Note from the editor
The craft of gardening is, at bottom, the same as it has always been. However, many practices have of necessity changed, as the numbers of affordable professional gardeners have declined, while technology and engineering have provided us with many machines to take the place of human strength and finesse. Most of us thank our stars that we were not gardening 50 or 100 years ago, when we read of, for example, the primitive (and unsafe) weedkillers that were commonplace. And we take pleasure when experts tell us of new techniques for doing old tasks or even, as in the case of using straw bales to grow cucumbers outside, and of grafting tomatoes, when they remind us of old techniques that still have a place.
The RHS has always had an interest in invention and has given publicity to ideas whose time has come, such as the treating of lawns more as meadows than bowling greens. But there is also plenty of space given to the eternal practical preoccupations of gardeners: weeding, composting, protecting, salvaging, watering and trying to keep difficult plants alive. (I suspect few gardeners have the confidence to be as frank about this as Helen Dillon!) Lest we get too bogged down in the minutiae, however, Chris Beardshaw tells us what it is all for, why we became professional or amateur gardeners in the first place and why it is so important that the rest of the world understands the value of what we do.
URSULA BUCHAN, editor
On Your Own Turf
There is something so terribly British about a well-tended lawn that it borders on a national caricature: a tightly clipped, emerald-green sward, the grass napped with precision into parallel lines of regimental straightness, bowed into submission by a puttering mower. And, without pushing gender stereotyping too far, it is an undeniably masculine affair by and large–something to do with power mowers I suspect: in many ways a grown-up boy’s toy.
“A major benefit of a more relaxed approach to the lawn is that you can make it much more wildlife friendly”
There are, however, many more options than such monocultures to using grass creatively in the garden. Grasses rarely grow in isolation in the wild–they are found, rather, in a range of plant communities with other herbaceous and often bulbous species. The ‘grasslands’ available to the gardener vary, therefore, from high-input, grass-only bowling green to no-input wilderness where native grasses and the wrong kind of coarse wildflowers–vigorous weeds–are left entirely to their own devices.
Between the two extremes are some highly attractive, much less formal, easier and quicker-to-manage planting styles that are less demanding of resources than the standard lawn. A major benefit of a more relaxed approach to the lawn is that you can make it much more wildlife friendly. Achieving a completely different look may be simply a matter of introducing a few bulbs or wild flowers into an existing lawn, or changing the way it is managed, for example by allowing some areas to grow long and mowing paths through them. After all, who said turf must be mown once a week, and always to the same height?
There is no denying the visual impact of a really great lawn. It can set up dramatic vistas, especially when mower lines accentuate the view. And it can also set off the surrounding plants, providing a neutral green foil for flowers and other foliage.
An immaculately cut lawn has always been something of a status symbol, a means of showing that humans, not nature, were in charge. In times past, the time and costs associated with maintaining such a feature were huge: skilled scythesmen would be required to shear the grass, and later horse-drawn cutters. After Edwin Budding patented the mechanical lawnmower in 1830, a wider public could enjoy the glories of a manicured sward, but it was many years before the majority could justify, or have use for, a mower.
Today lawns are still regarded as status symbols, in terms of size and/or quality (a large, ride-on beast of a mower being the gardening equivalent of a sports car). Alongside the development of the ornamental lawn came the other great promoter of turf science–sport. While many sports require a similar hard-wearing mix of creeping fescue, dwarf perennial ryegrass and meadow grass to most domestic lawns, golf and bowling greens in particular need fine grasses that creep less aggressively. Such fine grasses are often found at the seaside, as an occasional covering by the tide or salt spray kills off coarser grasses and weeds. These seaside swards were the main source of bowling-green turf until the science of growing suitable turf was perfected.
While some of us may want to go to the extreme lengths required to create a bowling-green finish, the pursuit of even the average great British lawn still comes at a price. Crucially, to create a really good lawn, a monoculture of grasses must be established, and all other plants–particularly mosses and wild flowers–excluded. The only way to do this is through regular intervention: annual scarifying to remove thatch; the application of feeds, weedkiller and top-dressing; aeration; irrigation–and, of course, constant mowing.
All these interventions have an environmental price tag attached to them. Fertilisers and weedkillers are resource-and energy-demanding to produce, creating pollution in the process. The extraction and processing of such bulky products as lawn sand and topdressing uses fossil fuels, as does delivering them to your local garden centre. Even without hosepipe bans, watering a lawn is hard to justify given water shortages, despite two miserably wet summers.
