of a time when the earth was warm and the sun high in the heavens – energy packed fodder that will feed my imagination through the cold months ahead.

I need not travel back too far in my memory to recall our last visit to The Salutation, a beautiful Lutyens-designed house and garden in Sandwich, Kent. I am an Lutyens disciple, more so that I am a Jekyll one, principally because Lutyens combined an exceptional eye for tradition and detail with enormous ambition. If I had a spare £4.5M The Salutation would be the perfect purchase, for alas the property is on the market and the future of the garden is once again uncertain.

In the meantime, the garden goes from strength to strength under the leadership of Head Gardener Steve Edney. We visited on a warm day at the end of August, when the borders were alive with bees and the tender perennials were reaching their peak. The Salutation possesses a collection of more than 100 dahlias, which Steve believes to be the largest of any open garden in Kent. At this time of year dahlias are worth ten times the price of their fleshy tubers for sheer flower power. One that caught my eye was bluish-pink D. ‘Lilac Time’, a formal decorative type with dramatically recurved petals.

A new development at the entrance to the garden is a succulent bed. This replaced a display of tender perennials straying over from the border of exotics on the other side of the gateway. In this sunkissed nook basked Aloe vera, Cephalocereus senilis, Agave salmiana and assorted echeverias planted amongst fragrant thyme. In just a small space it was fascinating to see what could be crammed in. This type of feature could work well in a small garden, provided there was somewhere to overwinter the less hardy species.

Visitors approach the magnificent long borders from a path at the side of the house, bounded by lush tropical planting. Bananas, salvias, cannas and gingers abound in this exuberant alleyway giving a genuinely jungly feeling. One of the most impressive of the cannas, C. Iridiflora ehemanii, was dripping with lipstick pink flowers. This plant needs space and shelter, but it’s an absolute beauty and a plant I’d like to find room for one day.

The first glimpse of Lutyens’ master plan for the garden comes next, in the form of two long borders. The planting is inspired by Gertrude Jekyll’s famous style, which involved carefully contrived colour gradations, often from pale to bright and back again. Packed with rudbeckias, heleniums, salvias, echinops and achilleas the scheme was reaching its second crescendo at the end of August. A row of massive holm oaks which shelter the garden create a rain shadow, so anything planted in this part of the garden has to be tolerant of drought.

Hedge trimming is not a garden task I have to contend with, for which I count my blessings. However I greatly admire those that manage to achieve pristine, crisp lines for others to enjoy. The yew hedge surrounding the sundial lawn was getting a professional haircut from this guy, who made it all look so easy.

The borders on either side of the lawn frame the red brick facade of house and were filled with an unusual combination of bedded-out plants in tones of sage green, buff and burgundy. This was a classy look, befitting a classy residence. Each bed was terminated with a statuesque Tetrapanax papyrifer, a plant which never fails to impress. Standing out sharply against the dark yew, its architectural form was nicely softened by a mass of swaying grasses.

Sheltering in the lee of the principle facade we found Hedychium ‘Tara’, a ginger which I consider to have more attractive flowers than H. ‘Stephen’. The flower heads are somehow fuller and the colouring more showy – if you are growing gingers then you are not generally looking for subtlety.

If sublime architecture and beautiful flowers are not enough for you. Then The Salutation can usually be relied on for a intriguing display of sculpture. If there was any information about these carefully hewn sandstone forms then I missed it, but they made an interesting feature, complementing the carved details of Lutyens’s house.

Surviving from last year’s installation were three grassy islands enveloping Paul Cummins’ ‘Ceramic Roses’. The stems of the flowers had rusted, which suited the antique tones of the porcelain blooms. I wasn’t sure I liked this piece when I first saw it, but with age, and amongst the tawny grasses, it has settled into the garden nicely.

I hope The Salutation will find a wealthy, sympathetic new owner and that we’ll be able to return again and again to witness the quiet evolution of this unique garden.

Follow these links to read about different aspects of The Salutation.

July 2012 Part 1
July 2012 Part 2

I spent yesterday touring the garden centres of Holland, looking for Christmas inspiration. I found it in spades, from delicious Oliebollen (literally oil-balls, rather like a spherical doughnut spiked with raisins), to magnificent displays of poinsettia, orchids and Christmas trees. What was especially lovely was the range of natural materials for sale – holly berries, conifer branches, pine cones and moss, presented here in crates of assorted varieties. Compared to the UK the prices were exceptionally low, making me wish I could transport some of these goodies home to satisfy my own creativity.

