One of the books I enjoyed most in recent weeks is The Sceptical Gardener by Ken Thompson. It's a collection of columns he wrote for The Daily Telegraph since 2010. Ken, the introduction tells me, for twenty years was a lecturer in the Department of Animal and Plant Sciences at the University of Sheffield.

"As an academic", he writes, "I spend a lot of time reading papers in scientific journals - in my case, botany and ecology journals. The great majority of these papers are of interest only to a small number of specialists, and a significant proportion are of no interest to anyone, sometimes not even their own author. But hidden in there are a tiny number of gems that recount findings of interest to gardeners. Or at least they would be of interest to gardeners if someone bothered to tell them. I looked around and realised that there was no 'someone' doing that, so maybe I should have a go."

This quote sums up pretty well what to expect, I think: both in terms of content and - more importantly perhaps, given that the subject "scientific papers" sounds rather off-putting - in terms of style. In fact, it is anything but a dull read. It is engaging and entertaining and thought provoking. Written in the voice of someone grounded, no-nonsense but with a sense of humour and the ability to explain complex things conversationally, for the benefit of those less familiar with the subject. Yet the author always wears his knowledge lightly. I could do with this style of guidance in other spheres of life...

While I felt like reading all in one go this wasn't possible as there were other demands on my time. Lucky then that this book is ideal for dipping in and out of. The columns have been allocated to one of eight "chapters" into which the book is divided: "Garden wildlife", "Native and alien plants - and animals", "Not worth doing", "Names of plants - and people", "Growing food", "Interesting things about plants", "Practical gardening" and "On being a gardener".

The spectrum covered is huge: from Birds and house prices to Crocks in pots, from Meadows and sugar to the Status of gardeners, from Bat boxes and Floral clocks to Breeding for flavour, Planting by the moon and The Swiss cheese plant: why holes are an advantage. It is a true miscellany, a smorgasbord of well-presented facts and thoughts. And it triggered many reflections of my own, one of which I would like to expand here.

In The rat-race to get out of the shade, Ken Thompson explains how plants compete with each other for the vital resource of sun light and especially how they know that shade is about to become a problem. Because, as he writes, "being deprived of light means fairly rapid death. Almost the worst thing that can happen to a plant is to be overtopped by a neighbouring plant."
The more I learn about this rat race - or, to be broader, about Darwinism in action - the more I want to forget about it. Those facts are fascinating in themselves, as is the science involved and the whole concept of evolution etc.. It's a marvel what strategies Mother Nature has come up with - not just in the animal world but in the plant world, too. But to be honest: when I'm outside I don't want to know.

Why? Well, the psychological benefits of gardening are known far and wide and scientifically proven in countless studies. But I have a hunch they are in real danger if one thinks too hard about what is ACTUALLY going on. 


         Is a garden still a joy when you observe it through the spectacles of Darwinism?


We live in an increasingly complex, complicated world where you are constantly confronted with the nasty aspects of Darwinism. (I'm thinking of what humans do to each other - and certainly not just on the battlefield! - as well as how our species destroys their fellow creatures. As for the ever-increasing complexities of modern life I probably don't need to expand.) More often than not you can't do a thing about it but paddle as honourably as you personally can in life in order not to get submerged and drown. A walk in the park, wood or meadow and especially a garden increasingly becomes a refuge, a respite. If you come out to relax in your patch and then in your mind's eye see nothing but a battle ground and carnage...

Some people will have no problem with this, accepting it as just the way things are: That's nature, the normal course and part of life. But others - and I'm strictly speaking for myself here - can't stomach it that easily. Call me a hypersensitive wimp, but I have to compartmentalise.

Not least, by the way, because otherwise my own gardening mistakes would accumulate into a guilty conscience tantamount to that of a murderer. What about the little gems I lost because I planted them where the Parthenocissus romps? They were tolerant of some shade. But I was hoping against better knowledge that they'd be capable of surviving the constant darkness the climber casts as it spreads its leaves and closes the canopy above them. Murder! Wilful murder!


       Or should one approach scientific facts with an ostrich mentality for the sake of sanity?


From Ken Thompson I learned that a plant "knows" about its neighbours even before they are shaded by them. They respond, he writes, not to the quantity of light but to its quality, measuring the spectrum of light available. More precisely, because plants use mainly red light for photosynthesis rather than the whole visible spectrum, light reflected off leaves is different in quality to ordinary sunlight. He also recounts a study that showed leaves touching any obstruction will grow up - in an effort to shade their neighbour. Which means: by consistently planting too close (for lack of space), from the word "go" I put my plants under permanent stress as they "know" their perilous position. Can I live with that on my conscience?

You may, of course, laugh about my silly, childish sensitivity. And indeed, if I'm not offended (or hurt, depending on mood) I might join in and laugh wholeheartedly at my ostrich mentality of "putting head in sand and pretending things don't exist".

In the end, I guess, it comes down to your own world view and approach to life: It's the same as knowing, of course, that flowers don't exist for our benefit. But then, when gazing at one or sinking your nose in to drink its fragrance: what's wrong with convincing yourself, just for a teeny weeny incy wincy moment, that it is there just for your enjoyment? And, you know, you could even make a case for it: After all, there are so many flowers grown by plants that never get pollinated - who is to say those were NOT meant to just bring joy into this world?