There are also ecological reasons to question high-intensity lawn management. More life exists below ground than in all the above-ground ecosystems on Earth, so any intervention into the soil disturbs the balance of life. Applying chemicals to target earthworms, because their casts are unwelcome on golf and bowling greens, affects other soil-dwellers. It may be imperative for the sport, but is not at all sound ecologically.
So should we all be mothballing our mowers, hanging up our spring-tine rakes and saying farewell to the lawn? I think that would be unrealistic. Most lawns are there as open spaces for children’s play, to entertain friends or to exercise the dog and are not that intensively-managed. But surely it is time to reassess exactly what, why and how we do what we do to lawns; there are alternatives to cutting each blade of grass in our gardens weekly.
Perhaps the first step is to understand what we want the lawn for, which will help decide the area it needs to cover. If your only requirement is an open space for a table and a few chairs, then perhaps you only need a small lawn? What then happens with the rest of the space that was once lawn is up to you.
There are plenty of opportunities to enhance the garden through different approaches to grassland. Leave some areas to grow longer and mow paths through, add some bulbs or perennials, or try an area of wildflower meadow. Traditional hay meadows are only cut in late summer as this is the best time for agriculture. In a garden situation, meadows can be left until late autumn or early winter–and removing and composting the ‘hay’ helps reduce the soil fertility, which makes for more diversity. Better still, you can swap the weekly grass cut for an annual one.
Relaxing our approach to lawns can not only give us more time for the rest of the garden, it produces a more natural, informal feel, and undoubtedly attracts more wildlife. At the same time, and without changing the garden too much, you can reduce the time, resources and energy a lawn consumes, making it far more sustainable long-term.
Gosling Scrotch
“…the whole sprawl of nature’s Velcro arises from one stem not thicker than 15-amp fuse wire”
As goosegrass years go, this is proving a relatively light one. Goosegrass (you can call it cleavers, cleggers, hayriff, burweed or even gosling-scrotch–I doubt whether anyone likes it enough to call it Galium aparine) is one of the weeds I class as more irritating than infuriating. Its speed and spread can be astonishing, especially as the whole sprawl of nature’s Velcro arises from one stem not thicker than 15-amp fuse wire. It can overtop shrubs before you notice it has started. It regularly clogs hedge-bottoms, and insinuates itself into beds and borders just enough to blur the focus without really drawing attention to itself. But even a hefty infestation is not heavy work to remove. In spring before it flowers you can usually roll most of it up into an inconsiderable ball, which you can hide (I get scolded for this) in any out-of-the-way corner. Teasing it out of plants is rather soothing work, I find.
It is a different matter when it reaches the seeding stage, covering everything it touches with little green pellet-like burrs. It is particularly fond of socks, and soon gets into your shoes as maddeningly as gravel.
Popular Weedkillers
The perfect chemical weedkiller should possess these attributes:
1 It should be thoroughly effective throughout the various seasons of the year and should be independent of climate and weather.
2 It should be easily handled by operators unskilled in dealing with chemicals; it should be safe. A weedkiller which is relatively non-poisonous to live stock, including birds, is preferable to a virulent poison, for it is exceedingly difficult to prevent small quantities of chemicals from entering the body either by the skin or mouth if operators are handling them all day.
3 The chemical should be cheap, so that large areas may be treated economically.
Salt has been used for long as a weedkiller on paths. A strong solution prevents the osmotic uptake of water by the roots of adjacent plants. Heavy rain at once destroys the efficiency of such weedkillers, which are dependent upon high concentrations and are not toxic at great dilutions. The after-effect left in the soil is for all practical purposes negligible unless repeated applications are used.
The toxic reactions of arsenical compounds is well known. Small quantities taken up by either plant or animal may prove fatal. As so small a quantity as 0.125 to 0.25 gram. (that is, less than one hundredth part of an oz.) may prove fatal, except perhaps to some Styrian addicts to the habit of arsenic-eating and to other workers in arsenic works, it is therefore obvious that the greatest care is required in handling arsenical sprays and solutions, and that such compounds do not meet all our requirements. The modern use of arsenic as a weedkiller tends to be restricted to particularly troublesome weeds.
