The roses have had their bountiful first flush, the towering foxgloves have gone to seed, gaps from early-flowering perennials (brutally cut to the ground for their own good), and the midsummer pomp has eased into something altogether more languid, if not entirely knackered.

But don’t be fooled into thinking the show is over… Oh no. Not yet.

August brings its own cast of characters. Plants that thrive on warmth, that revel in those long golden balmy evenings, and repay you with colour, scent, and (most importantly) stamina.

These are the plants I rely on to carry the garden through the tail end of summer and into the early days of autumn (and in many cases, right through winter with their crispy seedheads and toughened stems). A mix of mood-lifters and pollinator-pleasers. Some are exuberant and flouncy, others light and airy. But all of them earn their keep.

So here it is: a list of late-summer stars I couldn’t garden without. Most of these are thriving right now in my own borders.

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1. Dahlia

The scene-stealers. The classic summer bloomers. The only garden divas who get away with needing constant support, yet still managing to upstage everyone else. Every year I promise myself I won’t go overboard, and every year I fail spectacularly. I’m always buying more (an entire bed for cutting) and playing with new varieties.

From the smoky Café au Lait and papery, twisted pinks of Labyrinth to the fiery oranges of Totally Tangerine and deep velvets of Chat Noir, dahlias come in every colour except true blue. If you want to keep the bees happy, choose single varieties with open centres. Magenta Star, Bishop of Llandaff and Bishop’s Children are all good examples.

They bloom from July (sometimes earlier) until the first hard frost, given regular deadheading. Feed them well, stake them early, and keep them watered. In return, you get the kind of indulgent, velvety petals that stop you in your tracks.

• Colour: Every shade imaginable including rich burgundy, coral, peach, white, near-black. Personally I er on the subtler side of the colour wheel.

• Scent: None

• Height/Spread: 60cm–1.5m tall

• Bloom Time: July to first hard frost

• Pollinators: Yes, particularly open-centred varieties

• Growth Habit: Grows from tubers, upright and bushy

• Self-seeding: No

• Notes: Feed and deadhead regularly. Squishy cone shapes are spent flowers. Firm buttons are the new flower buds. Stake early for best results.

2. Helenium

Heleniums are the late summer firework display, with shades of russet, copper, saffron, and deep mahogany - the garden’s equivalent of a warm hug and a very good sunset. My personal favourites all have that marmaladey toffee feel: Moerheim Beauty, Sahin’s Early Flowerer, and Carmen. Sumptuous!

They’re upright, tidy, and utterly charming. In my garden, they benefit from a good Chelsea Chop in June to keep them compact, as they do have a tendency to flop if left unchecked. I love them woven through grasses, or planted around the rich purples of Salvia ‘Amistad’ and the steely blues of Echinops.

Bees go wild for them, looping around the pollen-rich button centres. You’ll often find entire stems gently vibrating with fuzzy, golden bottoms.

• Colour: Amber, copper, mahogany, red-gold, yellow

• Scent: Lightly earthy

• Height/Spread: 90–120cm tall, 50cm wide

• Bloom Time: July–September

• Pollinators: Excellent — bees adore them

• Growth Habit: Clump forming

• Self-seeding: Rare

• Notes: Pinch back in June for shorter, bushier plants with more flowers.

3. Echinacea purpurea (Coneflower)

There’s a regal strength to echinaceas. Tall, commanding stems with bold daisy-like flowers and those lovely spiky cones. Purpurea is the classic deep pink, but I’m also partial to coral or soft white cultivars like ‘White Swan’. In my garden, ‘Magnus’ takes centre stage with large bubblegum-pink blooms.

Bees adore them, as do butterflies. Even as the petals fade, the cones remain sculptural, especially when dusted with frost. Clump forming, long blooming, and particularly striking en masse with grasses, salvias, and Geranium ‘Rozanne’ weaving her way through.

Reliable, photogenic, and full of nectar… if only more things in life were this low maintenance. Just give them good drainage and a bit of sun. They sulk in heavy clay and they’ll let you know about it.

• Colour: Deep pink, coral, white, orange

• Scent: Slightly honeyed

• Height/Spread: 80–120cm tall

• Bloom Time: July–September and beyond with deadheading

• Pollinators: Excellent for bees and butterflies

• Growth Habit: Clump forming

• Self-seeding: Occasionally, in lighter soils

• Notes: Needs moisture but with good drainage and plenty of sun. Avoid waterlogged soils.

4. Rudbeckia

If summer had a mascot, it would be this daisy-faced optimist, beaming through August and on into autumn, with an almost defiant cheerfulness. Every year I sow more Cherry Brandy, with its deep, velvety, chocolate-red petals. Rudbeckia laciniata is a different beast entirely: a towering plant, well over two metres, smothered in bright yellow blooms. It makes a brilliant back-of-the-border accent that I bounce down the garden.

They’re tough, drought tolerant, and look fantastic with purples, blues, and dusky pinks. Or plant them in great swathes, if you’ve the space, for maximum impact.

• Colour: Bright golden yellow, orange, and reds, with black-brown centres

• Scent: None

• Height/Spread: Mostly 60–90cm tall. R. laciniata is over 1.5m

• Bloom Time: August–October

• Pollinators: Excellent for bees

• Growth Habit: Clump forming

• Self-seeding: Occasionally, easily manageable

• Notes: Tough, low-maintenance, drought tolerant. Taller varieties may need staking on rich soils.

5. Anemone x hybrida (Japanese Anemone)

Soft, floaty, and wonderfully reliable. Japanese anemones bring a different sort of energy: gentle, romantic, and somehow rather charming.

