Mistletoe, Viscum album, growing on a cotoneaster in Northamptonshire

I’ve written a piece about mistletoe for the December issue of the Royal Horticultural Society membership magazine The Garden and also talked about it on the award winning Gardening With The RHS podcast (December 16 edition).

I dug up all sorts of interesting material and I must give due credit to a report developed by Plantlife, the wild plant conservation charity, and the Botanical Society of Britain and Ireland, published in 1999. Called Kissing Goodbye To Mistletoe, it reveals how and where mistletoe spreads, which hosts it prefers and so so much more – including why our plastic mistletoe is entirely wrong (because the design of the plastic mistletoe sold in Britain is based on American mistletoe which is a different plant).

The mistletoe in the picture is growing on a mature cotoneaster, just a few minutes walk from my front door in Northamptonshire. Sadly, it has since been “harvested”.

But the research continues. Anyone in Britain an Ireland can contribute to the continuing scientific study of mistletoe, its distribution and its hosts. Just head over to http://surveys.mistletoe.org.uk to check out the results of past surveys, and to review current surveys in which you can participate.

And at the Mistletoe Directory you’ll find links to a vast wealth of other information about mistletoe.

Finally, if you’d like to see some myths debunked, check out this spikey riposte to a piece that Monty Don wrote in the Daily Mail a few years ago.

Delivering foraged old man's beard to Foxtail Lilly for their autumn wreaths.

At this time of year, I’m often out and about foraging for seed heads, conifer cones, dried heads of grasses, teasels and other wild plants plus anything else from the forest, field or hedgerow that looks good at this time of year.

It all goes to my florist friend Tracey Mathieson, who runs Foxtail Lilly, a lovely little barn shop here in Northamptonshire. Last week I was harvesting clematis seed heads from local hedgerows and, looking at them more closely than usual, interesting details are revealed.

Clematis vitalba, old man’s beard, spreads by its wind blown seeds and the different seedling plants scrambling through the local hedges vary in a number of ways. The seedheads of some have longer plumes than others, they vary in the number of seeds in each cluster, some are more grey while others are more silvery. The seed at the base of each plume varies in the depth of its colour and, in a few, the seedheads fall apart much earlier than others which ruins their decorative effect – indoors and out.

The most vigorous of all the three hundred clematis species from around the world, The Irish Department of Agriculture, Food and The Marine reports that the stems grow several metres each year, which is there for us all to see, but also that just one plant can cover an area of 180 square metres.

Seed head production seems to vary from year to year, presumably depending on conditions at flowering time in July and August. But seventeen thousand seeds can be produced in one year from just half a square metre of growth, they report which, I have to say, seems extraordinary – more like a typo than a fact.

A joint Irish/Czech study revealed that hoverflies were the pollinators making the most visits to flowers, with almost half of all pollinator visits; other flies are in second place with bees making up less than 10% of pollinating visits.

It also turns out that this species is eaten by the larvae of a wide range of moths, including many species that are reliant on it as their only foodplant; including the small waved umber, the small emerald, and the delightfully named Haworth's pug. Finches feed on the seeds.

At this time of year, though, the farmer’s flail mower is the enemy of finches and foragers alike. Having, over the years, noted the most productive plants in the local hedgerows, often where there’s a break in the hedge for a gateway, it’s disappointing to fetch up armed with secateurs and find the flail has got there first.

Seed heads of Clematis vitalba as it scrambles through a dog rose in a Northamptonshire hedgerow.

Clematis vitalba comes with two common names that will be familiar to most of us. John Gerard, he of the famous Herball, is responsible for one of them: “esteemed for pleasure by reason of the goodly shadow and the pleasant scent or savour of its flowers,” he reports, “and because of its decking and adorning ways and hedges where people travel, have I named it traveller’s joy." So this common name, that has long entered the vernacular, was invented by Gerard.”

Fifty years earlier, in 1548, William Turner had coined the name “Downi-vine”, which didn’t catch on, also recognising the feathery plumes – which are in fact, the styles of the original flower.