In an unusual turn of events, I am sitting still today even though there are more important things I should be doing. I am not poorly, but I am out of steam after two weeks of globetrotting.  Today is an essential recovery day before the final Christmas push. Happily the sun in shining into the living room and I am enveloped by the overwhelming fragrance of paperwhite narcissi, in their prime ten days too soon.  Who cares? They are fabulous!

The highlight of last week (and there were many contenders) was a day touring Dutch garden centres looking for Christmas inspiration. In the Low Countries, garden centres are on the scale of IKEA, dwarfing anything we’re accustomed to in the UK. House plants are very much treated as temporary decoration rather than something precious to be nurtured (or tortured) for months and years.  The range is enormous. We were treated to beautifully presented displays of cyclamen, poinsettia, Phalenopsis, Kalanchoe, Spathiphyllum, begonias and ferns.

Plants were extremely well priced, most around 3 Euros a pop.  If I’d had a means of transporting them home, I’d have bought trolley-loads.  Some were planted up in mixed containers and dusted with glitter and snow.  This sort of abomination normally makes me cringe, but wicker baskets filled with blush-pink hellebores, variegated Skimmia and snowy Picea were just about acceptable …. without the Welcome sign.

Freshly made wreaths, lush moss and resinous pine-cones were packed into little crates and neatly stacked, awaiting Christmas shoppers.  The sheer volume of stock was quite incredible given the number of customers.  The Christmas rush starts much later in Holland.  A wreath of berries, and what looked very much like tomatoes, was calling out to me to give it a home.

Equally tempting were banks of cut stems, fresh and dried, for making Christmas arrangements.  Three generous bundles could be purchased for 5 Euros – the makings of a substantial display.  Denied access to these treasures, I instead bought some glass baubles painted with Delft-style windmills in blue and white – admittedly tacky (and sadly made in China), but not something you find everyday.

There end my travels for 2013, except a trip to Peterborough next week, which will be something of comedown after New York, Paris, London and Amsterdam!

This Christmas our friends Travis and Beth at Trevoole sent us a copy of ‘Dear Friend and Gardener’, a collection of correspondence between distinguished gardeners Beth Chatto and the late, great Christopher Lloyd.  I got stuck in immediately, relishing the robust exchange of opinions on such matters as organic gardening, whether to water during a drought and how much is too much to pay for a snowdrop bulb.  It’s an emminently entertaining book and one which I shan’t put down until it’s finished, save to write this post.  I can’t imagine why I haven’t got around to reading it before, but I could say that of many worthy books!

One thing that Beth and Christo agreed on was the joy of seeking out little details in the garden during winter.  Through the rest of the year there is so much to appreciate that it’s easy to overlook the minutiae, but during the colder months the smallest things can bring disproporionate pleasure.

With such thoughts in my mind and the zoom lens attached we set off for Hampstead, eager to walk off the excesses of Christmas Day.  This lengthy perambulation is now something of a tradition, as is the gloomy weather which seems synonymous with Boxing Day in London.  For those of you less familiar with this part of the capital, Highgate (where we live) and Hampstead are two historic villages separated by an expansive heath, on high ground just north of the city.  Although evidently managed, Hampstead Heath is about as natural as things get in this urban area, a refuge for birds and home to some magnificent old trees.  Both Highgate and Hampstead are decidedly well-to-do and have attracted for artists (such as John Constable), politicians and the wealthy over the centuries.

This morning the muddy paths across the heath were packed with the Panettone munching, Sauvignon Blanc swilling, labradoddle owning middle classes, all on a similar mission to ourselves.  We joined their nicely brought-up children feeding the wildfowl (and thieving gulls), including this charming tufted duck.

In terms of little details much of the action was going on above our heads. A mild start to winter means the birds have not yet stripped all the berries, crab apples and hips from the trees and bushes.  Against a limpid sky the glossy fruits stood out like tiny jewels.  There were a few casualties during the recent storms, mainly ash and birch.  Much too young to die was a juvenille turkey oak, still holding onto its russet leaves, prostrated across a pathway.  Even amongst the decaying leaves and tree stumps there was something to look at, in the form of little fungi feasting on the rotting wood.

