Chronicle September 2009 | Chronicle November 2009 | All Chronicles

October 2009

We’ve finally reached October. It’s 11 October 2009, to be precise. The weather, wind and seasons pass by, and now we’re well into autumn. Looking back over a gardening season – which for me means from the first winter aconites pushing through the snow until the garden slips into its winter slumber –I realise (not for the first time) that the garden is a constant part of my life, and that I spend so much time observing it and pondering over it. 

Gardens are always in a state of flux, it’s really quite amazing. Going round the garden now, in October, and considering everything that’s happened during the course of the past year and seasons, it’s easy to become teary-eyed. But don’t: a garden should be a source of happiness, a garden is life.

There’s still a lot to do. I’ve got an umbrella standing nearby; my advice is always to have an umbrella on hand in the autumn months. I rush, grab the umbrella and open it. Now I’m safe from the rain.

Although it’s October, there are still plenty of things to do — and to do so in haste — before the heavy hand of winter arrives. Fallen leaves cover the ground and so there’s plenty of raking to be done, a great many bags to be filled, and innumerable visits to the recycling centre, since (heresy of heresies) I’ve never found a corner of the garden suitable to play host to a compost heap.

Another important October task is to continue to water the rhododendrons. It’s something people tend to forget –no matter how much it rains, rhododendrons can never get enough water. And I’m out there with my garden hose throughout November, and even into December, in fact as long as the ground isn’t frozen.

We still have some plants in bloom, for example the lovely asters and anemones. The sedums, too, are still standing guard, providing a dignified border to the steps up from the front gate. I highly recommend mass planting sedums in the garden- they’re so beautiful, and last so long.

Almost all of the bulbs are now in the ground — some 6,000 in total for this autumn alone. When I see that figure in writing, it seems extraordinary, but it’s true. Wow! I’m sure most people would consider the planting – or planter – of six thousand bulbs to be crazy, but that’s what I’ve been doing over the past few weeks.

Autumn is here, bringing with it rains in the form of heavy showers or an almost constant drizzle, trees are beginning to droop under the weight of as yet unpicked apples and pears, the lilies have finished blooming, and the rain, the rain... It’s now time to wish the garden a pleasant rest. Go out and look at all the autumn leaves — those still on the trees and those already on the ground — for soon the show will be over. The days are perceptibly becoming shorter, and soon we will be in the darkest period of the year.

The agapanthus, their heavy pots almost at bursting point, have finally been banished to the cellar, where they will spend their long winter exile in conditions of darkness and drought. They’re probably wondering

"Why should we be forced to spend our time in here?"

But, my dears, you can’t stand outdoors in the winter. This isn’t your mild and temperate homeland, the Azores. This is frozen Sweden.  One would so like to think that the summer is long and the autumn is warm, but it’s best to be prepared for what’s to come. So you, and other sensitive plants, must now take cover pending the winter.  Our 2-meter olive tree in its enormous terracotta pot is now inside the conservatory, and our 14-year old laurel tree will also spend the winter indoors. If previous years are anything to go by, the olive will shed almost all of its leaves and the laurel will emerge from the winter looking worse for wear. But, hopefully, spring out in the garden, plus a dose of fertiliser, will put them on the road to recovery.  

I’ve been wandering outside in the rain and, despite my trusty umbrella, my shoes and socks are soaked through. So it’s time to go inside. One last thought: 6,000 bulbs in the ground. I only hope that I won’t be accused of causing any road accidents; that the magnificent display emanating from all those bulbs and bulbs planted in years gone by won’t cause too many motorists passing the garden to stare, without stopping first. I hope they all take care.

And you, too, dear garden friends, take care.

A Gentleman Gardener