In Which Mr. Austin and I Make a Start on the Entry Garden
When I was young, the ultimate fantasy was to look at a mannequin in a department store (remember those?), point and say, “I’ll take it all!” No fussing about the cost and no settling for just the sweater or shoes. I’d stride out and add it to my collection of complete, well-coordinated outfits. That, of course, never happened and to this day I am reluctantly discarding mismatched items of clothing, long past their sell-by date, that never really worked. Plant selection can operate in a similar fashion.
So when the David Austin Handbook of Roses 2023 arrived, I was intent on taking a macro approach to rose selection for the Entry Garden. David Austin Roses are one of the few things that have survived my youth to old-age slide toward Nihilism. They are reliable (when they die it is always my fault). They are reasonably free of diseases and pests (spoiler alert, all roses suffer from some degree of Blackspot). And they provide intellectual stimulation as you pore through your memory bank to determine the dancers/family members/literary figures/pay-to-play patrons who provide each specimen with a memorable name.
The color scheme for the Entry Garden will be one of quiet pastels—damning it or elevating it to something that is acceptable to what Christopher Lloyd would call “the good taste brigade.” There will be no clashing colors or adventurous choices. So when I turned to page 46 I stopped, pointed, and said “I’ll take it all!” Four roses, each alike in dignity, to anchor this new space. They are, in order: Eustacia Vye, Hyde Hall, Roald Dahl, and Lady of Shalott. (Of course, as in any such story hubris is rewarded with disappointment as I was informed that Hyde Hall was no longer available and that Princess Alexandra of Kent would be its stand-in.)
I fully expected these to arrive in the middle of Beech planting frenzy, breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t, and then wondered why the hell they were taking so long. As the temperatures climbed into the 80’s and the days passed, my frantic messages remained unanswered, but arrive they finally did and I went about the fairly straightforward process of bare-root rose planting.
Meanwhile, there have been some changes to the hardscaping of the garden, as well as its surrounding beds. While watching “Monty Don’s Paradise Gardens” I was taken by the way many middle-eastern gardens incorporate water, and how it has been replicated at Longmeadow. In response, I’ve created a square at the intersection of the paths and found a round corten steel planter that I will convert to a solar-powered fountain. This circle-within-a-square represents an idea of imperfection (earthly things) with perfection (a circle) rising above. It also looks quite restful.
Less interesting has been the backbreaking work of digging beds around the quadripartite space in the unyielding clay subsoil, and planting grass on the bare slope that leads down the driveway. It’s boring, unrewarding, and injury-producing. This would be a day’s work for a crew of four who did it routinely, but it was a week for me, on my own, with nothing but a bad attitude to spur me on. But the pennies I save here can be put toward more interesting things rattling around inside my head.
This is so charmingly written!
The Lady of Shallot is one of my most favourite roses (I love orange and apricot roses). I had a David Austin rose which lasted 5+ years, a minor miracle in zone 5b. Imagining you two standing among the roses in the evening, inhaling all the wonderfulness. Blessings on your rose borders!