Gerard also notes that it “maketh in winter a goodly show, covering the hedges white all over with his feather-like tops,” and the “feather-like tops” give it another common name: old man’s beard.

We can always trust Wikipedia to come up with a few nuggets of interesting info on subjects such as this: “The French name for old man's beard is 'herbe aux gueux' – the beggar's or rascal's herb. This is a reference to its use by beggars; they used its acrid sap to irritate the skin to give it a sore and ulcerated look - in order to induce sympathy in, and perhaps a donation from, passers by!”

I also read somewhere that it was called traveller’s joy because people on walking journeys used to stuff their shoes with the seed heads to prevent blisters – but now I can’t find the reference. Sorry. And, frankly, the Gerard story seems far more plausible.

Wikipedia also reveals that: “Clematis vitalba was used to make rope during the Stone Age in Switzerland. In Slovenia, the stems of the plant were used for weaving baskets for onions and also for binding crops. It was particularly useful for binding sheaves of grain because mice do not gnaw on it. In Italy, the sprouts are harvested to make omelettes (called "vitalbini" in Tuscany, "visoni" in Veneto).”

You learn all sorts of interesting things on this blog: clematis omelettes, who’d have thought it. And poetry too. Edward Thomas, in his poem The Sign-Post, from 1917, reported that:

“The smoke of the traveller’s-joy is puffed
Over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft.”

And, while I hesitate to disagree with the great man, “hazel tuft”?! I suppose that’s what we might call “poetic license”.

Geoffrey Grigson, of course, has thoughts on the name: old man’s beard. “But observe that the Old Man, as so frequently in English plant names,” he says, “may also be the Devil. This is a devil’s twister, devil’s guts, which can twist and choke trees to death, and turn a south country copse into an Amazonian forest.”

So hesitate before planting it in your garden – after all, there’s plenty in English hedgerows . Although, sadly, much less in Scotland.

A beautiful Foxtail Lily autumn wreath that includes seed heads of both native old man's beard and Clematis tangutica from Kashmir and China.

Taraxacum faroense has this most wonderfully rich dark foliage.

* This blog post is about the different types of dandelion.

What do you mean, different types of dandelion? There’s more than one? You mean that there are red ones and blue ones?

* No, but there are two hundred and thirty nine different dandelion species in Britain alone - even if they do all have yellow flowers.

That’s ridiculous, they all look the same to me.

* That’s because you’re an ignorant buffoon. If you were the legendary dandelion expert Dr John Richards, it would be clear that there really are almost two hundred and fifty species.

How do we know this?

* He has a new book out, it’s called the Field Handbook to British and Irish Dandelions and it covers every single native species.

But they all look the same! Or most of them, anyway.

* That’s true, up to a point. But Dr Richards tells us that digital photography has revolutionised dandelion studies by easily revealing colours and forms not clearly visible in the traditional pressed and dried specimens used by botanists.

John Richards, the name rings a bell…

* Yes, he also wrote The Genus Primula, his uniquely comprehensive botanical monograph on one of our most popular plants. So his interests neatly combine the loved and the despised. He also discovered the black-leaved ‘Ravenswing’ cow parsley.

But if all British dandelions are yellow, what are the pink and white ones in the pictures here?

* When I worked at Kew, long ago, we grew a white-flowered dandelion called Taraxacum mongolicum. No one believed that we had a white one, so we had to take people over to inspect the plants. Until they died.

Hah! Kew couldn’t even grow a dandelion.

* Hmmm… But moving right along… The white one here is the Korean dandelion, T. coreanum, with grey green leaves and these beautiful white flowers. The honey and pink one, below, is T. pseudoroseum, from Central Asia. The one with the beetroot-coloured leaves, at the top, is T. faroense.

The Korean dandelion, Taraxacum coreanum

Have to day, they’re quite pretty. But no one would be mad enough to try to sell seeds. Gardeners would never stand for it.

