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JUNE
MAGIC “I am not only well content but highly pleased with the plants and fruits growing in these my own little gardens.” — Epicurus. THIS
is the month when the
least of us gardeners may proudly survey his flowery realm and say,
“not so
bad,” for June seldom disappoints us. All danger from
frost is past, the long rainy spells with cold nights and
chilly, discouraging days are over, the devastating electric storms and
cruel
droughts have not yet come, and the gay throng of Foxgloves, Sweet
Williams,
Irises, Paeonies, Pinks, and old-fashioned Roses are seldom to be found
in the
category of blighted hopes. Wherever the eye
wanders is a lovely picture. Roses tumble over the walls,
or riot up their trellises, Valerian spreads its lacy canopies above
scarlet
Poppies or soft-coloured Iris; a burnished Copper Brier displays itself
in fine
contrast to creamy Lupines and a tender mauve Iris, and blue and white
frilled
Iris Mme. Chereau looked never before so enchanting as with its
background of
yellow Rose Harisoni. Fine masses of clear colour are created by the
slender
Siberian Irises, gay pink and white and crimson Pyrethrums nod from the
borders;
against the wall a great Gloire de Dijon Rose presses its soft flushed
cheek,
and from every chink and cranny of walls and steps and stone edgings,
delicious
Pinks shake out their perfumed fringes. "A grand burst of paeonies usually celebrates the arrival of June." In a corner of the
garden the great rounded bushes of Baptisia
australis are bristling with well-filled spikes of clouded
blue, pea-shaped
flowers. This plant, which grows four feet tall and as thick through,
with the
yellow Baptisia tinctoria, are
splendid all-summer subjects, for they
retain their fine rounded form until cut down by frost. The foliage of
australis
is somewhat metallic in colour, while that of tinctoria is very pale
green, both
valuable in various colour arrangements and blending well with their
own
blossoms. The Baptisias are easily raised from seed, but require
several years
to arrive at an effective size. Frequent division is not desirable, and
they
will grow as well in the deep, rich soil of the borders as in damp
places,
though the latter is their choice. A grand burst of
Paeonies usually celebrates the arrival of June. The old
crimson Paeony and the lovely albifiora belong
to May and are past, and the memory of their simple sweetness is almost
effaced
by the wonders of form and colour which follow in the train of June.
Some are so
double as to be nearly as round as balls; others, like great
loose-petalled
Water-lilies; still others that are called “anemone-flowered,” with a
rounded tuft of petals in the centre and a circle of flat florets, and
still
others are quite single. And the colours range from pure white and
cream through
all the diaphanous pinks to rose and amaranth and dark, rich crimson. To open a Paeony
catalogue is to be plunged into bewilderment, for there
are countless varieties, each sounding more desirable than the last. We
have not
many kinds here — only twelve, besides the May flowerers — and none of
the
fine single ones as yet. Our list is of the less expensive sorts, but
all are
beautiful: Festiva
maxima — round, pure white, flecked crimson. Paeonies will grow
under almost any conditions, as is shown by the fine
plants we see in the tangled grass of deserted gardens, but they
respond
magnificently to a heavily manured soil, and in partial shade the
blossoms will
show a finer colour and last longer in perfection. Once planted, they
should not
be dug up and divided, but left in peace to grow into huge bushes that
will in
time produce dozens of splendid flowers. Paeonies are lovely grown in
wide
borders with the free-growing June Roses, with clumps of the great
Dalmatian
Iris, and bushes of Rue and Southernwood. Pinks belong to June
and are, of all her belongings, the very sweetest;
indeed, they seem to me the sweetest flowers of any month. Once I set
out to
know all the Pinks, wild and tame, but soon found that my garden was
not suited
to all: the little alpines, Dianthus
neglect us, alpinus, glacialis, and some others that I
sought to please,
dwindled and pined in a sadly homesick manner. I gathered together all
the
catalogues, foreign and domestic, that listed the seeds, or plants of
Pinks, and
collected all the Pink literature-which is little enough, considering
the charm
of the subject — and after much experimenting and petitioning, have a
delicious company settled in nooks and corners about the garden, though
many
that I wanted badly could not see their way to stay. The first I had was,
of course, Dianthus
plumarius, the Grass or Scotch Pink, that everybody knows
and loves. It has
many fine hybrids, some so fine as to cost twenty-five cents the
packet, but the
cheaper ones are as sweet, and they are among the friendliest things of
the
whole summer, spreading quickly into great soft-coloured mats, starred
with
sweet, fringed blossoms, double or single. The old pure-white fringed
Pink, D.
finibriatus, and its double sort make charming border
edgings, and another
good white one for this purpose is Mrs. Sinkins, very fat and double.
