The Toowoomba range is host to some fine gardens, but in my view they don’t get much finer than the rangetop paradise in Leslie Street known as Stirling House. Established by John and Jill Stirling in the 1960’s, and now owned by hospitable couple Colin Fitzgerald and Dr Viola Nicholson, the garden comprises two acres of magnificent cool climate trees, hundreds of roses, classic bluestone paths, and lots of lovely woodland perennials.

What Stirling House is most famous for though, is its camellias. There are dozens of beautiful specimens scattered amongst the garden, most in full flower when I visited last weekend and yet all of them outdone by the prized yellow species Camellia nitidissima.

As stunningly beautiful as this camellia was on the day (I’ll write about it in a later article), it was actually outshone for sheer visual splendour by another exotic plant. Like a gifted Academy Award winner being upstaged by a glamorous supporting actress, the star of the show when I visited Stirling House was undoubtedly a Magnolia denudata in full, exquisite bloom.

The Yulan, as Magnolia denudata is commonly known, makes an arresting sight when it produces masses of huge, pure white blooms on bare wood during the second half of winter. It certainly stopped the 18^th century plant explorers dead in their tracks. Imagine the sheer astonishment of a sweaty English botanist, trekking along an ancient pathway in the lower Himalayas, stumbling across a misty valley bleached white with the blooms of thousands of magnolias. The contrast with the less exotic flora back home would have been absolutely stark. It still is, especially when the blooms are admired against the backdrop of a clear winter sky.

Magnolia denudata was named for its region of origin in central China. Here it can still be found growing in moist upland forests amongst camellias and rhododendrons on deep, fertile soil. The genus magnolia was introduced to horticulture by the famous botanist Sir Joseph Banks, who was absolutely delighted to open a consignment from China in 1792 containing the first ever specimen of Magnolia denudata from Dr Alexander Duncan, a surgeon working in Canton.

From this point on, the flames of an international love affair with magnolias were kindled, and it’s fair to say that the passion for these magnificent plants never really went out. In 1820, a retired French army captain by the name Etienne Soulange-Bodin crossed Magnolia denudata with Magnolia liliiflora to produce the hybrid Magnolia x soulangeana. Combining the best qualities of each of its parents, “soulangeana” is now the most widely grown of all the deciduous magnolias, lighting up Toowoomba during August and September with its opulent, pink blushed flowers. It’s a decent plant, but by no means the best magnolia in cultivation.

In addition to the Yulan magnolia described at the outset, there are some other beauties worth seeking out. For small gardens Magnolia liliiflora ‘Nigra’ is the pick. It’s a slow grower that will eventually reach just a few metres tall and produces lovely dark purple flowers on a multi-stemmed shrub. Almost as good is Magnolia stellata, which has white star shaped flowers and rarely exceeds three metres in height.

For larger gardens my picks would be ‘StarWars’ a tall growing variety that continues flowering through summer and autumn, ‘Vulcan’ with it’s striking purple-red flowers, and ‘Elizabeth’, a classy, late flowering yellow cultivar that grows strongly and is capable of reaching six metres or more in height. Use it to accompany your yellow flowered camellia and be the envy of all your gardening friends!

If that’s your ambition, and it’s not actually one that I’d seriously recommend, better get your conditions right. Magnolias are ancient plants dating back to prehistory, but they do have fairly specific requirements to really perform well. Chief amongst these is a mountain soil that’s rich, deep, well drained and slightly acid. A cool climate is preferred, and protection from severe late winter frosts is important to prevent the flower show from ending in tears too early in the piece.

This all sounds quite specific, but thankfully, the perfect conditions for growing brilliant magnolias can be found all along the Great Dividing Range, from the Bunya Mountains in the north to the suitable parts of the Granite Belt to the south. For those out west, magnolias are a trickier proposition. The best advice I can give is to try the evergreen cultivars of Magnolia grandiflora such as ‘Little Gem’, ‘St Mary’s’ and ‘Exmouth’. You shouldn’t feel left out. The evergreens are just as stunning as their deciduous cousins, and more tolerant to boot.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 24th July 2010. Photo by Justin Russell – Magnolia denudata, Stirling House, Toowoomba.

Conifer. As one of the very few plants that I have a love/hate relationship with, the very word is full of mixed emotions for me. On the one hand, I find conifers beautifully evocative plants that can conjure up romantic images of Tuscan villas and alpine forests. The reverie lasts until I drive through a 1960’s Toowoomba subdivision and struggle to appreciate an endless parade of front gardens filled with little other than dwarf or clipped conifers. In this situation they look more like a nineteenth century funeral procession – stoic, dour, sombre.

What a shame we got such wonderful plants so badly wrong. Conifers have many overlooked virtues. They are supremely tough plants, thanks largely to their needle like foliage which limits moisture loss and resists drying winds. Many conifers are remarkably free from disease, and are little troubled by insect pests. They are some of the most widely distributed plants on earth, able to survive in all but the harshest climates and found on every continent.

