When flower colour matters - and here at `Possum Creek' it does, boy it does - then bright pink blooms next to orange make me cringe. The flowers are swearing at each other and I'm almost physically uncomfortable.I thought I was always careful to avoid this! - but recently it happened: my pink-and-white cut-flower bed - full of pale pink Lillium (and one or two brighter (above) - how did that happen?), then belladonna lilies (last pic) as summer turned to autumn - was perfectly adjacent to a veg bed where I'd continued my recent fun and oh-so-satisfying colour-scaping the culinary patch. This bed - we've 5, with our 6 little hens frolicking in the fallow one - had orange pansies, African marigolds and nasturtiums (all plants with edible flowers) with that wonderful nasturtium, `Empress of India', all dark leaves (edible too) and near-red flowers, at the far end of the path amongst the black Tuscan kale. Purple broccoli and peas and dark-leafed lettuces and mustard greens continued the colour along with the red stems of ruby chard and, closer to the path, red beetroot.
I might have kept it all separate in my mind were it not for the wandering habit of the orange nasturtiums (above) which have climbed the short fence, poked their heads through the wire and grinned wickedly - and dropped lots of seeds. So...there is, now, a seed bank of orange flowering-plants, alas, right by the pink-and-white north cut-flower bed. (The other, southern, cut-flower bed is full of blues (Dutch iris), yellows (daffodils) and a tiny amount of red (Sprekelia).) No matter: it's not as if I want to grow pink nasturtiums (boy is that variety a bright AND strong pink) so I can just pull out any of the distinctive seedlings - so easily done - to avoid clashes.
Next time I plant out this patch I'll try to remember to keep it in pinks and/or purples.
I'm not trying to be `tasteful' but follow my own heart. I remember well looking up the British Yellow Book of gardens in 2010 to try to find open gardens in London while we were there. All of them sounded the same that week, and my memory, probably inaccurate, is of only `tasteful, colour-co-ordinated gardens'. No wonder (the late, great) Christopher Lloyd rebelled and planted, as he called it, colours that clashed...only with a masterful hand. You might think this skill takes 3 score years to achieve, were it not for Fergus Garrett, his (younger) head gardener, who maybe surpasses Lloyd in his skilfulness with plant combinations. It's worth, I think, dreaming up and trying out really interesting plant associations - considering leaves and texture and height and habit as well as that fleeting flower colour. (If I remember this right, he annoyed people when he announced that he'd planted pink flowers with yellow...only they weren't yellow, they were a gorgeous chartreuse, very different! (See `purple' and `yellow', above - contrasting colours, usually, that here - sing. Importantly, there's loads of green.) I guess when you have an old garden like Great Dixter, often open to the public (who have been told, repeatedly and erroneously, that it was designed by Edward Lutyens (who worked on the house with Christo's father)) and you write about it, then people feel that they own it to some degree. He could be provocative...and ahead of the crowd. I loved his story about the meadow at Great Dixter (below), perhaps one of the first, and - unusually - right at the garden entrance where there'd previously been lawn. (I saw this magical meadow in June, full of wildflowers, orchids and, I think, butterflies.) Apparently Lloyd heard some men say `he hasn't even mown his lawn! I'm not paying to go in there!' which made him chuckle. J and I loved this meadow and I'm currently designing 2 meadows with year-round flowers for country gardens to Melbourne's east.)
Since we last spoke, dear reader, I've begun a new edible patch, again in the hot colours, further down the hill. But instead of nasturtiums overwhelming the marigolds and pansies, I've kept to pansies alone as an edging to the path, for my edible flowers. Hopefully the growing vegetables behind will quickly take away any whiff of civic-like planting-style. Besides, they are deliberately not in a perfect straight line, just a rough line that fits with the path of wood-chip-mulch and the rustic wig-wams of teatree or paperbark branches (for peas) that arise from occasional clearing between house, fire pump and dam.
(Speaking of branches: we've had to cut down, early, a few tree dahlia canes - 2 or 3m long, and mulching them hasn't happened yet...and so, on Mother's Day, we had perfect, impromptu jousting sticks, or so my great nephews thought. I love an unpolished country garden where these happy chances can happen. This was after I got puffed playing chasey with these boys...yes, I am in my 50's. They also collected eggs from my hens and played - their idea - spoon and egg games. Outside.)
What's really different in my veg patch this time is that the colours include a lot of black, not just the Tuscan kale. The pansies go from orange to red to black. And the vegetables include a handsome black-leaf pak choy and a dark red-black mizuna with lacy leaves at the far end. There's also, near the start, kale with red stalks (home-collected seed; probably `Redbor') and scattered here and there, red onion seed (J: `You don't eat red onions.' Me: `But I will'. J: `You chose them for the colour, didn't you?' Me: `Of course!') and red beetroot and red-stalked ruby chard. (And purple broccoli.)
Home-collected seed labelled `mustard greens or black kale' has turned out to be very much the former, so I need to label the packet; but there's so, so much of it coming up persistently anyway that I think I'll pull it all out and replace with something dark and mysterious (and more useful); I just have to think what, here near the pea tripods.
Now some of you may be muttering that beetroot is red.
Well...down in my yellow patch (cream, lemon and yellow fading to gold patch, actually, thank you) there's a golden beetroot (I wonder what it tastes like?) along with chartreuse broccoli. There's yellow and gold-stalked chard (a plant I used to weed out vigorously...how times change) and pretty yellow peas (doing well) on rough tripods. I really like this bed, with its exuberant lemon nasturtiums (leaves and flowers picked for a salad last weekend). I'm curious to see just how cold it gets before the nasturtiums turn up their toes this winter...and maybe I'll put a cold frame over some - my plastic, easily moved one.
So my next bed might be pink and purple again: pink at the start of the path, leading to purples including rustic tripods for purple peas.
(A rainbow bed just didn't work, visually. Maybe my edible plots of about 4m by just over 2m with either a central path (J's choice) or a few bluestones as stepping stones (my preference) are too small for such a complex combination.)
I started colour-scaping the culinary patch a year or 2 ago and I think I'm addicted, as I think up new colour schemes and need to consider time of year - and plant or sow - summer or winter vegetables. As I'm collecting a lot of my own seeds it's getting cheaper, too (especially for the handsome kale that act as a backdrop but frankly don't get eaten much).
And I'm sowing lettuce seed mixes, frequently, for picking baby leaves for impromptu salads whenever we want.
Jill Weatherhead is horticulturist, writer, garden designer and principal at Jill Weatherhead Garden Design who lives in the Dandenong Ranges east of Melbourne, and works throughout Victoria (www.jillweatherheadgardendesign.com.au)