[If mixed with sulphuric acid] the acid injures the leaves, killing the outer tissues; plants sprayed in the late afternoon readily take up the arsenical solution into their tissues, owing to the existing demand for water exhibited by these tissues after a period of active transpiration during the heat of the day. The arsenical compounds may reach the deep roots, passing downwards in the plant and slowly spreading from the vessels into the tissues. It will readily be appreciated that success is closely related to the physiological condition and water requirements of the plants; it might be limited by the presence of a high degree of saturation of soil and air.
Chlorates are exceedingly toxic to plants: sodium chlorate is particularly destructive. The danger of poisoning from chlorates is a very small one if elementary precautions are observed: quite large quantities must be taken up to prove toxic.
The relatively transient nature of these compounds in the soil permits of their use on open or cultivated ground; after early autumnal application of the weedkiller it is safe to sow most garden crops in spring; certain seeds may be sown even earlier. Were it not for the danger of fire, sodium chlorate would meet all demands.
Straw Bales Revisited
As with other industries, horticulture is always changing, but modern concerns about sustainability as well as the environment may increasingly force us to look back to find the most appropriate ways forward.
Five years ago, an article in The Garden by Martin Fish outlined a technique from the past that is still effective today. Growing crops commercially (such as cucumbers) in straw bales was experimented with in the 1960s, although the idea dates back further. However, once modern nutrient-film growing systems were introduced, the procedure was all but forgotten. As the 2005 article outlined however, straw bale culture is worth trying. Rather than it being solely the preserve of commercial glasshouse crops, current ideas show it is adaptable enough to succeed outdoors, and can be used to grow ornamental plants seasonally.
“…ideally, get your bale in place in early spring and allow it to absorb rainwater”
Straw bales are like growing bags once plants are established in them, but they have special properties that make them suitable for certain plants. Straw bales absorb and store large quantities of water–acting rather like a sponge–although excess water quickly drains from them, preventing plant roots from rotting. During the growing season plants need to be watered and fed regularly, as with a growing bag, but bales do not seem to dry out as quickly.
The addition of water begins decomposition of the bale. As it slowly rots it releases nitrates (which help promote plant growth) and also substantial amounts of heat, directly at the roots. While some plants dislike hot roots and high levels of nitrogen, others such as cucurbits and many ornamental plants with fleshy roots (such as cannas and gingers) grow well in such conditions. Push your hand into the bale and you may be surprised at the heat generated by the rotting straw. Bales are self-supporting–you do not need to buy a container or construct a bed to hold them in, and being heavy (and large) they will not blow over. Using them even allows plants to be grown where there is no soil, perhaps on hard standing.
Provided straw bales can be found, little else is required save a sheltered position and access to water. At the season’s end the remains of the bale are surprisingly well rotted and can be composted or dug into the soil.
The most difficult part of growing in straw bales is the start–obtaining and then preparing them for planting. Bales are not always easy to find, especially for town dwellers and even in the countryside the huge round ones are now more commonplace. Bales of hay, while more easily obtained, are not suitable as they become soggy and rot down too fast. Once you have found your bale, a problem may be transporting it–they are heavy, awkward objects, so you will probably need help.
Preparation of the bale should be done in mid-to-late May and consists of ensuring it is saturated with water. This is critical, but no simple task. Leaving a hose to run on it is wasteful so, ideally, get your bale in place in early spring and allow it to absorb rainwater. After soaking (for a couple of days at least), the bale is heavier still; if possible, do this in its final position. Plastic sheeting can be put under the bale to help retain moisture.
Adding water begins the decomposition of the bale, but young plants will need pampering to get established. Planting holes should be cut carefully with a knife, pulling away straw by hand as you go. Before planting, spread the bale with high-nitrate feed, or put plenty of a granular equivalent (such as Growmore) into planting holes. Peat-free compost can be added to help establish plants as they send out feeder roots into the straw.
Plant up after the last frosts. Each bale can support around three big plants, although underplanting with smaller subjects is possible, and with ornamentals more can be added. If cold nights are forecast, covering plants with fleece will help prevent failures.
While plants establish they will not need too much water, but once they begin to grow they need daily watering, especially in hot weather. Feed plants once they are growing actively. Any fungi that appear are part of the decomposition process and will not affect the plants.