From a garden design point of view, another virtue is their pyramidal or columnar growth patterns. Few plants have such a strikingly defined shape, which means that conifers are the perfect trees for situations requiring bold planting. The Italians got it right. They used fastigiate (upright) cypresses to strongly define entrances, line avenues, frame views and emphasise vertical elements like walls. In Aussie suburbia we’ve done weird things like give tall growing conifers “flat top” haircuts, or tie wires around the tree to constrict the foliage. Surely we’d be much better off working with a plant’s natural inclinations, or planting an alternative.

Though only about 600 species occur in the wild, there are literally hundreds of different conifers to choose from in cultivation. Some make the perfect, low maintenance groundcover, such as shore juniper, Juniperus conferta. Others make an excellent farm windbreak, such as Bhutan cypress, Cupressus torulosa. Other conifers produce edible nuts such as Pinus pinea, and lots make stunning specimen trees, such as the weeping Atlantic cedar, Cedrus atlantica ‘Glauca Pendula’.

Conifers range from dwarf shrubs less than a metre in height to 100 metre tall giants. Bearing this in mind, it almost goes without saying that wisdom should be exercised when choosing from such a diverse array of plants. My advice is to do some research. Use discretion. Don’t stick a Dawn Redwood in your courtyard, be careful in how you use gold and blue coloured conifers, and above all, try to avoid the “miniature Switzerland look”.

Gardens filled with little other than conifers became wildly popular during the suburban expansion of the 60’s and 70’s, particularly in highland areas like Toowoomba, where the reasoning seemed to be “mountain climate equals mountainesque landscaping”. To some extent this is correct, but Toowoomba is hardly the Swiss Alps. If you’re a collector, you’ll probably want to plant conifers like there’s no tomorrow, but most home gardeners will fare better with a mixed garden containing a range of different plants.

We shouldn’t overlook Australia’s native conifers either. I have a real soft spot for the Araucaria “pines” and their relatives. You only need to take a drive from the Bunya Mountains to Toowoomba via the New England Highway to realise that big, ancient trees like Araucaria bidwillii (Bunya pine), Araucaria cunninghamii (Hoop pine) and Agathis robusta (Kauri pine) thrive in the red soil country along the escarpment.

These stately conifers were once quite a common sight in suburban gardens throughout Toowoomba, but our modern obsession with health and safety has seen lots of domestic trees removed. I grew up with a massive Bunya pine in the backyard, so it always makes me a bit sad to see an arborist dangling from the top of a 20 metre tall specimen wielding a chainsaw. Lest a Bunya nut lands on someone’s head, another big old beauty bites the dust.

Well, stuff health and safety! Council will probably get their knickers in a knot but I say where there’s space, bring back the big native conifers. Not only did they provide welcome shade in a city rapidly looking like a tin roof jungle, but the old Bunyas, hoops and kauris helped define Toowoomba’s treasured Garden City identity. Let’s not forget how unique the Bunya is to our corner of the world. I think it should be celebrated as one of the city’s icons, and I’d love to see it planted appropriately, but happily, by all and sundry.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 10th July 2010. Photo by Justin Russell, “Blue Fir” Glenrock, Tenterfield.

One of the most frustrating things about being a gardening journalist, is that there is usually no other option but to provide generalised advice to a widely distributed audience. Take my website as an example. In response to an article written last year on rhubarb, there are three pages of comments left by readers from all over the world, often asking questions of a similar nature. “Why won’t my rhubarb go red” is popular. So is “why are the stalks of my rhubarb so skinny?”

Such is the gardening journalist’s lot. I don’t profess to be a font of all horticultural wisdom, but I have gained some hard won experience, and I like to write about what I’ve learned. I genuinely want to helpful. But I ask you this: How on earth is it possible to offer specific advice to gardeners living in locations as far flung as England, America and good ol’ Toowoomba? By necessity, the advice has to be generic.

But here lies the problem. Gardening is never generic. In fact it is the opposite. It’s always local and individual. It is specific, and subject to the influences of climate, weather, latitude, and geography. This means that in gardening terms, experience is mostly about developing an intimate relationship with a single place over a reasonable period of time.

My favourite gardening writer, Monty Don, once described his idea of home as knowing which kitchen drawer he should open to find the string and scissors. In other words, home is about becoming intimately acquainted with a place and its people. The same is absolutely true of gardening.

For me, getting acquainted with my place means a few things. For starters, it means living long enough in one place to sink really deep roots. Then it means observing and recording things like weather and changes to long term climate patterns. It means getting to know the culture and history of my land and the broader landscape it’s part of. And of course, it means getting to know the geology and geography of the land, especially the soil. I suppose you might say that it means being sensitive to a place, responsive.