Still
others are 11cr Majesty and Albion (white), Delicata (pink), Gloriosa
(rose),
and Excelsior (pink with carmine centre). The Mule Pinks, too, are
splendid,
with Napolian III, valiant red, as the finest; Furst Bismark, lovely
rose-colour, a charming second; and Alice, a fluffy double white, not
far
behind. These, of course, bear no seed and must be increased by
cuttings or
division. Of the wild Pinks,
the first we had was the Cheddar Pink, Dianthus
caesius, the seeds of which were sent us from the Cheddar
Cliffs in England,
where we had seen them accomplishing veritable explosions of rosy bloom
upon the
ledges of the fierce gray cliffs. All this first lot I lost, for while
they did
their part in germinating to a seed, I was so stupid as not to know how
to make
them feel at home and put them in the fat borders, where the winter
damp put an
end to these cliff-dwellers in short order. But one does not make so
cruel a
mistake twice, and now there are plenty of Cheddars tucked about in
sunny nooks
between the stones of walls and steps where they are quite hardy and at
peace.
The Maiden Pink, D. deltoides, a
tiny
thing of dry British pastures, is one of the easiest to grow and
exhibits a
vigour one does not expect from so small a thing. Its blunt leaves are
small and
dark, and it grows into such thick mats as to form something very like
a turf,
which may be used upon dry banks where grass is cared for with
difficulty. But
it belongs to the garden, too, and fringes my wall tops and stone
edgings
charmingly. The flowers are so pink as to be quite jewel-like in their
brightness, and there is a white sort which foams over the edgings and
into the
path with quite distracting results. The Sand Pink, D.
arenarius, is quite different in character, forming strong
tufts of
bluish-green foliage, from which rise slender stems, carrying deeply
cut white
blossoms, very sweetly scented; it likes a light sandy soil and
rejoices in a
comfortable cranny, if one is to be had. D.
petraeus is a small, sweet, fringy, rose-coloured alpine
from the Balkans,
disliking wet feet in winter, but otherwise of easy culture. D.
Seguieri forms nice, upstanding little bushes more than a
foot high with
light-green leaves and gay purple-spotted, rose-coloured blossoms. D.
super-bus is a pretty thing blooming freely the first year
from seed. Its
tall stems, over two feet in height, carry several lilac-pink fringed
blossoms,
which, if not allowed to seed, continue all summer. This Pink will grow
in the
ordinary soil of the borders, not requiring a cranny. D.
atrorubens is not one of the fragrant Pinks, but its small,
rich red
blossoms clustered in a flat head like a small Sweet William make up in
glow
what they lack in other qualities. It remains in bloom for a long time. The song of my Pinks
is almost at an end, for there remains only D.
