I’m starting to feel like a real gardener. For most of last week I worked inside, bum on seat, fingers on keys, staring endlessly at a computer monitor, until by Friday I was just about ready to burst with a need to head outside and get stuck into some real work. As much as I love to garden, I’d never really experienced this need so powerfully and it dawned on me that this isn’t just a hobby for me any more. Gardening has etched itself onto my soul. It’s what I do and part of who I am. All it takes is a few days indoors and I’m starting to act like a lover deprived.
When the time finally came to get outside last week, I knew straight away what jobs I wanted to get stuck into. One was planting. This was more out of necessity than any other motivation, as the plant “waiting room” was starting to look more crowded than Accident and Emergency on a Saturday night. But the job I really longed for was one of my winter favourites: I grabbed my best long handled spade, and started dividing perennials.
It’s hard to put a finger on the exact reason this job is a favourite. It might simply have something to do with the actions of digging, lifting, dividing and replanting. Timeless, physical work like this always makes me feel satisfied upon completion, certainly more so than a day spent behind the computer. But a more likely reason is the multiplier effect.
Herbaceous perennials are generous plants. Not only do they tend to grow quickly, filling up spaces in just a few years, but they are endlessly flexible. If you’re not happy with a perennial in its current position, just dig it up when dormant and move it to a more favoured location. Here’s the best bit. When the plant has been dug, it can also be divided. And from a single clump you might be able to tease out 10, 20, 30 or even more individual plantlets that can either be planted back in the ground, potted up for later use, or given away to friends.
Last Friday I divided some achilleas. These are fantastic plants to work with for a couple of reasons. One is that they actually flower better if divvied up every few years. The other is that they split so easily, and so generously. A single clump about 40cm in diameter yielded enough plants for two more clumps twice that size, as well as another 12 good quality pieces that I potted up for future projects in spring.
Other plants are equally generous. Mature agapanthus transplant brilliantly, lending themselves to being dug up, split roughly with a spade and shared amongst fellow gardeners. Clivias will take similar treatment, as will clumping natives like dianellas. Campanulas can be split into quite small pieces and species geraniums like Geranium sanguineum and G. “Biokovo” will settle back in readily over winter.
Some perennials appreciate more specialised treatment. Bearded irises for example need to be replanted with the top surface of their rhizomes exposed to the sun. This helps them flower better the following spring. Herbaceous salvias like Salvia nemorosa subsp tesquicola are quite woody and will benefit from being split into quite large pieces with decent sections of root left intact. North American perennials like Echinacea, Rudbeckia and Monarda are best taken from the outer edges of a clump. This is where the most vigorous growth occurs.
Ornamental grasses are a special case in point. Species like Miscanthus, Calamagrostis and Pennisetum can prove fickle when divided in winter, and are best left until they begin actively growing in spring. The larger clumps will also take a bit of muscle, or machinery, to split. Try using a couple of strong garden forks placed back to back to lever a clump apart, but if this is too difficult, go for broke and use either a chainsaw, a reciprocating saw, or at a pinch, a strong handsaw. This might sound drastic, but anyone who’s ever tried to divide a big grass like Miscanthus ‘Gracillimus’ will know that they need this type of brute force to divide.
The next time you’re feeling a bit cooped up, after days tucked away from the cold weather, my advice is simple. Put on some warm clothes and head outside for a bit of hard graft. Put spade to soil. Get back in touch with your patch of earth. I’ll almost guarantee that by the time the westerly wind becomes unbearable, you’ll retreat indoors reinvigorated. I always do, and am always reminded of a Norwegian proverb: “He (or she) who chops his own wood gets doubly warm”. So it is with winter gardening.
First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle, 13th June 2009. Photo by Justin Russell.
