It's the same with gardens. That's what they are all about for me - communication. They provide a common ground, a common interest which brings people together and sets up interaction. The garden speaks, and people speak.
But what the hell was I trying to say with my next venture in the summer bedding category?
Far too much of what we do in the charitable sector, as in the public sector, is governed by finances, not by quality or good taste. I had been left in a predicament with my Dahlias. I now had one place to plant them, and twice the number I needed to fill it. I thought about colour. I thought about paint and colour-mixing. I thought pink is made of red and white. I thought pink and red might work together. Plenty of other people disagreed. In many ways I liked it.
In fact I did like it. It was different. It was strong. It wasn't something you saw in many places. Some members of the public agreed with me. Probably the same ones we had knocked between the eye the year before with the yellow and red scheme. Others said rude things which sapped my morale. But not that much. We gardeners are made of sterner stuff. I look at that even now and feel a glow of satisfaction that I attempted something which gave bulk and height to borders with a feeble history and which put colour where it needed to be - in your face.
OK, detractors will have the temerity to suggest that it still clashed with the faded borders behind, and there is part of me that agrees -
What is wrong in this context is not the pink edging. It is not the purple foliage. It is the bloody red flowers again, but at least it is better than when combined with the bright golden offence of the previous year. So once again I had learned something. The great thing about bedding is that it comes out every year anyway, so you can always change it next time, after you have had a whole winter to hang your head and reread the complaints. As long as you have the money. We'll have to wait till tomorrow to see about that.
In the other scheme, in this, my second year, I had continued with the Heliotrope theme, but now we had reconstructed the four hexagonal beds in the corners of the lawn which completed the symmetry and filled the garden properly. We grew the plants from seed, using a variety called 'Mini Marine' which was obviously shorter than the traditional old-fashioned Victorian type that they had used in years gone by. Interplanting again with Helichrysum petiolare served to lighten the outlook, and all in all it was a very effective scheme. It did involve us growing about 1000 plants which sorely stretched our greenhouse facility, as most of the property's glass was now in private hands, having been assigned to the occupants of the house as part of their private walled garden. All we had left was the old orchid-house, which at this early level of production was just about enough. That state would not last as things got going. I developed a strong affection for the subdued tones and scent of the Heliotropes, and could have remained happy with them were it not for the fact that they attracted locust-like invasions of whitefly prior to planting, and although we treated these organically with a natural predator, it was a trial all the time to keep the problem under control until planting time. Nevertheless, it looked great, and attracted not a single complaint.
It won't put your eye out, though, will it?
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