We left the soggy heath at Well Walk.  It was in this genteel, tree-lined street that John Keats wrote “Endymion” which famously begins with the line “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever”.

The houses of Hampstead each had fine Christmas trees in their windows and extravagant wreaths adorning their handsome front doors.  This pretty combination of eucalyptus, lavender and pine cones looked especially chic against black gloss paintwork.

Much is made of lists of plants in bloom on New Year’s Day, but as I expect to be nursing a hangover, I carried out my unofficial survey today.  On our walk I spotted yellow Meconopis cambrica, campanulas, centaureas, penstemons, fuchsias, wallflowers, roses and diascias, hanging on for dear life.  All shared a kind of drenched, sallow look, as if waiting for the end to come.  Wearing its winter pallor with aplomb was this hydrangea, one of the few flowers which really knows how to grow old gracefully.

Back to berries, an excellent alternative to all the fiery reds, oranges and yellows was Sorbus hupehensis, the Hubei Rowan.  At close quarters the fruits were the colour of a spotty teenager’s skin, but from a distance they appeared delicate, pretty and even striking against a dark background.  

Surprised at the variety of plants and trees which were still in good shape at the turn of the year we neared home again.   A large tree (as yet unidentified) gave us false hope of an early spring, its pale green seeds caught in a shaft of weak sunlight.  They looked for all the world like new leaves.  It will be a good three or four months before this comes to pass, but in the meantime we can look forward to many little details including snowdrops, aconites, cyclamen and crocuses – maybe not as impressive as summer’s bounty, but sufficient rations to keep us gardeners going through the depths of January and February.

When I wrote my equivalent post this time last year, I thought 2012 was a momentous year, but reflecting on 2013 I find the last twelve months have more than measured up.  I celebrated my 40th Birthday and over the course of the year visited 10 countries, including Nepal, India, China and Bhutan, the Land of the Thunder Dragon.  Our journey to Bhutan is one I will never forget and alongside Madagascar goes down as my most remarkable destination yet.  With Him Indoors, I visited UK gardens from Wallington in Northumberland down to Trevoole in Cornwall and a great many in between – still the list of future gardens to visit grows longer!  Meanwhile, the blog adopted a new theme (Further) in March and seemed to gain followers overnight, much to my delight – it’s nice to be noticed.  Eighteen months down the line, I am chuffed to have 175 followers, plus all the other people who check in via Facebook, Twitter etc. Thank you all – it makes the effort worthwhile.

Boudhanath Stupa, the largest in Nepal and the holiest Tibetan Buddhist temple outside Tibet.

As for 2014, I am more or less prepared for the year ahead.  We are looking forward to opening our tiny garden for the National Garden Scheme on August 2nd and 3rd.  There’s nothing like a deadline to galvanise me into action and already the seed and plant catalogues are stacking up on the coffee table, begging for attention.  I am happy to be travelling less, giving me more time for both our gardens and visiting others – not to mention my friends, some of whom I have neglected recently.  Will 2014 be another warm summer I wonder?  Perhaps this is tempting fate, but it would be nice to think so.

Before embarking on another year packed with wonderful plants, sublime gardens and happy blogging, here’s the very best of The Frustrated Gardener’s 2013.

The highest point we reached by road in Bhutan, the pass at Chele La.

No sooner did the year begin than I turned 40 – gracefully of course. We had a lovely party and I managed to draw the celebrations out for weeks. The snow helped by cutting off the venue for my family party in beautiful Bibury (featured image), delaying our gathering until the snow thawed.

Still chilly in March, our first garden visit of the year was to Goodnestone Park, a lovely Kentish garden which features frequently in this blog and has a special place in my affections.  The sharp pink of this plum blossom lit up the woodland on a otherwise gloomy day.

Then, before we knew it, it was Easter and our trip to Nepal, Bhutan and India beckoned.  Bhutan for me was a pilgrimage.  This tiny kingdom, covered by forests and snow, is like no other place in the world.  Bhutan’s natural beauty, impressive biodiversity and unique culture make it extraordinary in every way.  If you are tired of life then go there.  You’ll discover there’s a different way of inhabiting this earth that we might all learn from.

