When we first moved to our corner lot, it was surrounded by a rickety fence hosting a pretty, spring-blooming clematis. I liked the clematis, but the fence was on borrowed time. As traffic came down the hill and around the curve, drivers could see right into our yard. We wanted more privacy than the fence could give. A trellis would obscure drivers’ views, provide the vine with a better opportunity to climb, AND snaz up the garden with a bit of Architectural Detail. 🙂
After the fence demolition, C dug 2 precisely spaced foundation holes. Two 4 foot long pieces of 2×2 angle iron were drilled for lug bolts and painted with primer against rusting. Instead of setting wooden posts straight into the ground, the angle iron supports were concreted into the holes instead. The posts bolt onto the supports about 6 inches above soil level. This structure won’t collapse in a few years because the posts rot out!
A beam spans the posts with an extra overhang on either side. Two corner supports beef up stability & increase the load the trellis can carry. Rafters and purlins top the beam.
After that, the lattice was built & installed. The vine now has lots of opportunities to spread out, scramble & climb. The yard is not nearly as exposed. There’s a feeling of privacy without the claustrophobia of hiding behind a fortress. I like it.
I reckon the Clematis montana likes it, too. The roots nestle into the moist soil on the north side of the trellis, yet the vine basks in the sunshine.
Hooray for the carpenter! Happy plants – happy gardener.
It came into our garden with some ‘free’ soil. I didn’t know its name, for sure. It looked an awful lot like ladybells, Adenophora liliifolia? It was a decorative, bonus plant – score!
Little did I know the work that pretty bellflower would create.
Deer ignored it for one season… at the most. After that, they ate the buds before flowering. The deers’ pruning might’ve spurred the plant into a frenzy of suckering. When digging out the extras, I realized how this bellflower got its common name– Creeping Bellflower spreads from the mother plant by lateral roots running below the soil surface.
One soggy autumn weekend, I dug out the entire bed. Other keeper perennials were set aside to thoroughly wash their root systems before replanting at the end of the project. I discovered creeping bellflower was even more invasive than I first realized. It also has deeper storage roots, enabling survival through brutal winters & long droughts. Those roots can easily sprout a multitude of new plants, even if the original is removed from the base.
Sifting through the soil & removing the invading white roots of the C.rapunculoides, was a tough job but worth it. Many years later, I regularly weed out young plants surfacing from roots that I’d missed, but I’m winning the war.
This summer, I noticed a new patch at the College campus. Can you imagine the tenacity of a plant volunteering in a crack in the pavement? These plants must’ve arrived via seed distribution. Behind some fencing, creeping bellflower is protected from the deer. Fortunately, the grounds staff cut them to the ground in record time.
So, I guess it’s not even safe to keep this bully restrained in a pot because it’ll spread like mad if it ever goes to seed, too.
I’m pretty lenient when it comes to vigorous plants in our garden.. Wild violets grow in our lawn. Cyclamen hederifolium is still welcome in certain beds. I’ve left some patches of bluebell in well-contained spots (but they’re sheered as soon as the blooms begin to fade). Some other tough-as-nails plants are held in check by simply not watering them through our long, summer drought.
It was on a road trip in the arid Okanagan Valley that I first came across great mullein. The statuesque yellow torch stood tall across the dry pastures. I was smitten. It reminded me of the blooming spires of foxglove crossed with Wile E. Coyote’s saguaro cactus. Groovy!
Of course, I wanted one.
It even grew happily on the gravel verge of the highway. What a tough plant! I like the idea of growing plants that don’t require me to drag out the hose.
C thought I was crazy, but he honoured my request to stop the van. I bagged a torch. When we got home, I sprinkled the seeds across our rocky outcropping.
If mullein grew in the semi-desert, would it grow in our temperate climate of the Pacific Northwest?
The next year – – No luck for me. 😦
On another trip, I marvelled at the velvety leaves when we ran across Verbascum Thapsus at the rest stop on the crest of the Cascade Mountains. That highway shuts down through the winter season! Mullein has to be an extra-tough plant if it handles baking summers AND freezing winters.
Some garden nurseries sell other Verbascum species as garden ornamentals. Those varieties are much more glamourous:
Some bloom in different colours, like pastels, reds, purples & oranges…
Others flaunt more flower spikes…
Or a bigger rush of flowers instead of the gradual display of a few flowers at a time that common mullein presents…
A few varieties even promise to be perennial rather than biennial.
They’re all lovely, but I still covet the Verbascum in the wild.
Last fall, I was delighted to find a furry rosette of leaves growing on our rocky outcropping. It looked like a foxglove, but different. I had my suspicions & crossed my fingers.
To my relief, it pulled through our soggy winter & put on a spring growth spurt. Thankfully, the deer left it ungrazed
By June, it was blooming!
OK, I know it’s kinda puny in comparison to those on our travels…
(Vancouver Island’s spring is not nearly as sunny or hot as the interior.)
I celebrated anyway.
It’s been easily a decade since I scattered those seeds.
By the time the heat came in July (25C), the bloom was pretty much complete.
I ever so carefully tipped the torch toward a paper bag, collecting a whoosh of seed. The process was graceful enough that the stem didn’t kink.
It still stands today. There’s even an occasional flower that opens near the top.
I’m leaving it to stand.
My sentinel on our hillside.
Who knows, it might even hold up as winter interest.
And hopefully, in the spring, there will be just a few more on our rocky slope… I dunno, am I crazy to invite them in?