But there’s more to it than that. Every parcel of land, whether it is 10,000 acres or just 1000 square metres, a national park or town centre, has a particular spirit. I don’t mean some kind of magical power, but rather an atmosphere or mood that’s unique to a particular location.

The Romans called this atmosphere “genius loci”, the spirit of the place. Alexander Pope, the 18^th century poet, wrote “consult the genius of the place in all”, and his advice is still one of the guiding principles for designers of buildings and landscapes. Those who are familiar with Glenn Murcutt’s houses will know that the Pritzker Prize winning architect works according to a philosophy of “touching the earth lightly” and matching the building to the landscape. Prominent English garden designer Dan Pearson is similarly renowned for being able to capture the spirit of a particular place in his designs.

A local garden that epitomises the spirit of a place is Vineyard Cottages on the Granite Belt. Here, the owners have used granite stones for edges, decomposed granite for pathways, and plants that reflect the culture of the area. Apples, grapes and lavenders all serve as reminders of Ballandean’s local farming traditions. Local mushroom compost was used to improve the poor soil in the garden and the owners even went as far as matching the trim colour on the cottages to the hazy blue shade of the distant hills. The effect of such thoughtfulness is that a stroll through the garden leaves no room for error – this is a garden that is a good fit with its locality. The genius of the place is distinctive, and celebrated.

In complete contrast was a Toowoomba estate I drove through the other day to visit friends. Despite having been built over excellent soil and surrounded by tall eucalypts, every second front garden consisted of a lawn, a couple of purple cordylines and perhaps a clump of dietes or a murraya hedge. There was no distinctiveness whatsoever. I could have been driving through any new estate in Australia, such was the denial of place.

Here’s what I’d rather do: rejoice in the things that make my little corner of the world unique. I want to apply my local knowledge to the way I grow commonly available plants, like rhubarb. I know that in my free draining soil, it needs daily watering in summer, and plenty of top dressing with compost each winter. In your garden, it’ll be a different story. Find the genius of your place. Y filltir sgwâr. In Welsh, that means “your square mile”. Celebrate its distinctiveness.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 3rd July 2010. Photo by Justin Russell, Vineyard Cottages, Ballandean.

To dig or not to dig, that’s the question. If you’re part of the legion of new vegie gardeners taking up the spade in a quest for the good life, you could be forgiven for wondering who you should believe. The advice seems completely contradictory. Should one take the advice of the no-dig advocates, who argue passionately for the spade to be left in the shed, or is it safest to believe the traditional gardeners, who argue that theirs is a tried and true method refined over hundreds of years? Or is there a third way that finds some common ground between the two extremes?

We’ll get to the answer later, but first, let’s explore what I mean by “no-dig” gardening. The concept has actually been around for decades, just under different names. It began in the1930’s with the Japanese farmer/philosopher/scientist Masanobu Fukuoka, who from 1938 until his death in 2008, experimented with various small scale farming techniques that he collectively referred to as “natural farming”. Fukuoka’s philosophy was based on a simple concept: the farmer should interfere as little as possible with natural processes. Crops could be grown, he argued, without machines, with no prepared fertiliser and no chemicals, yet attain yields equal to or greater than the conventional Japanese farm.

One of the main components of the Fukuoka approach was to use ancient techniques like cover cropping and seed balls in order to totally avoid having to cultivate the soil. Fukuoka’s concept was characterised as “no-till” farming and enthusiastically embraced during subsequent decades by both agricultural scientists and the growing band of farmers interested in natural farming methods. It wasn’t until the late 1970’s though, that a Sydney gardener named Esther Deans applied Fukuoka’s techniques to the domestic backyard.

In two well regarded books, Deans outlined the concept of “no-dig” gardening. Her basic idea was to build garden beds above the soil surface by layering various materials on top of each other like a kind of horticultural lasagne. Layer one is wet newspaper laid on the soil (or lawn) surface to smother weeds and grass. Layer two is straw or lucerne hay. Layer three is organic fertiliser such as pelletised chicken manure, or blood and bone. Layer four is straw. Layer five is manure. Layer six, the top layer, is good quality compost. Each layer is watered progressively as the beds are built.

Anyone who’s done a spot of composting will know what’s going here. When first made, a true no-dig garden is basically a fancy compost heap. A high nitrogen material (manure) combined with a high carbon material (straw) will decompose in the presence of moisture and oxygen, creating a soil-like material (humus) that is okay for growing plants in.

No-dig advocates claim a slew of advantages over traditional techniques. No-dig gardens don’t need to be cultivated, thereby eliminating damage to fragile soil flora and fauna. They are perfect for those who are unable to wield heavy tools. They are more fertile than traditional gardens. They can be made over really poor soil or even solid concrete.