Phunaka Dzong (monastery) and the Mo Chhu (mother river) from above.

On the road we encountered a host of rare and not so rare plants , but what set the experience apart was seeing them all growing in their natural habitat.  Rhododendrons and magnolias abounded, but it was common-or-garden Primula denticulata that remains etched on my mind, its tiny drumstick flowers carpeting damp meadows and valleys wherever we wandered.

Primula denticulata, one of millions we enjoyed in Bhutan

No visit to Bhutan is complete without a visit to the famous Tiger’s Nest. I made it far enough to take this picture but then vertigo took hold and I couldn’t face the last hour’s trek to the monastery itself.  It was no matter, this stunning glimpse between the prayer flags was enough for me.

Spring had very kindly put itself on hold for our return, so we got to witness some of most sensational displays of rhododendrons and azaleas I have ever seen. At Sandling Park the deciduous azaleas were making up for lost time and boy were they bonny! The bare-stemmed bushes were bursting with flowers in every shade from bright white to blood red with every shade and hue in between.

Our entire spring seemed to be defined by rhododendrons, and there were yet more jewel-bright flowers to enjoy at the Savill Garden in Berkshire. However the stars of the show were Lysichiton camtschatcensis, the Asian skunk cabbage, and its US cousin L. americium, surging up through the boggy ground.

Both Chelsea (chilly) and Hampton Court (scorching) impressed in 2013.  As always I bypassed the show gardens to reach the floral marquees, where the real gems are to be found.  With a new patch of our London garden in the planning I was, for once, in the market for some new plants.  My favourite Chelsea exhibit was staged by Kevock Garden Plants of Midlothian – packed with pretty meconopsis, primulas and trilliums.

Looking back there have been thousands of photographs that never made in into a post, including this one of some imaginative floral artistry at this year’s centenary show.   I hope to present some of my favourite flower portraits in a post early in the New Year.

In late in May we enjoyed a week away at Leckford Abbas, once the home of retailer John Lewis. The house is nothing to write home about but the gardens are, quite simply, sensational. Longstock Park Water Gardens are renowned as being amongst the best in the world and never disappoint. The standards of horticulture and plantsmanship are outstanding. As a lover of colour, I find the dazzlingly rhododendrons and candelabra primulas reflected in the water wonderfully uplifting.

At nearby Mottisfont Abbey most of the famous roses were still firmly in bud, but Him Indoors joined the irises, tulips and early perennials basking in the sunshine. Believe it or not this photograph was not posed.

Late July saw us in Northumberland, a county I have wrongly overlooked until now. We visited two completely different gardens, The National Trust’s Wallington and Herterton, a private garden on a more intimate scale. I lusted after Wallington’s Edwardian conservatory packed with exotica, including an enormous Sparmannia africana which would have dwarfed the sickly creature that resides in our London flat.

Neptune’s fine derrière did not go unappreciated either!

At Herterton, in squally rain, we we were greeted on the gravel drive by Frank Lawley. With his wife Marjorie, Mr Lawley created this beautiful garden over four decades. I came away, wedged into the passenger seat of our sports car surrounded by freshly dug plants, wrapped in newspaper. A small price to pay for such well cultivated treasures.

Biggest personal achievement of the year (and a rare joint effort between Him Indoors and myself) was the long overdue replacement of our boggy London lawn with something more appropriate – a shade garden. It might not look much, but it involved a lot of blood, sweat, tears and Cumbrian compost. Planting up during August is not something I’d normally advocate, but the weather was kind to us and by late autumn everything was growing away nicely. Next year we must renovate the decking area – the list of jobs never ends!

In the pot, my new favourite Lily, Lilium ‘Red Velvet’.

Once again we spent the end of August with our friends at Trevoole Farm in Cornwall. Trevoole is a magical place, as an increasing number of visitors are discovering. It’s not a place to see high horticulture, but if you are a lover of vintage, great food and unfussy, practical gardening, then you’d be in your element. I had great fun arranging armfuls of cosmos, dahlias and asters for one of Trevoole’s regular Thursday open days, supporting the National Gardens Scheme. It was on this visit that we were encouraged to follow suit in 2014.  Clicking here will take you to Trevoole’s own WordPress blog.

