Gardens
Think singles
Ursula Buchan
Nplant is an island, entire of itself. In the wild, plants grow in groups or colonies, sometimes so numerous that their commu- nities stretch for miles. Where they do occur singly, it is because of some hiccup, such as loss of habitat, attack by animals or voracious collecting. The vast majority of wild plants require or, at the very least, benefit from cross-fertilisation with others of their species, in order to mix their genes. If you see a plant on its own, you can bet that its future is uncertain. '
In gardens, things are very different. We may pay lip service to the idea of natural- ism but the modern garden is often no more naturalistic than a breakfast televi- sion studio. In most, the singleton rules OK. One philadelphus, one deutzia, one aucuba, one forsythia; these are the com- mon inhabitants of the shrub border. Of course, lack of space will usually prevent a truly naturalistic approach but we could perhaps accept more readily than we do that a group of identical plants are better at making a strong visual statement than a hotchpotch of individual species.
Even large trees (which are the plants most advocated by experts as suitable for 'specimen', i.e. single, planting) would often look better as part of a small grove instead. We would all, I am sure, rather see a grassy orchard than a single apple tree. Yet many a large lawn could be improved if the single specimen tree which punctuates it were joined by a couple of fellows. Only the mulberry and other pen- dulous-branched trees, whose shapes are so singular that they could not easily accom- modate companions, are exceptions.
In 'mixed borders', -where herbaceous perennials, rock plants and bulbs predomi- nate, there is far less excuse for single, pim- ply planting. Yet it is widely practised, especially in so-called `plantsman's' gar- dens. Here 'difficult' plants are prized but these often palely loiter, without the strength to reproduce or make a decent clump quickly. A real plantsman's border is as bitty as a chocolate praline.
Even if we consider we grow plants as much for their overall effect as for their individual interest, opportunities are still missed. We unhesitatingly plant herba- ceous perennials in uneven-numbered clumps, because we have so often been told to do so. That is a helpful suggestion (no more) with slow-creeping perennials, but with vigorous ones it is unduly restricting. In fact, it does not usually matter whether a clump of asters consists of three, four, five or 16 plants; once it is established, you will find it hard to identify each individual any- way. And a group of four geraniums, for example, is no less likely to make a fluid pool of flowers than a clump of five. But, if all your clumps are in threes or fives, you may notice a deadening sameness about the border. In nature, there is a constant ebb and flow, caused by competition between species and aided by climatic vari- ations. We could sometimes try harder to emulate that.
With strict adherence to the uneven- number rule often comes a reluctance to replicate groupings. If I plant three del- phiniums in a group, I think that I have done my duty, when really I should be planting several clumps of three delphini- ums or one clump of three and one of six or seven. Nothing visually unifies a border better than the repetition of a few success- ful 'incidents'. Without repetition, the eye (or rather the brain behind the eye) has to work harder to make sense of what it sees. If garden space is so limited, that the repeating of groups seems excessively con- straining, something to the same effect can be achieved if plants of similar foliage shapes or flowers are put together.
Repetition is not really such a strange idea, even in the context of a highly artifi- cial garden. You only have to think of hedges, which provide so much important structure to the garden; to achieve the required symmetry, these must almost always be composed of a single species of plant. Or better still, think of the lawn: a collection of identical individual plants, which are repeated almost ad infinitum. If gardens are to be places of beauty and repose, rather than simply poor imitations of botanic gardens, we need to accept the notion that less can mean more.
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