Celery and my granddad putting soot around them to keep the slugs away, also daphne for him. He was so proud to get a cutting to take after several years of trying. Planted next to his front door. Almost any veg and I can see my Dad weeding and hoeing along the rows. Sleeves rolled up and braces. A golden fastigiate yew given by a friend as a tiny rooted cutting, telling me it was very rare, it is now five feet tall and lovely. A sasquana camellia, given by a friend as a goodbye present, when I moved to Cornwall, it was very sick. She didn't have a lot of money and found it in the reduced corner of a GC. She was convinced I would be able to resuscitate it. She was right, just coming into flower now, 30 years later. Scented pinks. Remind me of sitting on the wall between my garden and next door's plant nursery where I used to talk to and watch the gardeners working. One "old man" probably only in his 30's gave me a plant of a salmon pink dianthus. I kept it growing until after I was married. I never did know its name. Escholtzia, when I was around 2/3 yrs old I used to go into our neighbour's garden, collect the fairy hats from them and stack them on top of each other. I was not allowed to pull hard to get them off. Mignonette. When I was about seven my grandfather showed me a plant growing in a pot on his window sill. A greeny brown lump on top of a green stalk. Then he got his magnifying glass and showed me how the "lump" was hundreds of perfectly formed tiny flowers with a lovely scent. We admired together as he said how wonderful nature was that something like that flower could grow from the minuscule seed he had in the palm of his hand. That kickstarted my passion for gardening, although I had already been gardening from the age of three, sort of. Encouraged by my father who always gave me a piece of the garden to grow things in. Primroses. When my mother, sister, and I went picking primroses to sell for some extra cash. 12 flowers and three leaves per posy. My mother slipped into a stream and I screamed my head off because I thought she was drowning. Her boots were full of water, and, she got her knickers wet!
A lovely topic. I could go on and on. Strangely, I was recently pondering why we choose the plants we do. What is going on in our heads when we choose or reject a plant. This has to be one of the answers.
Roses, Royal William for my Dad, Winchester Cathedral for my Mum and Gertrude Jekyll for my best friend. Paeonia var. ludlowii from a bush which in one of my previous gardens, then to my Mum's, then to a friend who propogated it from a seed and gave it back to me. Pinks because my Dad loved them. I should also add various plants from NT properties around the country which bring back happy memories of holidays.
Also two apple trees planted when my grandchildren were little.
My wife tends to choose flowers, whereas I tend to choose fruit bushes and trees. But we need both. My parents were, and still are, avid gardeners. Her parents were definitely not!!
Some Valentine roses that were given to me, I took a cutting and it's flowered every year since. The most beautiful large deep red velvet rose I've ever seen.
My Royal William rose is like that @Uff, planted in memory of my Dad who loved red roses. Last year it even flowered on the anniversary of his death on the 28th November so I was able to take a few blooms up to the cemetery.
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Almost any veg and I can see my Dad weeding and hoeing along the rows. Sleeves rolled up and braces.
A golden fastigiate yew given by a friend as a tiny rooted cutting, telling me it was very rare, it is now five feet tall and lovely.
A sasquana camellia, given by a friend as a goodbye present, when I moved to Cornwall, it was very sick. She didn't have a lot of money and found it in the reduced corner of a GC. She was convinced I would be able to resuscitate it. She was right, just coming into flower now, 30 years later.
Scented pinks. Remind me of sitting on the wall between my garden and next door's plant nursery where I used to talk to and watch the gardeners working. One "old man" probably only in his 30's gave me a plant of a salmon pink dianthus. I kept it growing until after I was married. I never did know its name.
Escholtzia, when I was around 2/3 yrs old I used to go into our neighbour's garden, collect the fairy hats from them and stack them on top of each other. I was not allowed to pull hard to get them off.
Mignonette. When I was about seven my grandfather showed me a plant growing in a pot on his window sill. A greeny brown lump on top of a green stalk.
Then he got his magnifying glass and showed me how the "lump" was hundreds of perfectly formed tiny flowers with a lovely scent. We admired together as he said how wonderful nature was that something like that flower could grow from the minuscule seed he had in the palm of his hand. That kickstarted my passion for gardening, although I had already been gardening from the age of three, sort of. Encouraged by my father who always gave me a piece of the garden to grow things in.
Primroses. When my mother, sister, and I went picking primroses to sell for some extra cash. 12 flowers and three leaves per posy. My mother slipped into a stream and I screamed my head off because I thought she was drowning. Her boots were full of water, and, she got her knickers wet!
A lovely topic.
I could go on and on. Strangely, I was recently pondering why we choose the plants we do. What is going on in our heads when we choose or reject a plant. This has to be one of the answers.
Paeonia var. ludlowii from a bush which in one of my previous gardens, then to my Mum's, then to a friend who propogated it from a seed and gave it back to me.
Pinks because my Dad loved them.
I should also add various plants from NT properties around the country which bring back happy memories of holidays.
Also two apple trees planted when my grandchildren were little.
My parents were, and still are, avid gardeners. Her parents were definitely not!!