By autumn the bale will start to disintegrate; it and the plants, if not required, can be composted or dug into the ground where they will rot down over winter.
Provided suitable plants are chosen, this technique has great potential in many situations. The growth plants achieve is impressive and the bulk of the bales means they support large, greedy plants better than a pot or growing bag. For home growers it is a fairly sustainable technique: once the bales are soaked they do not need more water than containers, and at the end of the year the waste feeds your garden.
Plants I’ve Killed
“It’s no good waking up in December thinking ‘O-my-God–the ixias!’”
As an antiques dealer in a former life I had a table in stock with a prominent warp on top. The only chance of selling it was on a Monday, as the warp would sink a bit while the heating was off on Sundays. This reminds me of my first sight of Sisyrinchium striatum ‘Aunt May’, on a sunny morning in June, when it was looking dreamy, with beautifully striped leaves and spires of creamy flowers. Nobody mentioned that its foliage rapidly clogs up with dead black leaves. Tolerate their ugliness, or sit down with scissors and snip them out. I reckon Shirley Conran and her ‘Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom’ would feel much the same about such fidgety work. So ‘Aunt May’ went off to the compost heap (and the table eventually sold–on a Monday).
I’ve killed an embarrassment of plants over the years. I moved a 24-flowered clump of lady’s slipper orchid (Cypripedium reginae) in midsummer and replanted it deeply to stop it toppling over. It resented such treatment–beautiful orchid, bye-bye.
You could describe some of my losses as wilful destruction: I decided that the variegated crown imperial (Fritillaria imperialis ‘Argenteovariegata’) was just too glitzy, the variegated Abutilon megapotamicum too blotchy, and why did I ever need a two-tone blackberry (Rubus fruticosus ‘Variegatus’)? My reasons for demolishing that sumptuous, orange-red climbing South American relation of alstroemeria, Bomarea multiflora (syn. B. caldasii)? My argument was that two flowers every few years isn’t enough. It didn’t survive the downgrade from south to west border. And what about remembering about bulbs dried off in summer that need watering come September, such as ravishing turquoise-green Ixia viridiflora or winter-flowering Tropaeolum tricolor? It’s no good waking up in December thinking ‘O-my-God–the ixias!’
As for Olympic-style runners, such as startling orange Oriental poppy Papaver orientale ‘May Queen’, and the white form of willowherb Chamaenerion angustifolium, I had to find out for myself that they want to annex the garden at the drop of a petal. (I’ve since restored the willowherb; it’s too good to be without.)
Many plants are victim to a one-night strike of a passing slug, others would have preferred to stay in the glasshouse all year, but my main reason for losing plants is that they get squashed because I forget all about them. Just like at parties, when I’m so busy running around after new arrivals that people who come first get stuck in corners with an empty glass and nothing to eat.
Let it Snow
February, it is general agreed, is the most testing time of the year. But until 2009, many British gardeners had, for 18 years, no experience of what deep snow was like, or what it could do to the garden. As a result it was brought home to us how valuable an asset good ‘bone structure’ can be.
I discovered last year that I was a really committed gardener–if I had ever doubted the fact. Despite acquiring two cracked elbows and a damaged wrist in an accident on New Year’s Day, I shuffled on my coat, hat and gloves and (much against my better judgement, it must be said) ventured out the day it snowed, broom in hand, to shift the snow from the fruit-cage netting. This was because the netting will readily bow and break, once the snow freezes. Having achieved that, I brushed the worst of the snow from box and yew hedges, although I left the Leyland cypress boundary hedge (not planted by me) to its fate. By this time, I was covered in snow from head to foot and nursing two painfully aching arms. But I was cheerful, even triumphant.
“…I brushed the worst of the snow from box and yew hedges, although I left the Leyland cypress boundary hedge (not planted by me) to its fate”
It seemed to me a pleasant irony that I had long since stopped advising people in print to knock the snow off fruit-cage netting and evergreen shrubs, since winter after winter had passed without any snow to speak of. Just as motorists had forgotten that high gear and low revs are better in these conditions than low gear and high revs, so gardeners like me had forgotten what terrible damage can be done by the weight of frozen snow. But will the same thing happen this February? I have no idea but, now that my arms are knitted, I shan’t mind much if it does.