Cornwall is my ancestral home and any time spent there is precious time. We were blessed with fine weather – good enough for a spell on the beach at Kynance Cove (below) complete with surfboards and sandy sandwiches.

A third visit to India followed, this time for work. I love my time in India, mainly because of the food and the people. One has to look beyond the poverty to see the great tapestry of the subcontinent, riddled with abandonded cities, fascinating religions and beautiful scenery. Sadly I usually feel I am missing out on the real India during these short business trips, although a visit to the Taj Mahal was a welcome diversion. I stayed at The Trident in Gurgaon, a hotel set in the most gloriously impressive grounds. Alas there was no time to plunge into that mirror-like pool. Maybe next time.

I had just two weeks in the UK before jetting off again, but it was long enough to enjoy something of autumn’s splendours. Back at Goodnestone Park the walled garden was buzzing with bees, feasting around a blazing bonfire of heleniums, rudbekias and asters. Yellow and purple has to be one of my favourite flower colours combinations particularly in autumn.

Lest I forget our own coastal garden, it is adapting well to increasing shade as our trees mature. Having been transplanted in spring, our Agapanthus africanus came good and gave us almost 80 flower heads. I’m not sure what I need to do to guarantee a repeat of this next year, but on occasion we’ve enjoyed up to 100.  In the foreground are Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’, Fuchsia arborescens and Eucomis bicolour, all pot grown.

December went by like a winter whirlwind. In Paris, we enjoyed a surprisingly warm day, the sun turning the poplars on the banks of River Seine into golden torches….

and before we knew it, it was Christmas. And a very good one it was too. In between eating, drinking and socialising we got out for a walk across the heath to Hampstead, enjoying a cornucopia of crab apples and other bright berries. Between Christmas and New Year we got to stretch our legs once more at Minnis Bay on the Isle of Thanet, listening to the oyster catchers and watching the sunlight dancing in the reeds (below).

So, that was the year that was. By my own standards it a was a busy and sometimes challenging one. Looking back there was much to be grateful for and many happy memories in the making.  If 2014 is as glorious I shall be a very happy man.

To all my followers, thank you for entertaining me with your own beautiful blogs and for looking in on mine. I wish you all a very Happy New Year and a frustration-free 2014.

The last plant I expected to be blooming over the New Year was Geranium maderense, the Maderia Cranesbill.  Clearly confused, a few shocking-pink flowers are braving the elements, sheltered below an umbrella of huge glossy leaves.  The foliage is faring less well.  Nestled in a gap by the front steps the leaves are in the way of booted feet, pushchairs and howling gales, so have been duly shredded.  If the poor plant can survive the remainder of the winter we should enjoy a wonderful candy-coloured cloud of flowers come April.  Having lost plants every winter for the last five years, it makes me wonder whether we should try again with these dazzling divas in other parts of the garden.

It was with some trepidation that I searched this blog for my last batch of New Year’s resolutions. Naturally I have been observing them fastidiously, reviewing my performance at regular intervals and setting new, higher targets. Alas, only in my dreams.

As it happens, I have not done too shamefully. My plant kleptomania was curbed, if not hobbled, by lack of space and the redesign of our London garden. Then came the ultimate gardening joy – bare earth to fill, presenting me with a genuine license to shop. And shopping is something I do exceedingly well. This year will offer fewer opportunities to expand my plant collection, so “less is more” will begrudgingly have to remain my mantra through 2014.

A major success was my quest to visit more gardens. This was a joy for me but wearying for Him Indoors, to whom all gardens look alike. The list included old favourites Castle Drogo and The Salutation, as well as new-found gems Herterton and Houghton Lodge. It seems the more gardens one visits the more come to mind that need adding to the rosta. This year’s wish list includes Sarah Raven’s Perch Hill, Beth Chatto’s garden in Essex and the late Christopher Lloyd’s Great Dixter in East Sussex.

Books have once again stacked up, waiting for the day when I break a leg, get the sack or retire. Only one of these options is appealing, and that's twenty years off. I will doubtless continue to accumulate glossy, fascinating tomes for that illusive rainy day. It will not help that I have subscribed to two additional gardening magazines this year, Gardens Illustrated and The English Garden. These are unadulterated gardening porn, distracting me from the serious business of proper reading, but how addictive they can be!