* On the contrary, Growild Nursery in Ayrshire, in south west Scotland, sell seed of all three – plus three more. And they offered two species as plants this year and sold out. People really like unusual dandelions.

Growild? It sounds as if the whole place is covered in weeds.

* Not at all. It’s just that they prefer to offer wild species rather than fancy hybrid cultivars and they specialise in growing rare and unusual species, in particular hardy perennials, from Japan, China and the Himalayas. They’re clearly highly principled, and say that “no peat-based products are used in the nursery. Neither chemicals nor animal derived products are used on our plants and only seaweed fertilizer is used.”

You know, Growild Nursery sounds alright. And those pink and white dandelions sure look pretty.

* Well, you can check their seeds and plants on the Growild website at https://www.growildnursery.co.uk/.

Not sure I need a three hundred page book on British dandelions, though.

* If you change your mind, the Field Handbook to British and Irish Dandelions by A. J. Richards is available from NHBS, the Natural History Book Service.

And find out more about dandelions here.

Images ©Growild Nursery. Thank you.

An Asian dandelion, Taraxacum pseudoroseum

We all know about weeds. We pull them out, we throw them on the compost – and then we do it all over again. And again. But weeds are far far more than never ending irritation and fodder for the compost heap as this elegant little book reveals. They’re simply fascinating, as RHS Weeds by Gareth Richards proves.

Looking closely at fifty plants that most of us would rather not have in the garden, we learn why they succeed, why they’re difficult to eradicate and also why we should admire them.

I have to say, though, that throughout this book there’s a definite feeling of support for the underdog. The more that Japanese knotweed or Himalayan balsam or ragwort is added to lists of banned weeds, the more Gareth feels the urge to remind us of the plants’ good qualities and the intriguing associated stories.

He airs his respect for Japanese knotweed, pointing out that bees love its generous late season nectar supply; he explains how the toxins that make ragwort so unpalatable, indeed poisonous, to cattle are passed on to the luridly striped cinnabar moth caterpillars that feed on its leaves; he notes the irony of Spanish bluebells being weeds in native bluebell woods, while native bluebells can be weeds in the garden.

Setting the tone for the whole book, in the very first entry, Gareth sets out his admiration for the sycamore, explaining how it behaves in the same way as native forest trees and fits well, visually, into the British landscape. Rather than be derided, sycamore should be welcomed as a replacement for the elm and ash that have been laid low by disease. What’s more, it turns out, sycamores support a greater mass of insects than oaks.

Clearly, Gareth has a rich understanding of what he calls these “vagabond plants”, these plants in the wrong place, yet this impressive appreciation is passed on to us in a very readable style, helped along by the beautiful historic botanical illustrations. So, when we’re finished heaving out brambles, we can relax with a cup of pineapple weed tea, and nurse our wounds as we discover why it is, exactly, that the bramble stems, and even the backs of the leaves, come with so very many vicious thorns.

I know it’s a cliché to say it, but in this case it’s actually true: this is a book that all gardeners will enjoy.

RHS Weeds by Gareth Richards is published by Welbeck.

Declaration of interest: the author is a friend and the book was supplied free of charge by the publisher.

Regular readers will remember that every so often I report on an unexpected crop that I’ve noticed growing in a field as I’ve driven around one or the other of my countries.

There was the field of phacelia and then there was the field of echium (viper’s bugloss). There's also been linseed, lupins, and more. But it’s been a while since I’ve found a new example.

The latest, spotted by friends near the historic local English village of Fotheringhay – where Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned by Elizabeth I – turned out to be a field of, mostly, red campion (Silene dioica).

The acres of vivid magenta pink flowers are impressive but even a glance reveals that it’s not that simple. Red campion is a common British wildflower found on roadsides and in woodland glades and along hedgerows generally in places that are not too dry and not too acid. It’s lovely, and there a few named forms – mainly with variegated or coloured foliage, double flowers or dwarf habit.