All Kitted Out
The pressure is on. For the past year or more, the growing army of grow-your-own newcomers has been ceaselessly bombarded with advice to equip itself with expensive, snazzy accoutrements. What price a few rows of posh lettuce, a couple of kilos of tomatoes and an almost inevitable surfeit of runner beans?
Of all the much-hyped ‘essentials’ it is, I suspect, the proliferation of costly raised-bed kits that has caused the most elevated eyebrows among the old guard, the dedicated row hoers who have been at it for longer than they care to remember.
To be fair, growing vegetables in raised beds is not new. Championed by ‘no-dig’ organicos, it has also been a solution for those (like me) with boot-sticking clay soil. I improve soil in beds (separated by coarse bark paths) with gritty sand, adding muck or compost each year. The soil level inevitably rises, hence the need for raised wooden edges, and as long as I keep up the summer watering, it does mean that I can plant more closely, and thus potentially get more produce from a pretty meagre-sized plot.
“…it is, I suspect, the proliferation of costly raised-bed kits that has caused the most elevated eyebrows among the old guard…”
Why does it have to be a raised bed? I’m sure many busy householders are quite simply experimenting in their (increasingly small) back gardens, perhaps by plonking a raised bed or two in former lawn. This way there is minimal digging and disruption to the garden layout and (maybe the reasoning goes) if it all goes pear-shaped, they can always plant petunias or re-turf the next year–and forget the whole episode.
Traditionalists should hold fire a bit: realistically, this is not about self-sufficiency or ‘free’ food; and the sort of ingenious, no-cost, Heath Robinson improvisation that goes on in most allotments–and indeed in spacious vegetable gardens that are tucked out of sight–is not particularly pleasing to the eye.
Are there no alternatives to extravagant use of commercial composts, smart new timber kits and all the rest of the raised-bed-in-a-box paraphernalia? As someone remarked to me recently, if we all viewed the building of really large, simple compost bins as a priority, bagged compost would be largely unnecessary. Dark coloured, plastic plumbing pipes from DIY stores, bent into arches, make cheap, discreet supports for protective fleece and mesh. And what about using recycled scaffolding boards, treated to prolong their life and if necessary stained to spruce them up, for making those compost bins and raised beds? Or (it has given me wicked pleasure to have done this myself) what about using second-hand decking? Come to think of it, when people finally get sick of skidding around in slime for half the year on their TV-makeover-style decking, there should be quite a lot of that going begging.
Lawn Lesson
Matthew Biggs’ column on ways to increase the drought tolerance of lawns reminded me of an old lawnsman’s trick: to walk along the lawn on cool dewy mornings, dragging behind him an opened-out hessian sack attached to two lengths of garden twine. Dew droplets would be brushed from the grass and fall into the sward to be absorbed by the soil. Moreover, as the grass blades were now wet, any further dew would also run down to reach the soil. Thus, rather than leaving droplets of dew on the grass to evaporate wastefully by the rising sun, the dew provided a welcome drink to the lawn.
How Watering Regimes can Affect Vegetable Flavour
Vegetables consist mostly of water, with a relatively small amount of solid material that gives their texture and flavour. Withholding water might be thought to lead to more solids and stronger flavour and this is sometimes the case–but not always.
Tomatoes, for example, can be watery and tasteless if grown ‘soft’ (lavish irrigation and feeding), but sweeter and with more tomato flavour and texture if grown ‘hard’ (subjected to a certain amount of water stress). Overdo it though, and blossom end rot will quickly damage fruits, as calcium flow through the plant needs a steady supply of water. The same goes for other fruiting plants such as peppers and aubergines.
More watery vegetables such as lettuces, courgettes and cucumbers do best grown soft with plenty of fertiliser and water. There are also differences between cultivars–Batavian lettuces reputedly taste better than icebergs.
Some vegetables require ample water to give the right flavour and texture. Radishes and turnips become woody and develop a fiery flavour if grown too hard; water-stressed calabrese becomes coarse and stringy; cauliflowers produce small rubbery heads; while beetroots and baby carrots lack the desired delicate sweetness if kept too dry.
