Humans are easily distracted. If we were able to focus more than 25 per cent of the time we'd have halted convid by now, sorted global warming and be growing gladioli on Mars. This means it's extremely easy to distract those who may be wandering through your garden, potentially looking critically at your pruning techniques or neglected vegie patch. ''How beautiful!'' visitors here muttered a week ago, gazing up at the remnant red and gold autumn leaves while ignoring the knee-high weeds underneath them that were leaving their seeds in any sock passing by.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
A 'garden statement' is anything that attracts and holds the gaze. It's remarkably easy to install something so noteworthy that few people will bother to look any further.
One of my favorite gardens simply has a tiny row of pansies by the front gate, and potted pansies by the front door, alternating with bright dwarf marigolds in summer. I can't remember what's in the rest of the garden, even though I see it often. A bit of lawn and a hedge or two, maybe? It doesn't matter. Those bright flowers make the statement: someone lives here who loves her neighbors enough to make a joyous garden.
When we held Open Garden days here we timed them for the Climbing Albertine's blooming, one single rambling rose bush covering the front fence with massed pink blooms. I doubt any of those who photographed it ever realised the garden on either side of that rose was a bit ... tatty. Plant half your fences out with rambling roses, the rampant kind that need no pruning till they begin to block the front door, and your garden will look stunning for as long as they are flowering, which with modern varieties can be at least six months. Plant the other half of your fence space with winter blooming hardenbergia, and you'll be spectacular almost the entire year.
One extremely boring terrace house in Adelaide has six identical standard Iceberg roses side by side in its tiny front garden. Standard Iceberg roses are the bath salts of the rose world, but those six, in that spot, in that garden, make a drab scene superb, especially as Iceberg roses are almost constantly in bloom if grown next to the warmth of a sunny wall. Standard roses are grafted on top of an extremely tall bare stem. They can look like a row of skinny bare legs topped with frilly petticoats, or they can look magnificent, depending on how they're used.
Weeping flowering fruit trees look similarly dramatic. A weeping flowering cherry in the middle of your lawn will make your garden seem spectacularly floriferous for as long as it blooms, which may only be a few weeks in a spring heat wave. A weeping standard Bonica rose is a better bet for a mid-lawn ornament, or anything that says 'long blooming' on the label.
This is the time of year to give yourself a hedge of apple trees to espalier along the fence; or a hedge of camellias instead of a fence. Camellias are a gift to the next generations, too, as they will eventually become small trees with sturdy trunks, rather than bushes. Three giant camellias, at least 100 years old, turn an otherwise bare farmhouse garden nearby into a delight in winter, and a single vast camellia in a courtyard in a Melbourne university is unforgettable. At least the courtyard and its giant flower-covered camellia tree are unforgettable. I can't remember which university is lucky enough to possess it.
Spend the next 20 years creating topiary horses either side of your front gate, or buy two large pots of already topiaried box or lillypilly. Go 'too big to be ignored' with a summer blooming magnolia grandiflora, or some of the winter flowering mahonias, drought resistant, fragrant and generous.
A garden statement doesn't even have to be a plant. I visited a house in Perth a few years ago, built in true Perth neo massive style, all slabs of mauve concrete. But all along the blank front wall were extremely tall black pots, starkly elegant, filled with the most sculpturally stunning yucca rigida I have ever seen. I remained bowled over by their sheer architectural poise even after discovering that the yucca were made of something that wasn't quite plastic, but was definitely not plant.
Another garden I love has a drift of ornamental pebbles by the front door, with a stream meandering through it, though instead of water there are soft blue low-growing succulents, 'hen and chickens' I think, which are cheap to buy and reproduce themselves so quickly that a scant planting soon becomes thick with a bit of watering, though they will survive heat and drought for quite a while without it.
A 'statement' can be a front path or paved courtyard in varying subtle shades of slate. Everything else will just look vaguely green while you admire it. It can be a water feature, a gift for the birds as well as passersby, or a sculpture large enough to admire from the front fence.
And of course, you can simply use a heck of a lot of money. The Great Homes of England (think Pemberley) made their statement with 200 hectares of lawn: look, we are rich enough to have a vast amount of grass with no sheep to spoil the view. Or do a Prince Charles and buy 20,000 lawn thyme plants. (Those who hear a note of envy in that last suggestion are correct).
Whatever you choose for your garden statement will, of course, tell the discerning passerby a surprising amount about you, if they stop to analyse it. Hopefully they will be too busy admiring your garden to bother.
This week I am:
- Thanking Bryan for planting the fruit trees - I didn't quite get round to digging holes for them.
- Glad I scattered fertiliser on the citrus before last week's rain. Somehow it always rains after I have fed the lemon trees, and I promise I don't wait till rain is forecast to do so. (Though I very carefully don't fertilse when it is hot and I am sure no rain - or hose - is on its way).
- Trying to harden my heart to give the blue salvia its annual prune down to ground level, but it still has just a few blooms, and the bees and honeyeaters adore them.
- Rejoicing in the generosity of bulbs. The half dozen or so nerines I put in many years ago which made a poor and scanty show each winter have finally multiplied enough to distract the eye from the rest of the front garden. And next year there will be twice as many, or even more.
- Wishing I had weeded the asparagus bed before the weeds set seed. The mulch is going to have to be thick this year to counter them.
- Filling vases with more jonquils, with yellow flowers among the white now, and wondering how many daffodils will emerge after the nightmare of last summer. If the answer is 'few' it is time to plant more. (Daffodil bulbs are cheaper bought in bulk, by the hundred, shared with a friend or four).