Sounds great, doesn’t it. In practice, no-dig isn’t as simple as it appears, especially long term. As no-dig gardens decompose, they shrink, and need to be constantly topped up with copious quantities of organic matter. When built over a hard pan, serious drainage problems can develop in wet conditions. No dig garden beds need to be either really narrow or modular for ease of access. Then there’s the myth shattering truth that vegetables need to planted, and planting (even sowing) requires some degree of cultivation. There ain’t no such thing as a totally “no dig” vegetable garden.

So in answer to my original question, to dig or not to dig, my approach is to find a middle way. I’ve tried no-dig gardening, and it proved a tricky proposition. Instead, my philosophy is one of minimal till. I believe there are times when a good dig is beneficial for both the health of the garden, and the health of the gardener. While I don’t advocate the old techniques of double digging and annual winter cultivation, I have no qualms about digging in a green manure crop, cultivating the soil as part of my annual crop rotation, or growing carrots in ground worked to a fine tilth.

I suppose what I’m saying is that there’s a case to be made for digging, but with restraint rather than abandon. Before putting spade to soil, I try to use my brain. I ask myself questions, things like: “why massacre earthworms if I don’t have to”; and “do I really need dig this particular bed, or am I blindly following convention”. In gardening, as in life, the real answer is all about finding a healthy sense of balance.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 29th June 2010.

You’d never guess it from the utter lack of publicity it’s received, but 2010 is officially the United Nations International Year of Biodiversity. The term “biodiversity” gets bandied around a lot these days (including in Secret Garden!), but what does it actually mean?

Simply put, biodiversity is short for “biological diversity”. It describes the total range of life-forms within a given ecosystem or biome, and suggests that the more biodiverse an ecosystem, the more resilient it is to disruption. In geographical terms, tropical biomes along the equator tend to be the most biodiverse on earth, while the poles tend to be the least biodiverse.

From my point of view as a passionate home gardener, biodiversity has three main implications – habitat creation/preservation, resistance to pests and disease, and conservation of genetic diversity. Let’s look at each of them in turn.

Habitat Creation/Preservation

We share our gardens with all kinds of life forms, from soil dwelling micro-organisms to native animals. As such, I believe we have a moral responsibility to preserve habitat for native species where it already exists, and where it doesn’t exist, to create new habitat.

Habitat creation isn’t too difficult. Mostly it involves a change of attitude that is more tolerant and inclusive of species other than Homo sapiens. Beyond that, it is largely about providing water, shelter and food for native animals by planting a diversity of species that are either indigenous to your area, or well suited to your particular climate. I’m not a native plant fanatic, favouring instead an eclectic garden full of plants from all over the world, but I do think it’s important to set aside at least part of the garden for “the birds”.

Resistance to Pests and Disease

The internationally renowned garden designer Paul Bangay, who was in Toowoomba last year, is famous for using a plant palette consisting of just a handful of species. In one of his books, he says that “I love those occasions when a site gives me the opportunity to use only two kinds of plant or even one, but lots of that one or two.” While Bangay’s gardens are undeniably elegant, his statements from a biodiversity point of view are way off the mark.

Let’s cut to the chase: the fewer the number of plant species within a garden, the more vulnerable it is to attack from every pest and disease under the sun. And as a consequence of limited diversity, the more necessary it is to drench the garden in chemicals to keep it healthy. If you want to reduce, or eliminate your use of toxic chemicals in the garden, the quickest way to shoot yourself in the foot is to “use only two kinds of plant or even one”. In agriculture, this would be called a monoculture. Biodiverse gardens comprised of many plant species are more likely to be healthy gardens.

Conserving Genetic Diversity

Consider, if you will, the humble spud. For centuries it has been one of the most important, and reliable, foodstuffs eaten by human beings, to the point that the International Potato Centre in Peru maintains a collection of about 5,000 individual varieties.

Now consider the Irish Potato Famine. By the mid 1800’s, the Irish had been growing the potato for more than 200 years. But due to a range of social and political factors, the lower classes of the population had become almost entirely dependant on the plant for food, with a single variety in particular dominating plantings across the country.

The Lumper tasted awful, but was nutritious and had the virtue of producing very heavy yields per acre. It’s major vice was that it was disease prone, and in the autumn of 1845, the fungal disease “late blight” wiped out the nations entire crop. Approximately one million people died from starvation and disease, a quarter of the population.

The moral of the story is simple, yet profound. Reduce genetic diversity far enough, and there’s a very real risk of starvation. Conversely, increase and preserve genetic diversity and food becomes more secure. It also becomes more democratic. The seed of heirloom varieties can be saved, and distributed to friends, increasing the gene pool even further.

I’d encourage each of you to celebrate the International Year of Biodiversity in your own backyard. Set aside a part of the garden where you can plant Australian natives to provide habitat. Rethink the minimalist approach to garden design in the light that the shelves in your garden shed will inevitably groan with poisons. Grow old fashioned fruit and vegetable varieties. Do your bit to preserve the genetic diversity of our food producing plants, and enjoy the myriad of flavours, colours, textures and origins as part of the bargain.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 19th June 2010. Photo by Justin Russell – Roberta’s Garden, Pittsworth.

