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The Grampound Times
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Edition 47

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SERENDIPITY IN THE GARDEN

I think, perhaps, I should explain what I mean by “serendipity in the garden”. My dictionary says serendipity means “happy chance” and I’m thinking of those “happy chances” that occur in our beds and borders, those accidental, unplanned plant combinations, which bring such unexpected pleasure.

One such occurrence happened some time ago, where I already had an unknown salmon-red rose growing over my garden arch. I planted Humulus lupulus ‘Aureus’ (the golden hop), whose young growth is a lovely, fresh green to cover the trellis, adjacent to the arch. That first year the combination was enchanting, the foliage of the hop seemed to bring out the best in the rose. I hadn’t planned it, but in theory this “happy chance” should have been repeated each year, but it never has – the young foliage now reaches middle age before the rose comes into bloom.

Another occurrence of serendipity happened last year. I long ago grew some dark-leaved dahlias, from seed, and saved the best. Several of them are a soft apricot colour, which with the dark, purplish foliage is pleasing in itself, but by chance I planted them out with a new dahlia (also grown from seed), but as it had yet to flower I had no idea what it would be like. As luck would have it, the colour turned out to be the exact-same shade of apricot, but as it was a cactus variety (i.e. spiky flowers), it contrasted, in form, to the original, flat-faced, dahlia. Anything which tones in colour, but contrasts in form is a sure winner with me.

Some plant combinations are intentional, of course, and there are many examples of plants working well together. There is nothing new or original about putting hostas and ferns together – both like the same damp, shady conditions – but just because the two are common takes nothing away from the combination, which is superb. The solid foliage of the hosta set against the fern is a match made in heaven.

A hosta, however, is the subject of another of my “happy chances”. I have two Hosta undulata var. undulata, with twisted, elongated leaves and a white central marking, growing in large pots, flanking the garden arch. They have been there for several years and mark, in a quiet, unassuming way, the entrance to a different part of the garden. Then one year I had some spare Alyssum maritime plants and popped them in around the hostas. I hadn’t given in any particular thought, I simply wished to find a home for the alyssum, but the result was a green and white, sophisticated planting, which is now repeated every year.

Each year I grow Ipomoea tricolor (morning glory) from seed. The original source was from a packet of mixed seed and so the resulting plants come in a variety of colours. This year one of those colours was a dark pink, almost red, which turned out to be a perfect companion to a group of neighbouring Cleome hassleriana (the spider flower). As a matter of interest, the morning glories actually seeded themselves into a gravel path and have brightened up the area, to the side of our home, all summer long, scrambling, as they did, all over the path.

There is an area of my garden, which is reserved for pots. Many of the plants remain in their pots for a considerable time, either because I am growing them on and they have not yet decided on a permanent home for them in the borders or because they are not fully hardy and probably won’t survive the winter without some protection. One such plant is Fuchsia triphylla ‘Thalia’. It is usually grown for its long, tubular flowers, completely different to the more rounded shape associated with most fuchsias. Its foliage is, however, equally attractive, and when backlit by the sun, the red ribs of the leaves are very obvious and very attractive. By pure chance I placed this near the red-leaved Canna ‘Roi Humbert’, which has never flowered for me, but as the leaves, which grown to 2 feet, are attractive in their own right, I’m prepared to overlook this shortcoming. In any event the fuchsia and canna are made for each other, their leaves being a near perfect colour match, but the foliage contrasting sufficiently in size and shape to make for a superb plant pairing.

In early spring I have a lipstick pink camellia, next to a Helleborus corsicus – the vivid pink camellia and the lime green bracts of the Corsican hellebore are a superb combination, the one setting off the other to perfection. I can, however, take no credit for this – my only involvement was to pop in the hellebore where I could find the room (no easy task in my packed borders).

Thinking about what I have written, there are many more examples of “serendipity in the garden”, perhaps, the answer is to forget about any attempts at planning a border, but just let it happen. 

Gillian Thompson