I also vowed to be a better gardener in 2013. Quite how I intended to judge this I don't know, but I have certainly learnt more, enquired freely and tried new things out. Gardening has a never-ending horizon. It's an equation with so many variables that the outcome is never predictable. That's why we love it so.

What does this leave me to aim for in 2014? To begin with, I mean to embrace my new-found interest in our London garden and make it something I can be proud of. For this summer I am devising plantings which will come into their own in the evening, using pale colours and fragrant flowers. The decked area, currently green and slippery, will also be renovated with a raised bed added for herbs and salad vegetables.

I am also committing to make more considered decisions about which plants to keep and what to plant where. A riot of colour is all very well, but when two plants really complement one another their impact is more than doubled. A case in point emerged when I grouped together our Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’ and Eucomis bicolor this autumn. The dark leaves of the Aeonium picked up the purplish flecks in the flowers and stems of the Eucomis brilliantly, whilst the apple green leaves and pineapple tufts of the Eucomis added tropical flair to the relationship. This is a colour association I hope to rekindle in spring, with a combination of Tulipa ‘Spring Green’ and T. ‘Queen of the Night’.

2014 will also be a year when big jobs need to be tackled. Our coastal garden is coming up to six years old. There’s paintwork to be refreshed and the raised borders urgently need digging out and replanting. Both jobs have been put off one too many times, but with our open days in August they will need to be crossed off the list as soon as spring arrives.

Meanwhile, I am keen to extend the reach, interest and variety of this blog. All suggestions welcome. I will be trying to reconnect a little with the world of landscape architecture, and to find out more about the people behind the gardens I visit, through interviews and correspondence. I must also strive to improve my writing and photography skills, which I persistently feel are lacking. I should perhaps begin by actually reading the manual for my camera!

Lest I end on a downbeat, 2014 does feel instinctively like it should be a good year for life, for gardening and for The Frustrated Gardener. I hope this proves to be the same for all my readers.

Our flying visit to Cornwall was punctuated by heavy showers and sunny spells. Farmland around St Agnes was sodden, little tin streams swollen and beaches stripped bare by the storm tides. But where there was shelter one could still find the odd red campion (Silene dioica) in bloom and the curious vanilla scented flowers of the winter heliotrope (Petasites fragrans). The rounded leaves emerge shortly before pale pink flowers, which stand proud against the elements. Petasites fragrans is particularly easy to spot in winter, forming swathes of cool green against an otherwise dull backdrop of last year’s tired foliage and charcoal-grey hedgerows.

I have loved a great many aeoniums, and lost a few too. Not to frost, which is is their main enemy in UK gardens, but to lack of sunshine and a mysterious, munching caterpillar. Back at home in Broadstairs they demand some winter protection indoors, which invariably results in pale, anaemic leaves. These are quickly restored to their former waxy brilliance when summer comes around again. However down in St Ives, Cornwall, aeoniums flourish outdoors all year round, sending forth their tight rosettes from walls, pots and window boxes. Despite some of the harshest storms in living memory, the town’s population of A. cuneatum, A. undulatum and A. arboreum have made it through to January looking as lush and vigorous as ever.

Aeoniums are native to the Canary Islands, where they are accustomed to a battering from Atlantic gales. They grow slowly, their rate of progress clearly marked by dense leaf scars on their sturdy stems. In Ancient Greek the word aionos, meaning ageless, gives this drought tolerant plant its name. Cornish aeoniums do not have to concern themselves with lack of water, but look splendid spangled with salty raindrops.  St Ives is famed for its exquisite light, which is perhaps why these sun-worshippers thrive as well in the town’s shady alleyways as they do on the seafront. Compact, juicy and verdant they beat all my efforts to cultivate them hands down, hence my aeonium envy.

We do not get back to Cornwall often enough, but the arrival of my sister’s new baby spurred us into making the five hour journey to the far South West of England by train. During our flying visit we had time to get over to Trevoole Farm, where our friends Beth and Travis have been doing anything other than hibernating.  The restoration work on the unique roundhouse (top of post) has continued apace, creating a stunning new living space.  The walls of the double-height room will be punctuated by reclaimed sash windows and lined with Beth’s enviable collection of vintage books.  The cart house next door already has a mezzanine floor and splendid glazed doors, which give the building the air of a fine old garage.  One can be sure it will look amazing when it’s finished.