Two posts ago I wrote about Caerhays Castle in Cornwall. When I visited last year I did not care to record the botanical names of the plants I saw and photographed. But there is one I do remember: Michelia doltsopa. Michelias have lately been incorporated into the Magnolias: after analysing their DNA most botanists no longer believe that they merit their own genus. But as so often, the old names linger on and I shall stick with Michelia here, if only to make the distinction between them and the more commonly known and grown magnolias.

Michelias first caught my attention a few years ago in the wonderful Cornish garden Trengwainton. The trees in question also were Michelia doltsopa (now Magnolia doltsopa). To me they looked a little like a huge evergreen magnolia (Magnolia grandiflora) but with smaller, less overwhelming leaves and far more numerous yet much less bloated blooms. That’s no coincidence since the flowers are born not only at the tip of a branch but from the leaf axils along its length. And they had an incredible perfume to boost! I fell for them immediately. Since then I have encountered michelias in several Cornish gardens and when I came across small plants for sale in one of them last year, I was too weak to resist.

Mind you, I tried to be sensible and bought what came by the name of Michelia yunnanensis: “An evergreen large shrub, sometimes a small tree” as the label stated. Thus I tried to make myself believe it was “more appropriate” than the “big tree” version of M. doltsopa. (Information I found as to their size varies, but apparently the latter can grow to 30 metres tall…) In fact, they are both inappropriate for my patio and a smallish pot, I guess, but try talking sense to someone in love…

According to one source it was Scottish physician and geographer-zoologist-botanist Francis Buchanan-Hamilton who discovered Michelia doltsopa in Nepal and officially named it in 1817 – after 17th century Italian botanist Pietro Antonio Micheli. And as far back as 1838 the great horticulturist John Claudius Loudon, in his big opus Arboretum et Fruticetum Britannicum, mentioned michelias and stated that an expert thought they would grow in the milder parts of the UK. I also read somewhere that Michelia doltsopa first bloomed outside of Asia in 1933: at Caerhays Castle! They were introduced there by the plant hunter George Forrest.

As I tried to learn more about michelias a few days ago, I looked out onto a garden that seemed to duck and curl up under yet another heavy shower of sleet. We were back to chilly temperatures and while my previous blog post wasn't premature, this year really tests a gardener's patience. The weather has done some (minor) damage to my Michelia: the creamy petals that had dared to open have their edges frosted and browned and those that had emerged from the buds but remained still closed now look as though they had been dusted with cinnamon but will eventually brown faster too.

Whilst I suspect that hardiness is an issue with most other michelias (Cornish gardens usually are favoured by a very mild climate after all), the clue to the scarceness of “my” species in gardens funnily enough seems provided by the same Country Gardener magazine issue mentioned in my post on Caerhays Castle. In it, Nurseryman Kevin Croucher lists five of the best flowering shrubs – and amongst them is Michelia yunnanensis.

The expert states that it is only medium-sized (hurray!), very winter hardy and very tolerant of soil type but only available to western gardeners since the 1980s. So that would explain why it is not seen more often! Croucher, too, swoons about its fragrance, recommends an open sunny spot and concludes that “it can only grow in popularity”. Absolutely.

Actually, I have fallen for this particular michelia much earlier without even knowing: several years ago the magazine Gardens Illustrated published a list of 100 “must-have plants” chosen by various well-known British garden designers. And I remember there was a magnolia, chosen as his top plant by Cleve West that I have coveted ever since, just on the sight of the photograph. It was called Magnolia laevifolia. Only now, on starting to write this post and doing some research did I realise: this is the same plant as Michelia yunnanensis - Magnolia laevifolia* is just its new, botanically correct name! I've fallen for the same plant twice! 

I’ve also found out that Michelia yunnanensis / Magnolia laevifolia* must be much more common in New Zealand where several tempting cultivars have been raised. One of the fun bits researching for this post was coming across Abbie Jury’s website: her husband Mark has bred several michelias. The name “Jury” rang a bell: I’d heard of them as breeders of magnolias and camellias. The main association in my mind: Camellia “Jury’s Yellow”.

Turns out this was actually bred by Mark’s uncle Les and that there is a whole “Jury dynasty” of plant breeders. Mark, who also raised the exciting magnolia “Black Tulip” by the way, has “released” his michelias under the tradename Fairy Magnolias and their descriptions sound absolutely enticing. Burncoose Nursery (the nursery connected with Caerhays Castle) offer them from their website for the first time this year, along with M. doltsopa, M. laevifolia* and five other species. I’m sure we’ll come across michelias far more often in future!

Incidentally, the Frustrated Gardener, one of the blogs I enjoy and read regularly, wrote about michelias at the same time as I scribbled down the first paragraphs for this post –  you can read his here.

* P.S. After contacting Abbie Jury a week from first publishing this post, I received the following information:

"I think hardiness is the big issue for michelias in the UK. We are still waiting to see how Mark's hybrids fare longer term because we can't test for hardiness here. Anything with doltospa or figo in it is going to be more tender whereas maudiae and dianica are hardier. Magnolia dianica, by the way, is the current correct name for M. yunnanensis (laevifolia was very shortlived!). The Chinese do not accept the reclassification of michelias as magnolias and we are unconvinced that it is helpful. Of course they are all part of the same family, but keeping the sub group of michelia makes it clearer."