In society’s quest for all things bigger and brighter and newer, innovation rules. The traditional, the tried and the tested, the old stuff, tends to get thrown mercilessly on the scrap heap of history.

Not in my world it doesn’t. I’d hardly consider myself a Luddite, but I will admit having a thing for old stuff. I studied some history subjects at uni, live in an 80-year-old farmers cottage, grow mostly heirloom vegies, and have a growing collection of antique apple trees. For whatever reason, old stuff appeals to my sensibilities. I’m not into junk though – most of the items I welcome into my home or garden have to be either a classic in their field, useful or beautiful. That’s what works for me.

Gardening isn’t immune from this quest for the latest and greatest. Sometimes a new way of doing things is warranted, particularly if research shows that a traditional way of doing something was simply an old wives’ tale. There are occasions though when innovation is glorified for its own sake. I think we need reminding that in the pursuit of a healthy, productive garden, the old ways remain just as relevant to us as they were to our ancestors.

Over the last few years I’ve written about pleaching and coppicing, a couple of old gardening techniques that remain useful for modern gardeners. This time around I want to spend a couple of weeks on espalier. The reason for this special focus is that espalier is a technique that’s finding new relevance in contemporary, space constrained gardens.

Let’s kick things off with a definition. The word espalier (I pronounce it “espaylia” but some prefer “espaliay”) comes from the Italian word spalliera, which means “wainscot to lean the shoulder against” and literally refers to the trellis on which a plant is trained to grow.

The technique is thought to have originated with the Egyptians, but was perfected during the Middle Ages in France, where fruit trees were espaliered within walled gardens to save space, utilise radiant heat from the walls, and as with so many things French, create something that is both useful and beautiful.

Hundreds of different espalier forms have been created, but around a dozen or less are in common use. The craft has been applied mostly to fruiting trees, particularly apples and pears, but it’s applicable to any tree or shrub that has flexible branches and a relatively compact growth habit. Some popular ornamentals suited to espalier include magnolias, camellias and roses.

The benefits of espalier are many. The most obvious is that espaliered trees save space. When grafted on a dwarfing rootstock, an apple tree can be easily trained along a fence or driveway, taking up about as much room as a garden bench. If a bit more space is available, you could include a number of trees. My espalier orchard at Thistlebrook takes up just 50sqm, but includes 15 different apple varieties with the potential to supply fruit for cooking and fresh eating from December to July.

One of the trees, a ‘Lord Lambourne’ is producing fruit in less than two years, which is testament to the fact that espaliered trees tend to bear a good deal earlier than standard trees. They also bear more heavily, and have a longer productive lifespan. The reason for these traits is related to sap flow. Just as a bend in a pipe slows down the flow of water, a bend in a branch slows down the flow of sap. The more horizontal the angle of a branch, the less sap flows through it, reducing the formation of vegetative buds and increasing the production of fruiting buds. As a consequence, espaliered trees produce much higher yields per square metre than standard field grown trees.

Espalier contradicts the modernist adage, form follows function. With an espaliered fruit tree, form and function are inseparable. By creating an espalier, you are creating not just a highly productive plant, but a living sculpture, a testimony to the interaction between gardener and tree. You might choose to grow a series of espaliers as a Belgian fence, creating a productive barrier to keep the kids either in or out, depending on your needs. And if the fence fails to perform, you could try bribing them with a piece of fruit from a tree instead.

What I like most about espalier is that it’s a gentle art, not unlike bonsai in that it takes dedication, perseverance, knowledge and patience. Espalier bucks the trend. The process of training a tree to look beautiful, and become fruitful, is the best antidote to our society’s pathological addiction to speed.

Next week – practical espalier techniques for home gardens

First published in The Chronicle 20th February 2010. Photo by Justin Russell.

If there’s one thing gardeners like to do when they’re not gardening, it’s to look at other people’s gardens. Give us half a chance and we’ll do so on the internet, in magazines, on the telly and in newspapers like this one. But the best way to look at a garden is to visit in person. Only then will you be able to experience the unique atmosphere, smell the scents, hear the sounds and get acquainted with the finer details that two dimensional images simply can’t convey.

Every year in our region, a handful of generous souls go out on a limb and open their gardens to the public. Most choose to do so under the banner of Australia’s Open Garden Scheme. Odds are you’ll have heard this term bandied around in gardening circles all the time, but how many actually know what the scheme is on about? Here’s a quick rundown, and a profile of three outstanding gardens opening this weekend.

Australia’s Open Gardens Scheme (AOGS) was founded in 1987. It’s a not-for-profit organisation with a mission to “promote the knowledge and pleasure of gardens and gardening across Australia.” To this end, it coordinates the opening of Australia’s most inspiring private gardens to the public, gardens that would otherwise remain cloaked behind hedges and fences.