Outside, there are some interesting new spaces in the making.  A sunken terrace, perfect for shade-loving ferns and alpines, is shaping up nicely outside the roundhouse.  Already, primulas and thrift are peeping from between hefty chunks of granite, many unearthed during the building work.  A cobbled gully will carry excess water from the garden between the two renovated buildings, straddled by a huge stone slab.  The opportunities for artistic garden-making are there for the taking.  If I know Beth she will take full advantage, employing more gardenalia to complete compositions like the one above.  Never have last-year’s fern fronds looked more alluring!

In exactly a month I will be back in Cornwall for the Bosvigo Hellebore Day, 2014′s second opportunity to indulge in wanton plant purchasing after the RHS London Plant & Design Show on February 21st and 22nd.

Read more about the painstaking restoration of the carthouse and roundhouse on Trevoole’s own WordPress blog.

To call this winter a wash-out would be something of an understatement. Parts of the country have experienced double the average amount of rainfall and vast swathes of countryside are still under water.

When the rain stops and the sun comes out, as it did last Sunday afternoon, it is cause for much celebration. We had been cooped up indoors all weekend when the clouds briefly cleared to reveal Broadstairs in dazzling technicolour.  On went the boots and out we sped to join other hardy Thanetians on the seafront.

By 3pm the sun was already low in the sky, creating long shadows and bold contrasts. Where rays of light found their target, details were picked out with extraordinary clarity, the blues, reds and whites given an amazing richness. The sand (what’s left of it after a series of tidal surges) was rendered the colour of toffee, swept clear of pebbles and seaweed.

The cliffs between Broadstairs and Ramsgate have experienced a number of minor rock falls this winter.  Thankfully they are nothing like those that we watched on television around the coast of Norfolk and Sussex, where homes were lost to the sea.  In the photograph above, Him Indoors hunts unsuccessfully for fossils.  Thanet’s chalk cliffs are renowned for their petrified sea urchins, sponges and corals, but we have never found any.  If we are honest we are not all that sure what we are looking for!

For hungry birds there are still berries in abundance.  These windswept cotoneasters were laden with fruit, clearly not to the liking of seabirds and sparrows.  Again, the blues and reds in this scene were wonderfully saturated.  As the sun started to approach the horizon it was time to turn back, get the wood burner lit and put our feet up with a pile of seed catalogues before the next storm hit.

Along with ducks, umbrella salesmen and water companies, mosses are among the few things enjoying this frightful spell of wet weather. The rain brings them out in all their spongy, hummocky, emerald-green glory. Above, I photographed a cluster clinging to the banks of a canal in Bruges, sparkling against the chill water.

Mosses are wonderful things, requiring no cultivation as such and occupying places where little else will grow. They abhor nutrient-rich soils, making them ideal for impoverished situations. Mosses are at their best clinging to walls and branches, or covering woodland floors with undulating carpets of glistening green. The Japanese fathomed this out many centuries ago, allowing moss to take centre stage in their gardens, covering lanterns, rocks and trees, and lending an instant air of antiquity. The UK and Japan enjoy similar maritime climates, so it’s perhaps surprising that we don’t utilise them in British gardens more. As a foil for spring bulbs mosses are second-to-none, providing insulation, decoration and protection from foraging animals.

Mosses can, of course, make a nuisance of themselves. In lawns they crowd-out grasses and quickly turn a fine sward into a trampoline. On roofs they look pretty but will block gutters when dislodged by birds, which love to pick them over in search of food. Nevertheless, mosses are incredible at surviving periods of drought, retreating into themselves but reviving immediately there’s any sign of moisture in the air. Even a prolonged sea mist can be enough to revitalise them. Mosses are proven to remove pollutants such as ammonia and nitrates from the atmosphere, synthesising these nasties for their own means. On balance, I view mosses as truly miraculous plants, deserving of a place in gardens traditional and modern.