In the field at Fotheringhay there were plants with pale and with dark flowers, with red calyces and with green, and with wide overlapping petals making a very colourful flower and with slender petals with spaces between creating a starry look. There were also plants with white flowers and plants with pale pink flowers.

The plants with white flowers are, or are derived from the widespread close relative white campion, Silene latifolia; those with pale pink flowers are the result of hybridising between the two to create a hybrid known as Silene × hampeana.

So, this Fotheringhay field features acres of noticeably variable red campion with a few plants of white campion (which were a little taller and a little later flowering than the rest of the plants) and some hybrids mixed in. But what was it all for?

As far as I know red campion is not grown for its oil so I presume that it’s being grown for its seeds which will be sold as wildflower seed and go into wildflower seed mixtures. But with those hybrids included in the crop, and not rogued out, the one thing buyers will not be getting is pure red campion.

But what a lovely sight this field is… Another reason to visit the historic village of Fotheringhay and stop for a meal or a beer at The Falcon Inn.

A few days ago, friends here In Northamptonshire reported on some orchids they'd found. They were growing in the grass on a roadside along a very quiet country lane. They thought there were about forty early purple orchids (Orchis mascula), so I went up to take a look.

Sure enough, there they were (below) – about sixty five of them as it turned out - scattered through the long grass, their vivid colours standing out from quite a distance. They were all together, none for miles on either side. Lovely.

And it so happened that this find coincided with the a new burst of publicity for the campaign by Plantlife, the British plant conservation charity, aimed at protecting the plants growing on Britain’s roadsides. [Their website helps Brits ask your local council to protect roadside plants.]

Just a mile or two away plants of the bold tawny spikes of the uncommon parasitic plant, the knapweed broomrape (Orobanche elatior) grow on their only host, the greater knapweed (Centaurea scabiosa), along another quiet lane along with literally miles of meadow cranesbill (Geranium pratense)

Close to home over in Pennsylvania, I’ve noticed that roadsides are often the only local location for a number of interesting plants. The only clumps of false Solomon's seal (Maianthemum racemosum) (below) that I’ve seen nearby are on roadsides and I’ve also noticed more may apple (Podophyllum peltatum) and Dutchman's breeches (Dicentra cucullaria) along roadsides than anywhere else.

Partly, I presume, this is because the deer tempted to eat roadside plants are more likely to be killed by traffic and so the plants are more likely to flourish.

The key factor, of course, is mowing. Just a few hundred yards from those early purple orchids the roadside grass has been shaved like a suburban lawn. Why?! Once a year is ideal, unless the mower turns up at flowering time; mowing too early can prevent flowering and seeding and debilitate the plants. In many areas of Britain, local councils are saving money by mowing less and in some areas special marker posts are used to warn the mowers off.

And then, today, the Journal of the Hardy Orchid Society arrives and there’s an article about a stretch of roadside in Essex, east of London, which is packed with orchids. Along a busy, relatively recently constructed road, there are 350 bee orchids (Ophrys apifera) and 250 pyramidal orchids (Anacamptis pyramidalis) - a dramatic increase from 50 bee orchids and 60 pyramidal orchids six years ago. Much of this increase is down to reduced mowing brought on by budget cuts.

So, when you’re stopped in traffic, look out of the window and see what you can see. When you’re a passenger, keep your eyes peeled. But please, when you’re driving, keep your eyes on the road!

Driving around Pennsylvania or Northamptonshire, while keeping my eyes on the road, my peripheral vision always takes in what’s growing by the roadside. And there’s plenty to see.

One of the very first posts on this blog, way back in 2007, was about unexpected roadside plants and here we are almost ten years later and over the last few days I’ve spotted some more.

First, let’s revisit the Heathrow euphorbias (above). Having driven round the exit from London’s orbital motorway, the M25, for Heathrow every few months for more than fifteen years – about four years ago I spotted Mediterranean euphorbias bursting through the barrier. Driving my wife judy to the airport last week she snapped this picture on her phone through the car window as we whizzed by. Those euphorbias are still going strong.

