![]() ![]() Plus, it’s in the sunniest part of the garden, so it seems the perfect spot for a one-season wonder. It’s at the back of the garden, so it doesn’t get many visitors outside summer. ![]() Instead I’m going to plant a perennial border there. But I must resist or, at an eventual height of 12 metres, it’ll just create the very same problem. I’m very much in love with that primrose yellow froth of flowers. Strange, as the RHS lists both as reaching 8-12 metres …What I really want to plant in place of the chocolate vine is Rosa banksiae Lutea, or Leverkusen. I have another chocolate vine nearer the house, the purple one, and it isn’t brutish at all. Plus, being at the back of the garden and flowering so early in the year, I don’t really get to appreciate it. But it was a mistake, now that I know how vigorous it is. Its March flowers are really pretty: dainty cream bells with plum stamens. No matter how hard I prune it, it comes back stronger and more determined. Along with it a brute of a chocolate vine (Akebia quinata) I planted it to cover the fence behind. Out will come a rather huge Euphorbia mellifera a friend gave me as a tiny seedling a few years back. I’ve been pondering this particular bed for a while, as it just wasn’t making me happy. In fact, I’m now planning a yellow and purple border at the back of my garden. It’s an absolute gem of a plant, flowering from June to December. It’s planted with purple alliums and luminous violet-blue Geranium ‘Rozanne’, the RHS Chelsea Flower Show Plant of the Centenary. In the front garden, there’s Sisyrinchium striatum, a handsome architectural plant with spikes of creamy yellow flower buttons that slowly open from May to June. Yellow and purple is a classic colour combination – they’re opposites on the colour wheel, so will always look great together. And, in a pot, a mop of evergreen Carex ‘Evergold’ brightens my patio all year long.Ī little later in the year, one of my favourite plant combinations is Alchemilla mollis, a fresh lemon froth above downy scalloped leaves, and the new violet spikes of ‘Hidcote’ lavender. ![]() I have Euphorbia characias, too, in a sunny south-facing bed, its yellow-green bracts crown the grey-green fleshy leaves to regal effect. Looking out at my back garden I see golden daffodils shivering in the March wind – and I applaud their cheerful optimism in the face of chill adversity. In any case, I’m delighted to say I am now completely cured of this discriminatory condition. The creamy yellow of irises such as ‘Butter and Sugar’ is sublimely relaxing to the eye, while citrussy limes are refreshing and invigorating. And anyway – not all yellows are created equal. ![]() However, it is the colour of spring, and of optimism, bringing pops of joy when the skies are grey. It draws the eye and holds it, making a garden appear small and flat. It’s true: too much bright yellow can be a mistake. I’ve lost count of the times garden design clients rule out yellow flowers. It’s an affliction that a lot of people share. Somehow it seemed too cheery, too bright and, by association, just a little bit tacky and common. As a colour for clothes, for home decor and – most of all – in the garden. I used to have a serious problem with yellow. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |