Month: February 2018

Long before we moved we had plans for an orchard. Nothing too big, simply a few ordered rows of fruit trees; a romantic rural scene. We soon earmarked the top part of the L-shaped garden to be the productive area , gently sloping to the south‑east and sheltered on the other three sides

I came across the website of a Shropshire ‘orchardist’ who specialises in old varieties, particularly those from the Welsh border counties.  So, in the autumn we visited his nursery high in the hills near Oswestry and he gave us a fascinating tour of his tree nursery explaining the fundamental principles of growing fruit trees.

From his list of suitable one or two‑year‑old half‑standard trees we made a selection of sixteen: eleven apples, two pear, two plum and a cherry, all different varieties, including some from Shropshire.

He contacted us in December to say that the bare-rooted trees were ready; we arranged to meet him at a farm shop outside Ludlow – where he was renovating an old orchard – to collect our trees. He instructed us to prune them to belly‑button height once planted, apart from the stone fruit which must be pruned when in leaf to minimise risk of disease.

My husband – ever with attention to detail – accurately measured and placed the stakes to ensure the rows were evenly spaced.

We planted each tree carefully, tied it securely to its stake and surrounded it with a rabbit guard.

Finally, I pruned the apples and pears to ‘belly-button’ height.

I arranged the apples, pears and plums in five rows of three, with the cherry off to one side where I plan to have soft fruit. A few weeks later I planted two sloe trees (blackthorn) at the top of the orchard. All very satisfying. Now we just have to wait – fingers crossed – for spring growth.

So where is our South Shropshire garden?

Our new home is nestled at the western end of the Wenlock Edge, an iconic limestone escarpment running northeast to southwest for over 18 miles, rising to 334m just to the east of our plot. To the south and east of our garden –  which is at around of 180m (nearly 600 feet) – there are views of farmland and distant hills.

The valley in which we sit is between the two limestone ridges of Wenlock Edge and so I had expected that my new garden soil would be alkaline. However, when I tested samples from different parts of the garden all the results indicated a neutral soil – the presence of an established camellia and a couple of small azaleas confirmed that the soil was not alkaline.

By chance during the house move we had found, amongst old university files, a geology map hand drawn by me which covered the western end of The Edge right down to the boundary of our new garden! Serendipity?  Fate? This map revealed that we sat over Lower Ludlow Shales not limestone, which I assume accounts for our neutral soil.

The plot we inherited had two main garden components: a large ‘courtyard’ garden and a much larger area of grass which had been kept mown for many years, though was more rough grass than lawn. The courtyard has large well‑established borders, well stocked with shrubs and herbaceous plants, and the soil – a pale grey-brown – is easy to work, though with lots of large stones (or bits of rock) – were these the ‘shales? Or bits of limestone?

The soil beneath the grassed area, as we were to discover, has a much more clayey texture, but still with plenty of large stones. A large green blank canvas.

It was hard leaving my previous garden. Twenty-six years of loving toil had created – in my eyes at least – a beautiful garden: dry-stone walls, wisteria clad pergola, shrub and herbaceous borders and mature trees. This sounds pretentious, and it was nowhere near as perfect as that seems. But each plant, each stone, each path had been placed by me, tended by me and – often – repositioned by me. The violet‑blue of purple sage against the lime‑green Lady’s Mantle; bewitching primroses and bluebells; the blue‑green leaves and delightful pink flowers of rosa rubrifolia, would I be lucky enough to have such a wonderful garden again?

It was surrounded by ‘woods and trees and fields’ (as my story‑telling to my young sons always began). It was heavily shaded by mature oaks – spent flowers in the spring, carpets of acorns and never-ending leaves in the autumn. Surrounded by heathland, the soil was pure sand – easy to work, loved by ants, but poor and with no ability to hold water. A quarter of an acre crammed with the plants that thrived in those conditions – many of which spread around the garden without my aid, just needing to be contained or redirected.

I loved this garden. It was my passion. I treasured the tiniest of flowers, I adored the contrasting foliage and cherished seeing the garden from different viewpoints: I created different paths and placed many seats to give different perspectives, places to sit and absorb the sights, the smells, the sounds. Not that I was good at sitting in the garden – a faded bloom to be deadheaded, a caterpillar to be removed, a weed to be pulled, flowers to be gathered – always something caught my eye. And I was constantly redesigning, changing, developing – that to my mind is both the challenge and the joy of gardening.

How could I leave this all behind?

The decision finally made and with plans already emerging for our new garden, I decided that I would not take any plants from the garden – at least that was our resolution, until we decided we just could not leave our red Japanese acer (acer palmatum atropurpureum dissectum), which we had brought in a pot from our first garden and now it had matured into a splendid shrub. It had been with us for so long, how could we not take it?  So it was early May, precisely the wrong time, that we severed its roots and persuaded the removers to load it onto the lorry for the journey north.

Leaving our garden in the spring, when it was at its most exuberant, bursting with colour and promise, was both exhilarating and heart‑rending.  But my work here was done. Now it was time for a new and greater challenge – to build a Shropshire garden.