Spring has sprung – maybe

It was heart-warming walking through Durham yesterday. Partly cloudy, no wind and 13° (54°F). Doesn't that sound like spring? And flowers were up in at least two well-tended gardens I passed: heather, snowdrops,  crocus, hellebore, primula and primroses. But I always like best the carpets of crocus, like this one under the tree in front of Durham University Library. These are smaller and more slender than the usual round-leaved cup-shaped crocus blooms, and they were open in cloudy weather. See how they are straining towards the east at 11.30am!
Regular crocus don't open unless in bright sunshine.

Crocus vernus photo by JR Crellin
www.floralimages.co.uk
Creative Commons Licence

The ones under the tree looked like the wild form, similar to Crocus vernus (right). They are so much more delicate and subtle than the strong yellows and purples of the domesticates. Apparently there are 80 species of crocus, so you have a wide variety to choose from in naturalizing them in your grass. But then be careful not to cut the grass too soon after they finish flowering. English lawns often have a patch of long grass well into early summer, and you wonder why it wasn't cut until you realize it is a crocus or daffodil bed!

Welcome, oh herald of spring! (as the Dutch say)

My crocus on a sunny day

   

A wildflower mistake in my garden

My summer wildflower garden: too many feverfew

I hardly need to say how popular gardening is among the British. People happily spend all their free time (especially after retirement) toiling away in their allotments to grow veggies, or planning their flowerbeds for the best seasonal sequence. One thing they don't have to do is mow a lot of grass, for few houses have that much land attached. So the American male competition of growing the best lawn is unknown here.

An autumnal indulgence

 
For someone who grew up in an arid climate, the British garden is quite a change. I was once (age 13) given leave by my mother to plant some zinnias – wherever I wanted. I chose a nice shady spot under a pine tree. So much for my self-induction to gardening, in 95°F and 5% humidity, the plants wilted and collapsed. Here it rains so much that a large part of gardening is merely removing unwanted
biomass from shrubs that grow too large and weeds that infiltrate everywhere, and seasonal clean-up tasks.

My attitude this past summer was "let a hundred flowers bloom" – meaning feverfew in my front garden. Volunteer wild flowers, I thought, how nice! Actually, feverfew spreads everywhere and I'm rather sorry because the thousands of seeds dropped when I rooted it all out are going to come back to haunt me next spring. Meanwhile, I made one concession to the autumn season: I bought a container plant of small chrysanthemums, guaranteed to bloom until the first frost. But they have to be watered because even the rain doesn't penetrate the healthy head of leaves and buds.

When I first started gardening in England, I treasured every plant bought as if it were a child (20-year investment). But through years of buying plants and watching them die on me, I treat them now more as I do food: buy, consume, buy more.... I now have mainly perennials outside and house plants that can survive on my feast-or-famine watering schedule: do or die...