Later, on the way home to Northamptonshire, I spotted something interesting as I turned off the northbound M1 motorway to head home. And it turned out to be a strange mixture of plants: stinking hellebore (Helleborus foetidus) (below) scattered by the side of the road along with Euphorbia amygdaloides var. robbiae, grape hyacinths (Muscari), jonquil daffodils, flowering currant (Ribes sanguineum) and more: a strange mix of garden plants at an exit that’s a long way from a garden.

And then just yesterday, on the way back from the recycling centre, doing very nicely by the roadside – two or three patches of another Mediterranean plant: Alexanders (Smyrnium olustratum) (above right). The Flora of Northamptonshire tells me that it: “originates from it formerly being grown as a medicinal herb”.

Now that our roadsides are not treated like lawns and mown every two or three weeks, there’s more and more interesting plants to see.

I’ve been doing some weeding. This is in our British garden where the weeds are always jumping at this time of year, especially when it’s been so wet and it’s been unwise to get on the soil.

I’ve also been having a clear out, bringing files and folders out from the back of the file cabinets and what did I find? My weed collection, three fat folders of pressed plants, that I made when I was a student at the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in London almost forty years ago (below right, click to enlarge).

And the first pressed plant I found in the first folder I opened was the same plant I’d just been pulling out of the garden: hairy bitter cress (Cardamine hirsuta). We have a close relative, Pennsylvania bitter cress (Cardamine pennsylvanica) in our American garden.

And this brings me to my first rule of weeding: our top weeding priority should always be to pull out are the weeds that are in flower or developing seeds. Hairy bitter cress rarely grows more then 10in/25cm high but can still can produce 700 seeds and fling them 31in/80cm, but it can also produce seeds when just two inches (5cm) high. So pull it out. Now.

Many of the traditional rules of gardening have little value but “One year’s seeding makes ten years weeding” really is true. Dandelions (below), which as annoying in Pennsylvania as they are in Northamptonshire, can produce over two hundred seeds in one seed head. So - obviously - don’t let them seed.

My second rule of weeding is always to shake the soil off the roots after you pull out the weeds and before they go on the compost heap or (in those cities with green waste recycling) in the green waste bin. You can ship out a huge amount of good soil if you’re not careful.

And my third rule of weeding is this: get them when they’re young. When nasty perennial weeds like bindweed come through at this time of year, a one inch shoot is often an indicator of yards of root underneath. Later, when their twirling stems become entwined with our garden plants, it’s all but impossible to remove them. It’s so much easier when they’re just an inch high and, at this time of year, if you disturb the plants you’re trying to protect when extracting bindweed roots they’ll soon settle down again. By the time the bindweed is strangling your cistus (top) it’s far far FAR too late.

My final rule is this: Don't spend half a day weeding and then the rest of the week nursing your aching back. I did half an hour this morning and half an hour this afternoon and I’ll try to keep that up. But if I’d spent two hours forking out weeds at a single stretch this morning (as I was tempted to do) I’d not be able to get out there again tomorrow or the next day or the rest of the week. Little and often…

OK, it's time to get back to the bindweed and dandelions and the dreaded hairy bitter cress.

I’ve been trying to get out for a good walk every day - weather permitting - since I’ve been here in Britain and since a few chilly nights brought the last of the fall foliage to the ground the hedgerows are revealed as dripping with fruits.

Two plants stand out, their vivid red fruits shining brightly in the low late autumn sun.

There are two unrelated forms of bryony and the one with the crowded clusters of scarlet fruits now at their peak in the British hedgerow is known, perversely, as Black Bryony, Tamus communis (left, click to enlarge). Closely related to the yams of the tropics, this is a vigorous twining plant, snaking its way through woody hedge plants. As well as its scarlet berries it has fat tuberous roots, deeply ribbed triangular leaves, small green and white flowers – with male and female plants on different plants… And every part of the plant is poisonous.