Joined at the Hip
Grafting is an ancient propagation method, dating back to at least classical Greece and Rome that fuses different plants to unite specific characteristics from each. Usually carried out on woody plants, grafting combines the ornamental or productive features of a cultivar–especially fruit trees–with the vigour of a different rootstock. Although less commonly applied to non-woody plants, grafting has also been used in tomato growing since the 1950s to produce plants for commercial growers. At that time, tomato selections were specially bred from wild relatives with natural resistance to fungal root diseases including fusarium and verticillium wilt, and to the pest, root-knot nematode, all of which had built up in soils in growers’ glasshouses because of continuous production. These specially-resistant selections, raised from seed, had poor fruit quality but could act as rootstocks. Onto these, seedlings of cultivars (scions) chosen for their fruit quality and yields, but susceptible to pests and diseases, could be grafted. Nurseries were then able to continue growing commercial crops without the expense of steaming soil or using chemical fumigants to control the soil-borne problems.
“…recently the range has been extended to grafted aubergines, cucumbers, sweet and chilli peppers, squashes, melons and watermelons”
Within the tomato-growing industry, grafted plants fell out of favour when growers moved crops out of soil, first into peat, later investing in hydroponic systems, where grafted plants’ resistance to soil-borne root diseases was no longer an advantage. But they have recently made a comeback as a way of instilling vigour into weaker-growing but popular cultivars, and also because commercial organic tomato crops, which have to be grown in soil, are being planted more extensively.
Gardeners can now buy young grafted tomato plants, pot-ready for growing on by mail order or, from some garden centres, for planting straight away. Grafted cultivars include cherry, beefsteak, mini-plum, orange, yellow and striped types. You can also buy organically raised grafted tomato plants, and recently the range has been extended to grafted aubergines, cucumbers, sweet and chilli peppers, squashes, melons and watermelons. The benefit is not just resistance to soil-borne diseases, but also the extra vigour lent by the rootstocks, which is claimed to produce larger plants and heavier yields as well as to bring plants into flower and fruit earlier–and for a longer period.
Grafting has to be done by hand, which is why buying a grafted plant will cost you more than one raised from seed. Do its advantages outweigh the extra costs?
The resistance that rootstocks have to a range of root diseases could be attractive for gardeners planting the same crops in soil in a glasshouse year after year, with limited room for rotation. This is especially true for tomatoes as they are susceptible to several soil-borne diseases. But some modern cultivars have been bred to carry some of the same resistance as the rootstocks. If you are using new growing bags or growing media each year, the disease protection provided by a rootstock is likely to be of little value, anyway.
Any extra vigour that the rootstock of a grafted plant can confer is another matter. One of the widest selections of grafted vegetable plants is offered by Suttons and its sister company, Dobies. ‘Grafted plants make a bigger root system and take a much firmer hold than a cultivar grown on its own roots,’ says Suttons Senior Horticultural Manager, Tom Sharples.
Grafted plants are also said to tolerate colder soils (which means they should fruit earlier in a cold glasshouse or polytunnel), crop for longer and generally perform better in more difficult conditions outdoors than seed-raised plants, particularly in a less-than-ideal summer. Tom estimates that grafted tomatoes can be three to four weeks earlier to fruit, depending on the cultivar.
Just a handful of rootstocks have been specifically bred for grafted vegetable plants. Several tomato rootstocks with different levels of vigour are used for tomato, and can also be used for aubergine, a member of the same plant family, Solanaceae. One rootstock used for cucumber is its wild relative, Cucurbita ficifolia (fig-leaf or Malabar gourd), but cucumber rootstocks have also been specially bred. Not all fruiting cultivars are suited to being grafted, however–a breeding aim for tomatoes for garden use, for instance has been a thin skin, but the extra vigour from grafted rootstocks in some cases will cause fruit to split, which rules out some cultivars for grafting.
Because of the grafted plants’ extra vigour, their roots need plenty of room. Suttons advises a deep pot (at least 30cm/12in) if plants are to be pot-grown in the glasshouse. Most growing bags are unlikely to give their roots enough space for the best results. Grown outdoors, plants should be 60cm (2ft) apart. Tom Sharples recommends a proprietary high-potash feed twice a week once fruits start to set (cucumbers, once a week). ‘You don’t want to give too much nitrogen because you don’t want to encourage more leaf and stem growth,’ he says.
“The disease resistance or early harvest some grafted plants offer could make it worthwhile paying the extra…”
The disease resistance or early harvest some grafted plants offer could make it worthwhile paying the extra if: your tomato or cucumber crops have suffered soil-borne disease; you struggle to find the time to replace border soil in the glasshouse; space is tight to rotate crops outdoors; you have missed the window for raising your own plants; or you just want to hedge your bets on a poor summer.