A modest entry fee is charged when visiting an open garden. Thirty five percent of this is either returned to the garden owner, or more commonly donated by the garden owner to a favourite charity. Since the scheme’s inception, more than $4 million has been donated to charity. The remaining 65% goes toward running AOGS. Surplus funds available after the scheme’s operating costs are donated to various organisations via annual community grants.

A final word on etiquette. Remember that gardens opening as part of AOGS are generally private properties. Don’t enter the house unless invited, stick to the paths and don’t pick flowers or add to your seed collection. If you’re unsure of a plant name ask the owner for advice. It goes without saying that if you litter when visiting someone’s garden, or urinate in the shrubbery, you’re a total yobbo. Enjoy your visit with a sense of gratitude and respect.

Emaho

Nestled among the lush Ravensbourne countryside, Emaho welcomes visitors with a calm ambience and a subtle Asian influence. The owners of the garden, James and Barbara McGeoch, have had a long involvement in the Queensland horticulture industry, bringing decades of experience to bear in the creation of a working tree farm and garden that lives up to it’s Tibetan name – wonderful and amazing. Features include beautiful ‘Trompenburg’ maples, a Camellia sinensis hedge (tea plant), more than 5000 azaleas and a crabapple forest. The clumping bamboo windbreak is arguably the best example of its kind on the Downs.

Open October 10^th to 11^th from 10am to 4.30pm. Talks throughout the day, tree removal demonstrations, food and wine for sale. Located at 501 Ravensbourne Dip Road, Ravensbourne. Follow the signs from Esk-Hampton Road, directions from www.emahotrees.com.au. Entry $6, will benefit Peacehaven Botanic Park.

Ferguson Garden

Opening for the first time, the Ferguson Garden at Cabarlah is a family garden bursting with informal charm and expansive views over the Lockyer Valley.  Owners Simone and Matthew Ferguson reckon that any success in their garden is a “happy accident” but I’m not sure they give themselves enough credit. Their plants are healthy and despite the garden’s relaxed style, the borders are arranged with considerable skill. Perennials, clematis, Japanese maples, cherries and old favourites like delphinium and poppies make for a welcoming scene. Cottage style gardens are hard to do well, easily becoming finicky. Not the Ferguson garden – it fits like a well worn, but much loved pair of boots.

Open October 10^th to 11^th from 10am to 4.30pm, entry $6. Plants for sale. Located at 214 Happy Valley Road, Cabarlah. Follow the signs from the New England Highway.

Bass Garden

Geoffrey and Lynnette Bass’s garden at Pittsworth has opened regularly with AOGS and is always well received by both new and returning visitors alike. It flourishes despite the challenging Pittsworth climate, which is hot in summer and frosty in winter, and contains a mix of the familiar and unusual. Visitors will recognise David Austin roses for example, but plants like the lesser known Alister Clark roses and even variegated Jacarandas will arouse plenty of interest. Highlights include a stunning Petrea-draped walkway and an excellent vegie patch.

Opening in conjunction with the Pittsworth Craft and Fine Food Spectacular, including a quilt display. October 9^th to 11^th, 9am to dusk. Located at 4 Coop Street, Pittsworth. Entry $6, will benefit Careflight.

First published in The Chronicle 10th October 2009. Photos by Justin Russell.

The weather appears to be getting odder by the day. Yesterday, we had a warm day of persistent north-westerly winds, followed by an evening shower, which was in turn followed by a morning frost. It felt like winter suddenly morphed into summer, and then switched back to winter in the space of 24 hours. Generally speaking though (if it’s possible to generalise with the weather any more), an early spring is underway. It feels as though the sap isn’t just rising, but exploding.

My thoughts at this point in the seasonal cycle invariably turn to two of the year’s great delights: blossom and annuals. To me, these are the elements that make spring on the Downs such a joyous event. You’d have to be living under a rock to miss them. Blossom froths about all over the place like a happy giant bubble-bath. The annual displays, though on a smaller scale than they once were, are simply a joy to behold. My favourite local spring garden is the aptly named Spring Bluff. It always brings to mind images of a really loud plant party, and to me it’s so utterly joyous that I’d dare anyone to drive back up the range feeling gloomy.

For all their excitement though, annual “bedding displays” aren’t the most environmentally friendly form of gardening available. To produce a top flight display annual plants need regular feeding, and copious amounts of water. You can get away with less of each, but the display won’t be as spectacular, and to me the main reason for growing annuals is for a big bold splash of colour.

