Although the tree mallow (Malva or Lavatera arborea) is quite a scruffy plant, its flower are stunning.
Tree mallow flower
They’re easily as beautiful as the flowers of more exotic hibiscuses, to which they are related.
Not only are the flowers beautiful, and loved by bees, but the tree mallow also presents them very carefully. The tightly wrapped, pointed buds open into the flower for just a few hours.
Mallow flowerbud – tightly wrapped and pointed
The tree mallow then re-wraps the petals into a tidy little tube, before dropping them on the ground.
A finished mallow flower that is being rolled back up again (no point at the tip and the sepals pushed back)And this picture shows all stages – unopened bud, fully open flower, re-furling flower, and the more bluey coloured petal tubes are just about to drop.
Several of the tree mallows in my garden died this winter – the temperature was never very low, but there were enough cold nights to wear the mallows out. For me, if the temperature is lower than +3C (i.e. not even an official frost) for more than a few nights in close succession, the larger plants will give up. First they droop their leaves, as though to protect the buds; but if conditions don’t improve, they die.
Nevertheless, there are always lots of up-and-coming youngsters ready to take over. And they grow from a couple of inches to full tree size, covered with flowers, in just a few weeks.
Incidentally, rabbits love mallow leaves and they’re said to be soothing for their digestion. They’re also edible for humans, but I’ve never tried them. Even the seeds are edible too.
The first plants to flower in the fruit garden are the gooseberries. They’re just coming into full flower now – which is about usual; anytime after the first week of March will see the first flowers opening here.
Gooseberry flower
The flowers are quite discreet and un-showy. It always surprises me that there are enough insects around to pollinate them; but there always are. Mostly, the gooseberries seem to be pollinated by little solitary bees. That in itself seems reason enough to grow the bushes, just to feed the solitary bees. But I also love gooseberries, so it’s a win-win situation.
Gooseberry flower bud just about to burst open.
I couldn’t get a picture of the bees on the gooseberry bushes. The bees are very frenetic zooming all around the bush and barely settling on a flower before they dart off again. But, frequently, they move away from the bushes and settle on a fence post or something, seemingly to sun themselves, and to fight with other bees of the same species if they come near.
Here is one of the bees – the white on its face is a fluffy moustache. I think it is a red mason bee (Osmia bicornis) but am not at all certain. (It is sitting on the leaf of a strawberry tree.)Here’s another of the bees. It is sitting on a one-inch stake, alongside some very weathered cotton twine, so that gives a good idea of how dinky it is
I read once that God created gooseberries for where grapes wouldn’t grow. But I can’t find that quote again now. It seems quite apt. And although gooseberries tend to be thought of as very tart, if they ripen long enough on the bush they can become very sweet – certainly sweet enough to eat straight from the bush just like a grape.
Also in full flower now is the gooseberry’s relative, the flowering currant (Ribes sanguinium).
Flowering currant in bloom
In contrast to the gooseberry, the flowering currant flowers are showy, strongly scented, and very abundant. The flowering currant also differs from the gooseberries in its pollinators: the flowering currant bushes are buzzing with honey bees and bumble bees.
Flowering currant and honey bee
Again, that seems reason enough to grow the bushes, just to feed the bees (well, the wild bees anyway – I’m ambivalent, at best, about farmed honey bees). But again, I love the bushes: they’re the first bright show of colour after the long, dark days of winter. So, they’re another win-win shrub.
Another ribes flower, another bee
Incidentally, the flowering currant is quite late to flower here this year, possibly because the winter has been so mild. It can come into flower at anytime from mid January to early March in this area, depending on the weather conditions.
It’s nearly November, but the nasturtiums are still flowering prolifically.
Nasturtium flower
There are even a few caterpillars of the white butterflies still chomping away optimistically on the nasturtium leaves
Large white butterfly caterpillar
Earlier this year (April) I was given some seeds for Alpine Strawberries and I planted them without much care or expectation. They have thrived under this neglect and have been fruiting since August; perfect timing to complement the end of my main strawberry crop. The fruits aren’t quite as nice as the true wild strawberries (which fruit here in June), but they’re very nice nevertheless.
Alpine strawberry
Another gift that thrives from neglect is a clump of Miscanthus x giganteus I was given years ago. This is the hybrid Miscanthus that is used by farmers as an energy crop, but it works well as a backdrop or screening plant in a garden. It grows from nothing to eight feet tall each year and flowers very late (but not usually this late). The dead stems will usually stand the winter and provide a favourite spot for insects and spiders to shelter in during the colder months.
Miscanthus x giganteus flower
I chop the Miscanthus stems down each spring and then use the stems as a handy alternative to bamboo canes for all kinds of things around the garden. To keep the clump under control, I just mow over the spikes of new growth that try to grow where they’re not wanted.
Amongst the dozens of sparrows and their babies around at the moment, I keep spotting this one which has a bright orange head.
House sparrow with pollen-dyed head feathers
It looks quite funny, and I’m not sure what’s happened to it, but most likely (according to a quick Google) it has had its feathers dyed as a consequence of feeding on phormium flowers: the orange colour being phormium pollen.
All parts of henbane are very poionous. Nevertheless, for centuries it has been used as a treatment and cure for various ailments. And it remains in use for medicinal purposes to this day.
As a poison, one of the best known victims of henbane was the wife of Dr Crippen: he is said to have used an extract of the plant to kill her.
Henbane flower, June 2014, Anglesey
Some people find henbane flowers attractive. They’re certainly fascinating in a slightly ghoulish kind of way:) It’s a biennial plant which can be grown from seed, preferring a light, calcareous soil. But you really must be ultra-cautious if you do grow it: it’s poisonous to pets and livestock too, not just humans; and some books even claim that just sniffing its bruised leaves can cause you to faint. Indeed one of the Welsh names for the plant is Llewyg yr Iar – meaning to make hens faint.
Finally the sun shone and the crocuses that had been standing sullenly with their petals stubbornly shut opened. And don’t they look beautiful:)
Spring flowering crocuses need to be planted in autumn or winter to flower the following spring. But if you fancy something a little different, the saffron crocus (Crocus sativus) flowers in late autumn. You can plant them towards the end of this summer and hope for flowers and your own saffron harvest before Christmas. Harvest sounds like a bit of a grand word for such a small thing: each flower has three stigmas – they’re the threadlike part known as the spice saffron – that’s the harvest.
Usually, you hear about mild winters leading to early flowers. But many flowers, including snowdrops, need a certain amount of cold before they’ll flower. It’s called a vernalisation requirement.
These snowdrop doubles are growing on a trail in the forest nearby. Snowdrops are widely naturalised throughout the UK, but they’re not considered “native”.
In this corner of north Wales, the winter has been so mild that the snowdrops in my garden haven’t even flowered yet. Up until now, we haven’t had a “proper” frost this winter – just the lightest touch; not even enough to stop the nasturtiums from growing. Consequently, the snowdrops haven’t had their dose of cold and are not ready to flower. In previous years, they have flowered as early as Boxing Day. An alternative name for snowdrops is Candlemas Lilies and Candlemas is on the 2nd of February. So, although their flowers seem late to me, my snowdrops are probably actually quite close to their traditional flowering time.
The science behind how plants measure temperature and keep track of the coldness they’ve felt is quite amazing and the subject of much research.
Snowdrops are steeped deeply in folklore. They are thought to be both a symbol of eternal hope and of bad luck; a sign of purity and of impending doom. Mainly, it seems they’re lucky if you leave them growing, but will bring bad luck if you pick them, and more especially if you pick them and bring them into your home.
Snowdrops have attracted much scientific interest because one of their active components, galantamine (named from the Latin name for snowdrop family – Galanthus ), seems to be able to slow the progress of Alzheimer’s disease. Galantamine is also found in other bulbs related to snowdrops. In Wales, daffodils are being cultivated to produce galantamine.
Traditionally people have said to propagate snowdrops by division whilst they are still flowering. However, these days it is more usual (and better for the plants) to divide them when they are dormant. The habit of dividing them whilst the flowers were still visible was linked to the value that people placed on the various snowdrop cultivars (of which there are more than 500!): as these are identified mainly by the patterns on their flowers, having the flowers visible ensured purchasers were receiving the type of snowdrop they sought.
You can also grow snowdrops quite easily from seed, but, if you are after a particular flowering pattern it’s unlikely to come true from seed.
Aristolochia baetica flowers. This species of Aristolochia is native to southern Portugal, Spain and north Africa.
Aristolochia plants have been used for centuries in traditional medicine. However, their active component – aristolochic acid – is known to be carcinogenic and several studies have linked use of the plant in herbal medicines with cancer.
Aristolochias are sometimes known as birthwort and/or Dutchman’s pipe vines.
The large-leaved Dutchman’s pipe vine (Aristolochia macrophylla) is often grown as a low-maintenance climber and is a useful (but deciduous) plant to use for screening in planting schemes.
Autumn flowering ivy is much loved by honey bees. It is also popular with lots of other pollinating insects, especially flies and wasps. Later in the year, the flowers will give way to the dark purpley-black berries that blackbirds love to eat.
But, in a garden, ivy can also be incredibly destructive. Ivy has aerial roots, it doesn’t just twine and scramble over things, it actually grows roots into them. Consequently, it can cause extensive and costly damage to walls and roofs.
Ivy grows quickly and seeds freely. So, if you do have it in your garden, or are thinking of introducing it to benefit wildlife, think carefully about where you will site it and how you will manage it. If you grow it up the front of a building, make sure you keep it clipped to stop it getting into the roof and also make sure that all the brickwork and pointing are completely sound too, otherwise the ivy roots will grow into the structure of the building.
Ivy, rather like Leylandii hedges, is often a source of conflict between neighbours, so be mindful of any impact your ivy might have on your neighbours’ fences, walls, buildings, etc.
An alternative late autumn nectar source for bees could be a late flowering honeysuckle. In my experience, with a honeysuckle and an ivy side-by-side, the honeysuckle is much more popular with our native bees who completely ignore the ivy. Conversely, the honey bees from hives down the road love the ivy and completely ignore the honeysuckle. The honeysuckle will keep flowering well into November, and sometimes right through to January or February, depending how harsh the winter is.
Once upon a time purple loosestrife was prized for its beauty and also its medicinal properties. It was chewed to keep gums healthy; used in washes to improve skin conditions; and used as a general “cure” for gastric problems. More recent research has looked at its effects on blood sugar levels and its antimicrobial properties.
Nowadays, however, it is mainly reviled as an invasive species having been taken from its native continental Europe and the Near East to the United States and Australia where it has made itself more than at home. A good plant in one place becomes a bad plant in another.
In the UK, it is not a problematic species and is quite popular in gardens, particularly as a marginal plant around water features, although it can be grown in regular flower beds too – it doesn’t need to be by water.
It’s easy to grow from seed, although the seed is tiny, like dust. The main issues are keeping the seedlings weed free and the soil moist whilst they become established.
It is a herbaceous perennial, so once established it will die back each autumn and regrow each spring, providing flowers that are very attractive to bees, moths and butterflies.
hortographical 