Like a bemused child that has awoken with a start, the blushing, innocent flowers of Schizostylis ‘Pink Princess’ have opened their eyes during the midst of our watery winter. Kaffir lilies, as they are commonly known, have normally gone to sleep by Christmas, their flowers deterred by frost. This year they have merely been snoozing, with one eye on the lengthening days that lead towards to spring.  Quite what has roused them, other than the sound of thundering rain, I don’t know, but they are sight for sore eyes. Sheltering in pots in the lee of our wall they have avoided complete saturation and perhaps been prompted into bloom by warmth from the building. With the garden as sodden as I have ever seen it, the soil drummed down and compacted by the rain, these surprisingly robust flowers are an absolute joy to behold.  More flower stalks suggest there will be further blooms to come. Long may they continue to stay awake, even if they do have to endure another drenching and battering tonight.

Read another post about Schizostylis coccinea

Plunging down a steep lane at the edge of the cathedral city of Truro, one arrives at Bosvigo. This two acre garden surrounding a beautiful 17th century house is one of Cornwall’s most unique; not because of its relatively small size, but because its seasonal focus, until recently, has been summer rather than spring. Bosvigo’s stunning ‘hot’ garden is etched on my memory from the days when I was beginning to get into serious gardening. At that time Wendy Perry, who has gardened here since 1969, ran a perennial nursery which provided a great deal of material for my first forays into planting design. The stock was always of exceptional quality and was never offered for sale unless in mint condition. As a gardener, Wendy has always an exceptional eye, creating colour-themed gardens that the great Vita Sackville-West would surely have approved of, but on a more intimate scale.

Since my earliest visits a different part of the garden has come to the fore, the woodland garden. Here Wendy has created a tapestry of foliage and flowers in the shade beneath mature beech and ash trees. The planting is choice and the positioning artful; informal beds provide the canvas for a palette of epimediums, pulmonarias, erythroniums, primulas, wood anemones and spring bulbs such as scillas and Crocus tommasinianus var. ‘Roseus’.

Of all the woodland flowers, the one that has really captured Wendy’s heart is the hellebore; so much so that the nursery is now devoted entirely to breeding and cultivating these hardy harbingers of spring. Wendy’s breeding programme aims to create new hybrids with shorter, sturdier stems (ideal for exposed Cornish gardens) and good clear colours. Bosvigo is now synonymous with a strong seed strain of doubles, which includes anemone-flowered and lavishly ruffled varieties. When choosing a hellebore Wendy recommends looking for flowers that are held aloft on the stems, with good colouring, pretty markings and all carried on a healthy plant. Mulching every year with leaf mould, spent potting compost or farmyard manure will encourage plants to form large clumps, which should only be divided if overcrowded or needed elsewhere in the garden.

Bosvigo’s one-and-only Hellebore Day in 2014 is this coming Saturday, February 22nd. There will be between 500 and 700 plants for sale and I’m assured they’ll all be gone by the end of the day. Wendy offers only plants that are in full bloom so that visitors can make an informed choice. The proceeds from the event help with the upkeep of the garden and support the work of ShelterBox, a Cornish charity that supplies emergency boxes to people affected by major global disasters. The gates open at 9.30am (I am told the queue starts then, so get there early!) and sales commence at 10am. The gardens close at 4pm, so even if you’re not in the market for a hellebore (really?) then come along and simply enjoy the flowers and delicious home-made refreshments. The Frustrated Gardener plans to be there, so look out next week for news and photographs from the day, and hopefully a few wise words from Wendy herself.

All photographs courtesy of Wendy and Will Perry.

Click here for further details on Bosvigo’s own website 

One might consider it wise to steer well clear of any plant with a latin name ending foetidus or foetidissima. After all the epithet means bad-smelling, or having a fetid odour; something most of us could live without in our gardens. Anyone with dry shade should think again, as this would exclude two terrific plants which offer year-round interest, if not excitement, Helleborus foetidus and Iris foetidissima. Helleborus foetidus, pictured above, is otherwise known as the stinking hellebore; a tough, architectural plant that produces flowers from the depths of winter until early spring. Iris foetidissima, better known as stinking gladwin, has a peculiar scent when crushed, described as ‘beefy’. Track down the unusual pale-gold form, Iris foetidissima var. citrina. In winter you’ll also be rewarded with bright capsules of plump, scarlet seeds. Left undisturbed neither plant will offend your nostrils, but will repay with evergreen foliage and plentiful seedlings for sharing with friends ….. and enemies!