So it is nearly time to deck the halls with boughs of holly so look [...]
Dependable friends: santolinasCreated by Charlotte in Being You, Home and Garden
لماذا لا تحاول هذه http://wilsonrelocation.com/?q=%D8%A7%D8%B3%D8%AA%D8%B1%D8%A7%D8%AA%D9%8A%D8%AC%D9%8A%D8%A7%D8%AA-%D8%A7%D9%84%D9%81%D9%88%D8%B1%D9%83%D8%B3 We gardeners have complex relationships with our plants. There are the Special Ones, bronchi the flowers you just adore and cosset. If they’re temperamental, well, you make allowances. Then there are the show-offs, who shout ‘Look at me!’ when they’re flowering. The rest of the year they have off, existing but not enhancing the garden. And perhaps more important than either are the stalwarts, the plants who contribute all year round. They may not be spectacular when in bloom, but they’re quiet and dependable, like the best kind of friend.
رابط موقع Santolinas are definitely not prima donnas. Low growing, lavender-sized shrubs from southern Europe, their colloquial name is Cotton Lavender, perhaps because their little bobble-like flowers are reminiscent of cotton bolls. In the sixteenth century, then called Lavender Cotton, they were used in knot gardens since, well trimmed, they make a good low hedge. The touched leaves give off a pungent, astringent smell, and in an age when a herb garden was the only medicine chest, special attention was given to such a plant. Nicholas Culpeper, the English herbalist, claimed that it ‘resisteth poison, putrefaction, and heals the bitings of venomous beasts’ as well as killing intestinal worms. None of that appears to have been true, but perhaps there’s a case now for investigating the plant’s chemical composition. After all something interesting must create that intriguing smell.
نرى Mediterranean plants, provided they can survive frost, tend to do well in my dry East Anglian patch. Trouble was I didn’t like the commonly-planted Santolina chamaecyparissus. The grey foliage was fine, but its aggressively yellow button flowers jarred. A friend said airily, ‘Oh, no problem. You simply cut them off’. Well I’m sorry, but that’s a task too far.
تحقق من هنا Then I visited a garden and nursery which grew one sporting pale yellow bobbles, with looser leaves. Much better. It was promptly bought and planted. Santolina names seem to be in rather a muddle, so although this was labelled S. rosmarinifolia, I think it could well be just a sub-species of S. chamaecyparissus. It benefits from a judicious winter cutback, as most do, to prevent them getting leggy, yet sulks if you’re too severe. In return the grey leaves and primrose flowers are a delight in July, providing form and elegance.
الخيارات الثنائية مثل القمار There are, I discovered, a whole range of variations. With triumph I pounced on one with green leaves and cream blooms, each little bobble a beautiful study in symmetry, with a solid centre and delicately patterned outer ring. The odd seedling now appears about the garden, and I wait eagerly to see what colour combination they’ve inherited.
مصدر مفيد And then, two years ago in a small, out of the way nursery, a scrawny thing in a little pot, called to me pathetically – a yellow-leaved santolina named ‘Lemon Fizz’. How could I resist? It was planted in the gravel garden, where things have to be decorative all year round. Oh my! The thing has spread to more than three foot across, like a mound of trapped sunlight. An occasional sprig reverts to green among the bright yellow leaves, and has to be snipped off, while in autumn the whole plant gets a trim, just to keep it compact. The flowers are unnecessary – and unnoticed, being exactly the same brash colour. I shouldn’t like it. But I do, very much.
موقع المصدر I now value all the various santolinas about the garden. They need a sunny place, and struggle reproachfully if in shade. But they’re a reminder that, especially with a gardener’s increasing age, plants doing their thing without fuss or fanfare are the truest friends.
انقر by Alex Pankhurst