With a limited number of cultivars available, you may have to settle for one you have not tried before, or with which you are unfamiliar. But more suppliers are beginning to market grafted plants, and in pots as large as 1 litre. From this year, Suttons will offer grafted tomato plants that have been pinched to produce two main stems or where two different cultivars have been grafted onto one rootstock, both making better use of a small growing area.
Skills to Save our Heritage
If you think for a moment about the breadth of knowledge and skills needed to perform even the most basic horticultural tasks, well, it soon becomes clear just how complicated an activity gardening can be.
The harmonious and mesmeric clip of shears on topiary; the tenderness with which seedlings are reared; and the process of creating a fine tilth are all multifaceted processes that, while often assumed to be instinctive or innate, demand an understanding of science, botany, practical expertise, experience, emotional connections, artistic vision and passion, to name but a few.
Perhaps it is because gardening originated as a subsistence activity, or that it is easily accessible to so many people and appears simple when executed by the experienced, but it is indisputable: gardening has never been accepted as a skilled, high-profile profession.
Roots of a passion
Not so long ago, when I was 15 or so, I told my careers tutor I wanted to study horticulture. I explained how my fascination in the subject began as a toddler, watching grandparents tend and cultivate, and that my interest had developed to the point where I was rearing an eclectic collection of trees from seed in my parents’ garden, and that I had worked part time for two years at a nursery.
I supplemented my pitch with the information that a dedicated horticultural institution existed only a dozen miles away, and it was here I wished to further my education. The response was a startling demonstration of how gardening is widely perceived. My tutor exclaimed in amazement that, with good predicted grades at O level, I would be wasting my talents in farming. Apparently my interests and passions would be best utilised by following a career in the Royal Navy, specifically as a submariner.
I recount this tale as an example of how a clear passion to follow a path could have been irrevocably pruned. Inherent in this tale is also a clear indication of the role of third parties–grandparents, parents and friends whose gardening enthusiasm infects and inspires those at a tender age. Perhaps a few snatched moments with your grandchild observing the frenetic activity of a pollinating bee, or sharing the harvesting of a sumptuous strawberry crop will be the catalyst required to inspire the next generation of professional gardeners and horticulturists.
Halcyon images these may be, but without such intimate engagement I fear for the tradition of professional gardening in Britain. In this generation our once world-admired horticultural education centres have all but disappeared. Some are wizened shadows of their former selves while others have been enticed into multifunctional academic centres. We also witness an unprecedented withering of student numbers entering the profession. The debate over cause, effect and blame continues under the canopies of botanical collections, in glasshouses and within the corridors of learning but the net result is a starvation of talent. This is talent that could so easily tread in the footsteps of Wilson, Tradescant, Jekyll, Robinson and Jellicoe et al, while driving innovation and pioneering work in the realms of design, conservation, botany and, of course, practical gardening.
There is perhaps no better time than now to state our case: when testing economic circumstances encourage reconsideration of priorities and opportunities, the traditionally modest gardening fraternity are required to shout loud our cause. Passing on clear information to a targeted audience is needed to highlight the range of professional opportunities on offer, and we should not be embarrassed to promote the personal and social benefits that may be reaped by those both within, and witnessing, the results of the profession.
“…allowing the great gardening achievements evident across our country–botanic collections, heritage sites, parks and private gardens–to do anything less than prosper is something for which future generations will not thank us”
Educationalists should try to focus on long-term needs rather than training students for careers in which there are few sustainable jobs. Key to this would be establishing a culture where continuing mentoring and learning is achieved without the current ‘bums on seats’ mentality, which is stimulated by targets and financial pressures.
Why should gardeners concern themselves with these matters? Well, it could be argued that nothing denotes a dysfunctional society like the wasting of talent and opportunity. Coupled with this is a realisation that allowing the great gardening achievements evident across our country–botanic collections, heritage sites, parks and private gardens–to do anything less than prosper is something for which future generations will not thank us.
Then, of course, there are the individual, human justifications for pulling focus; in my case it is nothing more complex than the extraordinary excitement, stimulation and emotional rewards I gain, especially when plants are combined as a means of artistic expression. These were, I believe, catalysts for me at the age of four to decide gardening was my future, and as such are something I wish everyone could experience.