The other issue with traditional annual displays is that they require an inordinate amount of work. By the time you consider the soil preparation, the planting, the watering, the feeding, the weeding and the deadheading to prolong the flowering period, you’re looking at many, many hours of effort. Arch and Julie Roggeveen, whose Toowoomba garden has been crowned Carnival of Flowers Grand Champion on numerous occasions, once told me that they start working on their annuals in May, and by the time September rolls around, spend the evenings working under lights in order to get the garden ready for Carnival.

I’ve got no inclination to become a slave to my garden, but I love annuals, and spend the latter weeks of winter hungry for saturated colours. So what’s a bloke to do? Compromise, that’s what. I think I’ve found a way to enjoy a display of spring flowering annuals that is less extensive than those you might find in a show garden or at Spring Bluff, but still offers a welcome burst of spring cheer. The inspiration is the American landscape architect James van Sweden.

Van Sweden and his business partner Wolfgang Oehme have spent the last 30 years on a mission to remake the American garden. Their vision is one of refinement through reduction. Compared to conventional gardens, OVS gardens require less water, less chemicals and less maintenance. To achieve this they mimic the prairie landscapes of the American west, planting ornamental grasses and perennials in big drifts, avoiding the use of anything that needs excessive work. Lawns are a very minimal part of an Oehme/Van Sweden garden. Traditional displays of annual bedding plants are totally absent.

Instead, Oehme/Van Sweden display their annuals in large pots. Hardly seems revolutionary, I know, but their approach achieves a couple of things: reduced labour; and mobility. Unlike a fixed garden bed, it’s a simple enough exercise with all but the largest containers to pick them up, and move them to a more desirable location within the garden. This flexibility accommodates seasonal changes perfectly, and allows containers to be positioned for maximum impact.

The other thing that’s great about planting annuals in pots is the potential for creativity. There are endless combinations of plants and containers available, limited only by your imagination, and some stunning mixed displays can be created by combining annuals with foliage plants. When you get the combinations right, and position the container where it will form a distinct focal point, the impact can be far punchier than even the lairiest bedding display. Bedding displays have their place in public gardens. But if you’re pushed for time and space, you’ll achieve more for less by displaying your annuals in pots. Let your imagination run free.

First published in The Chronicle, 22nd August 2009. Photo by Justin Russell, Spring Bluff railway station

There are occasions in the garden when you want to cover the largest area of ground possible with the least amount of mucking around. When I was designing gardens for a living this situation occurred a lot, since I was often asked to draw up plans for new properties built either on top of a hill, or more problematically, cut into the side of one. One job in particular was memorable. The house had been built at the bottom of the tallest “battered bank” I’ve ever seen. It would have been at least 15m in vertical height, west facing, and battered at an angle of about 30 degrees. That’s a daunting amount of bank. It’s also a lot of bare subsoil on which to grow anything other than a weed.

Even though the clients weren’t raving fans of native plants, I found it really hard to overlook some of the groundcover grevilleas. The older cultivar ‘Poorinda Royal Mantle’ was my go to plant, and as far as I’m concerned, remains the pick of the lot for difficult slopes. It might be 50 years old, but continues to set the standard in terms of drought tolerance, frost tolerance, speed of growth and reliability. It’s also exceptional value for money. A single plant can cover an area of more than five metres in diameter. Plus, it’s pretty to boot.

Another standby that made its way on to the planting plan was Grevillea ‘Bronze Rambler’. This cultivar is slightly taller growing and more layered than the carpet like ‘Royal Mantle’, but in my experience it is just as tough and proves highly attractive to small birds, who use the prickly foliage for protection. ‘Gin Gin Gem’ was a third cultivar that made the cut, thanks largely to beautiful foliage that cascades down a bank like a set of green waves.

Exotics too worked well. Juniperus conferta, or shore juniper, is an outstanding plant in many regards. I love the fact that it blends really nicely with native plants, but probably exceeds many of them in terms of toughness. It is pretty much bomb proof. Hence the reason you see shore juniper in another really tough environment – the dreaded shopping centre carpark. Here, you might find it growing alongside another old toughie, Chinese star jasmine. Featuring one of the trickiest botanical names in the book, Trachelospermum jasminoides is commonly grown as a climber, but works equally well as a ground cover or even a low, table-like hedge.

There are other situations though when you need a plant that will cover a smallish area of ground to prevent weed growth or just to act as an attractive filler between bolder, more architectural plants. This is where some of the spreading clumpers (for want of a better term) come into their own.

The Toowoomba violet, Viola odorata, is as good as anything in a semi-shaded position, filling the air with it’s sweetly scented perfume in early spring. Its native cousin Viola hederacea doesn’t have the same perfume but is also an excellent plant. I once saw a big clump growing beautifully on the Springbrook plateau and after arriving home, raced out to the nursery and bought enough plants to cover the ground beneath a young camellia hedge. It worked beautifully, doing exactly what I wanted it to do – suppress weeds but in a much more attractive way than boring old mulch.