sylvestris, the Wood Pink, which does not like the woods at
all, but full
sunshine, and which has the reputation of being what Mr. Reginald
Farrer would
call a “miff” and may prove so here. It is a new acquaintance and still
occupies a gravelly bed in the nursery, but its tufts of narrow bluish
foliage
are in such a flattering condition of health that my hopes are high for
a grand
display before long. Mr. Correvon describes it thus, “the pink flowers
large,
elegant, bluish spotted at the base of the petals, with blue-lilac
anthers;
petals more or less toothed. The plant is stout and strong, and
extremely
floriferous, blooming from June to September in rock work in full sun."1 Of
course all the Pinks marry and
intermarry, and bring forth many a soft-coloured, sweet-breathed
surprise for
me, and I should miss them more than any of the garden’s children. They
are
plants for sunny nooks and corners, friendly things to be tended by
loving hands
and enjoyed by those who care for what is sweet and simple. As old
Parkinson
knew, they are “of a most fragrant scent, comforting the spirits and
senses
afar on.” This brings us to
friend Sweet William, who, while not a Pink, is yet a
Dianthus and so belongs here. The old garden books speak both of Sweet
Williams
and Sweet Johns, the latter being distinguished by very narrow leaves,
and I am
sure there were Johns growing in the tangled grass about this farmhouse
when we
came to live here, for the very narrow leaves of the Sweet Williams I
found
puzzled me. But I did not then know about Johns, and as the flowers
were of that
wishy-washy, anaemic, red colour which has given magenta a bad name, I
did not
try to save any in the “cleaning up.” Sweet Williams are old and valued
friends and most helpful in the June scheme of things. The lovely
salmon-pink
variety is a real acquisition, and the fluffy, double white ones are
pretty,
too. I do not care for the two-coloured sorts, but the fine blackish
crimson
one, that John Rea describes as a “deep, rich murrey velvet colour” and
considered “the finest of the Williams,” is very splendid and useful
for
grouping with flowers of a raw red shade. Sweet Williams seem
to have a natural affinity for
Foxgloves, as any one will agree who has seen them inciting each other
to
greater achievements of discordant colour in old gardens where they
have been
allowed to seed promiscuously. But this affinity may be taken advantage
of to
bring about a very happy union if white Foxgloves and salmon Sweet
Williams are
brought together, and I like to add to this group clumps of striped
grass or
Gardener’s Garters. Sweet Williams are best treated as biennials, as
the old
plants lose their stocky form and deteriorate generally, and it is best
to buy
fresh seed and not depend upon the gypsy seedlings, for these usually
hark back
to their magenta forebears. In old works on gardening Thrift (Armeria) is always included under the head of Pinks, and the tidy, tufted growth and rosy blossoms of both certainly suggest kinship. The Sea, or Cushion Pink, Armeria maritima, in its variety Laucheana, is a gay little thing with dense tufts of dark foliage studded with brilliant pink blossoms. There is a white variety, and both were largely used in the old days for “impaling” or edging the quaint “knottes” which held within bounds the sweet tangle of old-fashioned Roses, Lavender, and Rockets of Elizabethan gardens. It is as good for this purpose now as then, and may also be used in little groups along the borders or between the stones. A. Cephalotes (syn. latifolia) is a pretty little plant, too, but taller, sending up its wiry stems a foot high and bearing its globes of rosy bloom with a jaunty air. A. caespitosa is a charming alpine species which sends up tall stems from its tuft of green bearing pink flower heads. It requires a poor rather sandy soil and a sunny nook between two stones. Foxgloves are widely
known and grown and loved, and the June garden would
lack much without their graceful spires. The creamy white ones are the
prettiest, and it is best in any case to buy the seeds in separate
colours, for
the magenta sorts are not suitable for many associations. Here we grow
them with
bushes of Southernwood and Rue, with gray Stachys lanata
and the gleaming Snow Queen Iris. The white ones are
never
amiss and the tall spires of “beauty long drawn out” rise from every
part of
the garden. Of course the biennial character of these plants makes it
necessary
to raise them every year from seed, but they usually seed themselves so
freely
that we are saved this piece of work. We entertain here two other
Foxgloves —
Digitalis ambigua (syn. grandiflora),
and D. orientalis.2
Both are yellow-flowered — the former growing about two
feet
tall and
producing its belled flower spikes off and on all summer and autumn,
and the
latter, taller with smaller flowers. June Magic "Wherever the eye wanders is a lovely picture — the gay throng of Foxgloves, Sweet Williams, Irises, Paeonies, Pinks, and Old-Fashioned Roses." In a corner of the
garden with some bushes of Southernwood and white Moss
Roses grows an old-fashioned plant called Fraxinella (Dictamnus),
sometimes
called Burning Bush from the fact, claimed to have been discovered by
the
daughter of Linnaeus, that after nightfall an inflammable vapour comes
from the
blossoms; but though we have many times experimented, singed fingers
have been
our only reward — and this through holding the matches too long.