It’s sometimes used as poultice to treat internal injuries but, frankly, it’s best just to admire it from a distance. Gardeners around the world can order Black Bryony seeds from Plant World Seeds.

The other plant that stands out is the dog rose, Rosa canina (below, click to enlarge), a much more substantial, even imposing, feature of the hedgerow with clusters of red hips which are a little less shiny than the black bryony berries so that they gleam in the sun but look more dull in the shade.

Mind you… I say dog rose, Rosa canina… But these hedgerow roses come in a confusing number of micro species, about thirty very similar but slightly different species some of which have five or even six times as many pairs of chromosomes as usual. They also have a slightly quirky form of reproduction known as permanent odd polyploidy – but you and I can both be delighted that I’m not going to try and explain it.

But what I can do is remind you that rose hips can contain as much fifty (yes, FIFTY) times as much Vitamin C as oranges! So those hedgerow rose hips can bring you a genuine health benefit. There’s more about Vitamin C in the hedgerows in a post from September last year. Gardeners around the world can also order seeds of Rosa canina from Plant World Seeds.

The final fruity feature of the Northamptonshire hedgerows along which I’ve been walking these last few days has been the sloes, Prunus spinosa. These are like small plums in both their appearance and their botanical connections – but not in taste. “Tart” is hardly the word but sloes make a fantastic flavored gin, as I discussed here back in 2007.

One other thing I’ve noticed these last few days is that the birds haven't got stuck in to all these fruits yet. But this looks like an exceptionally good year for hips and berries and other fruits, all of which will help so many birds, and small mammals, through the winter ahead – however tough it turns out to be.

There’s been a great deal of controversy about whether native plants are best for pollinating insects or whether non-native garden plants are just as valuable. On the whole, the debate has been informed by more opinion than science but, after a four year research project at their Wisley garden near London, the Royal Horticultural Society has the answer. This is the first ever designed field experiment to test whether the geographical origin (‘nativeness’) of garden plants affects the abundance and diversity of invertebrates (wildlife) they support.

“Until now the role native and non-native plants play in sustaining wildlife in gardens has been unclear and confusing,” say the lead researchers on the project Dr Andrew Salisbury and Helen Bostock. “Now, for the first time, gardeners can access robust, evidence-based information on the most effective planting strategy they can adopt if they wish to attract and support pollinators.”

Over on her Plants For Bugs blog, Helen Bostock summarizes the three main conclusions of the research (her emphasis in bold).

“1. The best strategy for gardeners wanting to support pollinating insects in gardens is to plant a mix of flowering plants from different countries and regions.



“2. Emphasis should be given to plants native to the UK and the northern hemisphere, though exotic plants from the southern hemisphere can be used to extend the season (there are a greater proportion of exotic plants flowering later in the season compared to UK native and northern hemisphere plants) and provide nectar and pollen for some specific pollinators.

 (Left, Verbena bonariensis from South America)

“3. Regardless of plant origin (native or non-native), the more flowers a garden can offer throughout the year, the greater the number of bees, hoverflies and other pollinating insects it will attract and support.”

So there you have it, research at the RHS (part of the research area above, click to enlarge) the best way to encourage pollinating insects is to “plant a mix of flowering plants from different countries and regions” – and not to rely only on native species.

Supported by the Wildlife Gardening Forum, this is exactly the sort of research we need to demonstrate the proven realities of an issue which has been dominated by the trading of opinions such as “Native plants will attract more native pollinators” masquerading as facts.

Let’s hope the RHS team will soon be looking at the relative importance of native and non-native plants in providing food for those larvae of native insects which do not require specific native plant species on which to feed – for although the point is pretty much proved in Jennifer Owen’s Wildlife of a Garden, it would be good to have research on the same scale this newly published RHS research to make the point.

* You can read the full details of the RHS research online in the Journal of Applied Ecology.
* Take a look at the latest addition to the RHS guidance on Plants For Pollinators based on this research.
* Read the background to the research and how it was done.