Another ground cover plant that takes my fancy is Ajuga, commonly known as bugle weed. With sufficient moisture it will grow in everything from full shade to full sun, and it will spread quite quickly to cover a decent sized area. Carolyn Robinson has used it extensively as a ground cover at Glenrock, her magnificent garden just across the border at Tenterfield. A range of cultivars exist, including ‘Jungle Beauty’ and ‘Catlin’s Giant’, and like the violets, there’s a native species – Ajuga australis.

For something a bit different but very effective as a ground cover amongst cottage-type plants I’m a big fan of some culinary herbs. Oregano in particular is really tough and will happily scramble between larger plants without overtaking them. Thyme is also good, as is common sage, salvia officinalis. The variegated cultivars, alternatively coloured purple or yellow, make a nice contrast between flowering plants and will cope with particularly hot and dry conditions.

The next time you build a house on a hill, or buy a place with steep banks, or simply want to fill in some gaps, forget about using the strappy leaved plants that are in vogue with the modern landscaping crews. Like a two-wheel-drive vehicle on a bush track, “strappies” can only achieve so much. Go for proper groundcover plants instead. They’re absolutely made for the job.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 30th May 2009. Photo by Allison Steiglitz.

It’s boom times for gardening on the box. In contrast to the recent dearth of garden related programmes, we’ve now got a few to choose from, and hopefully, there’s more on the way. For the funky urban gardener who dislikes Toowoomba’s roundabouts as much as I do, there is Guerilla Gardeners. It’s all a bit staged and not really in the spirit of the guerrilla gardening movement, but interesting enough.

Then there’s the old staples, Better Homes and Gardens, which I find cheesy to the core, and my favourite, Gardening Australia. I was interested to see how Aunty was going to handle the departure of “Pete”, and though Stephen Ryan seems a bit stilted and plant obsessed, he’s making a reasonable fist of it. The show itself remains great, offering a nice mix of earthiness, practicality, and haul your backside off the sofa motivation. And yes, my kids still do a little dance when the theme music kicks in.

But for pure inspiration, it’s impossible to overlook a new 10-part series on ABC1 titled Around the World in 80 Gardens. Presented by English garden writer Monty Don, this beautifully filmed programme is part travelogue, part cultural exploration, and part horticultural odyssey. Every continent excluding Antarctica is visited and literally 80 individual gardens are featured in some depth.

I ought to confess that I’m a fan of Monty Don. He’s my favourite garden writer, and as a presenter, I reckon he shares Peter Cundall’s enthusiasm for gardening and life, albeit with a more erudite turn of phrase. So it should come as no surprise that Around the World in 80 Gardens has me absolutely hooked, and though the series or Monty isn’t without fault, it is surely one of the most fascinating gardening shows ever to grace the small screen.

The reason I’ve enjoyed it so much is largely due to Monty’s premise behind the series. He sets out to learn about a country’s culture through its gardens. This reflects his philosophy that a garden is made by a person (or persons), and it follows that the most interesting thing about a garden is its creator, not the plants within it. This is a hard pill to swallow for a plant nut like me, but Monty’s right – gardens are social and cultural constructs – and the best aren’t necessarily those that are technically brilliant, but those that clearly reflect the personalities and beliefs of their creators.

My interest was really piqued by last week’s episode. Monty visited Australia. I’ve got no idea how he chose the gardens to be featured, but Mr Don toured Kennerton Green, Vladimir Sitta’s modernist Sydney garden, Alice Springs Desert Park and Cruden Farm among others. Judging from his commentary, Monty came in search of the genuine Australian garden, but I got the sense that he went away a bit mystified.

He found Kennerton Green beautiful, but felt that it resembled a typical English country garden. At Cruden Farm he was charmed by Dame Elisabeth Murdoch, but he seemed fairly nonplussed by the angular and confronting Sitta garden. The garden that got him most enthused was The Garden Vineyard on the Mornington Peninsula. Monty particularly appreciated the combination of plants, and was especially taken by the formal treatment of Australian natives.

What I found most fascinating about the show was that in essence, it was an appraisal of Australian gardening from an outsider’s perspective. The verdict: though Monty’s visit was limited in scope, I’m not sure that we came off all that well. I got the impression that Monty perceived Australian gardening culture as a bit juvenile, still yearning for the green fields of the mother country and afraid to grow up.

Is he right? Do we still garden like we live in England? Do we kid ourselves into believing that ours isn’t a changing climate ravaged by a decade of drought? Do we use native plants well, or is our default style one of “the bush in my backyard”?  And the big kahuna, should our gardens be created as imitations of nature or is it okay that they exist as creations in their own right?

I for one hope Monty keeps the big questions flowing. Around the World in 80 Gardens makes very worthwhile viewing, and serves as a reminder that though we live in challenging times, the answer to many of the big issues can be found right under our nose – in the garden.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle, 2nd May 2009. Photo of Kennerton Green by Allison Green via flickr.