However, the
Fraxinella, when well established, is a very beautiful plant growing
into stout
clumps with beautiful dark foliage lasting in fine condition the summer
through
and bearing spikes of white or purplish fringy flowers with a strange
odour
which the children declare is both “horrid and nice.” The plants should
not
be dug up and divided, but left to themselves will outlast whole
generations of
mere humans. In another part of
the garden is a lovely picture where the shell-like
bloom of a climbing Rose, Newport Fairy, creates just the right
background for a
group composed of fleecy Spiroea Aruncus, tall
purple Campanula latifolia var. macrantha, and Lyme Grass. The Spiraea is
a fine plant of this season, but
requires a deep, rich, retentive soil to be at its best, for it is a
moisture
lover. The herbaceous Spiraeas have not done very well in my garden, it
is too
dry, but for damp situations there are many good sorts. Aruncus,
however, has
been an exception with one other, S.
Filipendula
fl. pl., the double-flowered Dropwort,
growing about two feet
tall, with feathery foliage and heads of white flowers. Both are in a
north
border in heavy, deep soil. The Campanulas are a
large family of varying merit and blossom, in the
different varieties, in May, June, July, and August. C.
glonierata, the Clustered
Hairbell,
is a good May sort about a foot
high with rich purple or white flowers. The best June Bellflowers
besides
latifolia macrantha, which grows about three feet tall, and also has a
white
variety, are the well-known Canterbury Bell, C.
Medium, the tall C.
lactiflora, and the lovely Peach-leaved Bellflower, C. persicifolia. This is a beautiful
plant and quite the flower of
the Campanulas to my thinking — sending up from a tuft of narrow,
shining
leaves stems two or three feet tall, well hung with glistening white or
lavender-blue bells. Humosa is a
light-blue double sort, and Moerheimii a
very fine double-flowered white. These are charming planted in little
thickets
with the late yellow Columbine, A.
chrysantha, or with bright coral-coloured Heucheras, such as
Pluie de Feu,
or Rosamund. The plants require yearly division, and our stock may also
be
increased by means of the offsets that are freely produced. A fine new sort is lactiflora
alba magnifica. C. lactifiora blooms toward the end
of the month and into
July, and has spikes of bells the colour of skimmed milk. There is a
white sort,
too, and both are useful plants but such formidable seeders that they
become a
pest if allowed a free hand, and so we are careful to cut off the
flower stalks
as soon as the blossoming is past. Of course all the
June pictures have Roses as one element
in their composition, for they are everywhere —
toppling over the high stone walls, smothering the
low
ones, creating
fairy halls of the pergolas and arbours; and besides the climbers there
are
those which grow in lovely long-limbed abandon as bushes, mingling
freely and
democratically with the perennials. In front of a post, which has the
felicity
of supporting a peach-pink American Pillar Rose, grows a mass of
feathery Clematis
recta and several plants of the sky-blue Italian Alkanet, Anchusa italica. The Anchusa is a lovely
thing, and no plant, not
excepting the Delphinium itself, decks itself in a more truly azure
colour. Its
height varies considerably with me according to soil and situation and
its own
sweet will; it may be anywhere from two to four feet tall. Better than
the type
is the Dropmore variety, and better still, it is said, is that called
Opal, but
to this I cannot testify. Anchusas have a longer consecutive period of
bloom
than the Delphiniums, for if the great central stalk is cut down after
flowering, laterals spring up, which carry it into August. These plants
seem not
to mind the drought at all, which should gain for them our especial
interest,
and they are easily raised from seed. As it is practically a biennial
one has to
take its propagation into account, and while raising it from seed is
simple
enough, much quicker and more satisfactory is the method given by Mr.
W. P.
Wright in his invaluable book on hardy perennials. “When spring comes
there is
a brown stump which looks to be entirely devoid of life. It may be
broken away
almost like bark from a tree and it will probably be found that there
is a green
sprout below, which may be left to grow. As regards the bark-like
parts, they may
be cut into pieces with a sharp knife, and will prove to be fleshy and
quick.
