Taking it easy
… or letting nature have its way
15 December 2024
By: James Lennox
At times, fashionable gardening advice seems to be nothing other than an exhausting series of exhortations. Do this now or, more often than not, don't do this ever again. Hot on the heels of ‘No Mow May’ comes the invocation to ‘Leave the Leaves’ in autumn. The tone of hectoring tweeness is enough to set my teeth on edge - and obscures what should be a couple of useful hints behind a veil of patronising worthiness.
There really is no need for all this finger-wagging. Some of us have been neglecting our mowing duties for years. I've never had a lawn nor do I aspire to cultivate one. The only grass at La Corolla is there for walking on. It's rough and ready, full of wildflowers/weeds (depending on your viewpoint) and is lucky to get a once over more often than every other month in the growing season. And if there's a promise of orchids in the spring or crocuses in the autumn, not even then - I'm more than happy to hang fire.
At this time of year, it's the quandary of what to do with all those leaves that preoccupies many a gardener. Back in the day it used to be all the rage to pile them up and burn them. Sacrilege, of course, even though I do have a penchant for a good burn-up. I leave mine where they land - within reason, of course. Who wants to skate over wet leaves on a much-trodden path? Slips and broken hips lie that way.
And that's where I take issue with blanket prescriptions - there's no nuance, no subtlety and no leeway for the gardener to exercise a little discretion. It's more a case of different horses for different courses. Leaves should absolutely be cleared from paths and any grass that you would rather didn't turn into a bald, muddy mess by the spring. As for borders, if you've crammed them full of irreplaceable herbaceous specimens or miniscule alpines, it's probably wise to remove the bigger brutes. Oak, sweet chestnut, bay, tulip tree and magnolia leaves, I've discovered, take an eternity to decompose and will smother anything underneath in the process.
What to do with those leaves and the ones lying on hard paths? Easy - suck them up and shred them, preferably in one smooth electric-powered operation. Then sprinkle the shredded leaves back on the borders between the plants to suppress weeds and to be dragged down into the soil by your pampered invertebrates. And a further bonus is that you don't have to walk miles to and from the leaf bin or have to wait a year or so for the leaves to break down.
Thus do minor tweaks to garden maintenance make life easier for the gardener - and ultimately more beneficial for other garden dwellers. Easing back a little seems to result in a win-win scenario for all concerned. That's not to say that I would ever condone sacrificing aesthetics completely for an easy life. After all, I might not shave every day, but I wouldn't dream of growing a full beard and renouncing permanently all hopes of cutting a dash.
It’s the same in the garden - a degree of laissez-faire looseness every now and then is inevitable with 4 acres and no staff. There are always rough patches, unkempt corners and neglected nooks - this is defiantly not a garden of tweezered perfection à la japonaise.
And I’m not the only one to appreciate the light touch maintenance regime. Ever since I started to turn an over-grazed sheep pasture into a densely planted ornamental garden and woodland, I've been rewarded with an astonishing increase in wildlife activity, some welcome, some decidedly less so.
Let's start with the good news. The resident bird population has exploded. There seems to be a house sparrow nesting under every roof-tile. They're a noisy, twittering bunch but they certainly know how to keep on top of the aphids - the roses are greenfly-free all summer long. Robins are reliable garden companions, woodpeckers (green and great spotted) are already investigating knocking at the rapidly maturing trees, and buzzards and kites squeal and circle overhead on the look-out for scurrying rodents. There's even the occasional owl swooping by.
They don't seem all that interested in slithering creatures. I'm probably alone in the village in turning a blind eye to the odd snake - I rarely move fast enough to startle one and induce it to go into attack mode. Tapping the ground with a big stick is normally warning enough, a wise precaution whenever I'm about to plunge into the herbaceous border for a spot of weeding.
As for the local lizards, they go for the ‘freeze and he won't see me’ approach. An interesting move for something that can be over a foot long and bright green.
Foxes, badgers, pine martens and hedgehogs all keep a low profile during the day. All harmless enough since I got out of the chicken business and there's no danger of the badgers tunnelling their way across the hillside undermining the trees - the soil is nowhere near deep enough for sett-building. The recent addition of a tiny pond equipped with escape ramp has proved a huge hit with all of them - after dark it's the local equivalent of a watering hole on the Serengeti.
But for me, there's one creature in particular that brings unexpected excitement to the garden - the hummingbird hawk moth. This little fellow is one of the best reasons to grow buddleia and ensures that I leave far too many Verbena bonariensis seedlings knocking around - both are absolute hawk moth magnets all summer long. There’s something therapeutically hypnotic about the way they hover mid-air before rapidly darting to the next nectar hit.
I cater for other insects by leaving piles of logs artfully dotted around - often out of sheer laziness. Some are destined for the home fires; most are left to crumble away providing vital habitat to what must be the greatest concentration of stag beetle larvae in Spain. Given that it can take years for them to turn into adult beetles, I leave well alone - and look elsewhere for my firewood.
Every gardener should take pride in his compost heap - even though he's not the one doing the heavy lifting. As a garden develops, it inevitably produces more ‘waste’ - prunings, spent flowerheads, weeds, grass clippings, leaves. All can be chucked on the heap and left for nature to work its magic, a remarkably speedy process in a climate as warm and wet as Asturias. The only work involved is in taking the debris to the heap. Which is why I have two - one at either end of the main garden so I never have to walk the full length of La Corolla with a bucketful of clippings. I recently re-vamped one - a collection of old doors and some rusted scaffold poles never looked better. The pillars are just icing on the cake.
Unfortunately, all is not rosy in the garden - there are those critters that even I take objection to. Voles and moles are a constant worry, a definite plague on this house. There's nothing to be done beyond encouraging the local felines to take an interest and setting the occasional trap when there are signs of them creating a highway below a particularly delicate young tree. At least they’ve never attacked me directly - unlike the Asian hornet I once disturbed in a sprawling heap of Rosa wichuraiana. A sting to the forehead from one of those beasts is something not easily forgotten. I much prefer bees and butterflies.
Those are all very much occupational hazards, the slings and arrows of gardening life. There are only two creatures which would prompt me to reach for the shotgun - deer and wild boar. The local hunters do their best to discourage them, but every now and again there's an incursion. And it leads to murderous thoughts.
The deer will happily browse on leaves and strip bark; the boars will sharpen their tusks and plough up the ground to leave the hillside resembling the aftermath of a particularly bloody day on the Somme. And they've developed a taste for the wild orchids I've been encouraging in the orchard – an unforgiveable sin.
Both have made an appearance in the past year. Security has been heightened, fences have been raised and all manner of spells cast and incantations recited. Until I hit on the perfect solution - the dead hedge, an impenetrable linear thicket of branches, twigs, thorns and spikes fixed in place wherever a deer or boar might think to penetrate the perimeter.
A defensive solution to make any battle-hardened general smile. Not only are all the materials readily available (and free!) but I'll be providing yet more habitat for all those creatures that I don’t mind having on the premises. Here's hoping it puts a stop to any more unwelcome frolicking.