The portions may be covered with moist, gritty soil in a pot or box and
put in a
warm frame or greenhouse. Shoots will start from them, which may be
removed with
a ‘heel’ of the older growth and inserted in small pots. They will root
and
form plants in due course. Pieces of the horse-radish-like taproots may
also be
inserted, as they are likely to root and make plants.” Anchusas should
be
transplanted when quite small if possible, as the deep-burrowing
taproot is
difficult to get out intact. These sky-blue
flowers are lovely grown near the blushing Stanwells’
Perpetual Brier Rose, and we have it charmingly situated in front of a
trellis
occupied jointly by the white Rose Trier and a pinky-mauve Clematis of
the
Viticella type. Bees love the Alkanets as they do its relatives, Borage
and our
native Buglos, and there is always a pleasant drone and hum in its
neighbourhood. I do not know if it is a scientific fact that bees best
love blue
flowers, but they seem to, giving them preference even over white ones
which are
said to be the most fragrant. Of course the pride
of the late June garden is her
Deiphiniums, and perhaps I may bring wrath upon myself when I say that
I cannot
but feel that these beautiful flowers are in grave danger of being done
to death
by the hybridists. A long way have they travelled since Hood sang,
“Light as a
loop of Larkspur,” and what with doubling and crowding are in a fair
way to be
called stout, though somehow their
celestial colour makes the unflattering epithet seem unfit and keeps
one in mind
of their slim youth. Every season many new varieties are put forth to
dazzle the
world and they make superb blocks of colour in the garden, but I cling
to those
which are less perfect from a florist’s viewpoint. The true Belladonna
is an
exquisite, graceful plant, and many of its offspring reproduce this
fine quality
of the parent — and there is another sort, which we used to get as
formosum
coelestinum, now doubtless looked upon as a back number but which has
the same
willowy grace and celestial colour. Persimmon, Lizzie
van Veen, and Capri are lovely sky-blue
sorts. King of Deiphiniums is a strong dark blue with a plum-coloured
flush.
Lizzie is a good bright blue slightly flushed; Queen Wilhelmina, large,
light-blue flowers with a white eye; and Somerset, light blue and
lavender with
a dark eye. There are white sorts of recent introduction, but these
never seem
to me true Larkspurs, so strongly does the word seem to stand for blue. A package of mixed
Delphinium seed purchased from a reliable house will
produce lovely results, the plants blooming the first season if sown
early. In
our hot climate Deiphiniums should be given a rich, well-manured soil,
and
copious watering in June will insure better flower spikes and a longer
stay. If
the spent flower stalks are cut to the ground another blossoming may be
enjoyed
in the late summer and fall. Yearly division is not necessary: every
third year
is often enough, when they may be taken up and divided in April, just
after
growth has started. Beautiful pictures may be made by planting
Deiphiniums
against the trellises of gay climbing Roses. There is a strong
coloured group of flowers belonging to June and early
July which, while they seem far removed from the azure Deiphiniums and
Anchusas,
the soft coloured Foxgloves and Spiraeas, nevertheless play an
important part in
our colour arrangements. Gaillardias are bright and useful, blooming
from spring
until frost if not allowed to seed too freely, and no plant in
the garden, unless it be the ethereal Gypsophila, so sturdily defies
the
drought. Red and yellow is their colour scheme and they exhibit many
variations
upon it. There are many named varieties listed in foreign catalogues
which sound
attractive. Gaillardias look best planted in fair-sized colonies, and Baptisia
tinctoria, or the striped Grass, known as Gardener’s
Garters, is a good
background for them. Risen at Noonday,” is
a conspicuous object in the mid-June garden. I believe it is the
yellowest thing
of the whole summer, but it is a sharp colour and needs a softening
haze of
Gypsophila to make it happy. Scarlet Lychnis is another plant with a
difficult
colour to which the Gypsophila is helpful. It is a strong-growing plant
with
good, lasting foliage suited to the back of the border. A number of bright-coloured Lilies bloom in June. The Herring Lilies, L. croceum, are particularly bold and splendid in the neighbourhood of the Belladonna Deiphiniums; and those of the elegans type, red, apricot, or yellow are pretty grown among the tufts of frail white Heuchera toward the front of the borders. 1 It proved to be no
"miff,” but a lovely. hardy
little plant. quite happy in its gravelly bed and remained in bloom a
long time. 2 These are both perennials. |