They begin in August and just keep going. The pure white ‘Honorine Jobert’ is a classic, though she does have a bit of a thuggish streak. ‘Bressingham Glow’ offers bright pink, while ‘Königin Charlotte’ brings a softer pastel hue. They’re not fragrant, but their presence is subtle and striking all the same.

They spread by rhizomes (consider yourself warned), but in the right spot (especially dappled shade), they’re magic. They cope well in part sun or part shade, and they need moisture to flower at their best.

• Colour: Soft pinks and pure whites

• Scent: Fresh but faint

• Height/Spread: 80–120cm tall

• Bloom Time: August–October

• Pollinators: Loved by hoverflies and small bees

• Growth Habit: Rhizomatous (spreading)

• Self-seeding: Rarely

• Notes: Once established, they’re unstoppable. Use where you want something with movement and grace and have the space for these substantial plants.

6. Persicaria amplexicaulis

You know those plants that just keep flowering, no matter the weather? This is one of them.

I use Persicaria as a structural filler toward the middle to back of the border. With tall, slender spikes in ruby, deep pink, or rose (‘Pink Elephant’, ‘Firetail’, ‘Blackfield’, ‘Rosea’), it lifts and softens any planting scheme.

Pollinators love it. The mounding habit is lush but not unruly, and it pairs beautifully with upright grasses (I like Miscanthus and Molinia) or looser perennials like Veronicastrum and Sanguisorba. They can look a bit weary in dry soil, with a tendency to flop, so a little moisture goes a long way.

• Colour: Red, rose, or dusky pink spikes

• Scent: Mild and fresh

• Height/Spread: 1–1.2m tall

• Bloom Time: July–October

• Pollinators: Excellent

• Growth Habit: Clump forming

• Self-seeding: Rare

• Notes: Moisture helps, but they’re fairly tolerant. Pair beautifully with naturalistic planting.

7. Sanguisorba

This one’s pure poetry. Bobbing, bottlebrush blooms in deep crimson (‘Tanna’), soft raspberry (‘Red Thunder’), or gentle pink (‘Pink Brushes’). Tall and light, they sway on the breeze like wands.

My personal favourite is Sanguisorba hakusanensis ‘Lilac Squirrel’, with soft, silky, tassel-like blooms that are so tactile I insist on planting it near the path, just so I can stroke it on the way past.

Most cultivars aren’t showy plants, more of a background whisper. They’re especially effective when planted with grasses, Veronicastrum, and Verbena bonariensis. Utterly essential in naturalistic schemes. Bees love the clustered flowers, and they keep blooming through August and September if they don’t dry out. They hold their tall, floaty bearing well into winter.

They do best in moisture-retentive soil, but they’re adaptable if you choose your variety carefully.

• Colour: Deep red, raspberry, or soft pink bottlebrushes or tassels

• Scent: Grassy, lightly herbal

• Height/Spread: 60–150cm depending on variety

• Bloom Time: July–September

• Pollinators: Bees and hoverflies

• Growth Habit: Clump forming

• Self-seeding: Occasionally

• Notes: Don’t let them dry out. Beautiful with verbena, echinacea, or grasses.

8. Verbena bonariensis

One of the great see-through beauties. Verbena bonariensis adds floaty, airy height without bulk… tall, willowy stems topped with lilac-mauve clusters that hover like little satellites above the border.

It flowers for months on end and is adored by bees and butterflies, especially red admirals. It self-seeds politely into gravel paths and gaps between paving slabs. I let mine wander. It’s never thuggish, always graceful. They pop up like uninvited guests, but the kind you’re always happy to see. The seedlings are easy to remove and rehome, so I’m forever spreading the joy.

Deadhead if you want to limit spread, or just lean into the generous chaos.

• Colour: Lilac-mauve

• Scent: Faintly herbal

• Height/Spread: 100–150cm tall

• Bloom Time: June–October

• Pollinators: Bee and butterfly magnet

• Growth Habit: Tall, slender, self-supporting

• Self-seeding: Yes, freely, but easily managed

• Notes: Don’t plant just one, it shines when repeated. Excellent with grasses and late perennials like veronicastrum and sanguisorba.

9. Crocosmia (‘Lucifer’, ‘Emily McKenzie’)

No plant says late summer drama quite like Crocosmia. Fiery and upright, the sword-shaped leaves and arching flower stems bring movement and heat to the border, with a noticeable change in form compared to almost everything else around them.

‘Lucifer’ is vivid scarlet (the classic), but I’m also fond of the softer tangerine tones of ‘Emily McKenzie’. Both are loved by bees, especially on warmer days.

They grow from corms, clump up over time, and can be thinned and divided easily in spring. Be warned, though… ‘Lucifer’ can be a bit of a monster.

• Colour: Scarlet, tangerine, golden orange

• Scent: None

• Height/Spread: 60–100cm

• Bloom Time: July–September

• Pollinators: Very good

• Growth Habit: Grows from corms, clumps over time

• Self-seeding: No

• Notes: Divide when congested. Likes a warm, sunny spot, moist soil with good drainage.

Bonus Picks for Late Summer Colour

I just couldn’t resist adding a few more favourites. These didn’t make the official list, but they’ve certainly made themselves at home.

Salvia ‘Amistad’ has thrived in my garden for years and rewards complete neglect by flowering for months, from July to November. Deep purple, tubular flowers appear endlessly, and they’re adored by bees and butterflies.

Althaea cannabina is tall, airy, and utterly whimsical. It’s a self-supporting tower of a plant, often reaching well over two metres, with pops of soft pink, mallow-like flowers. It will seed around freely, so keep an eye out for those pioneering little plants popping up everywhere.

Bronze fennel (Foeniculum vulgare ‘Giant Bronze’) brings mustard-yellow umbels and gorgeous feathery foliage. It makes a beautiful foil for those caramel and marmalade heleniums, or the ultra-blue tones of Echinops.

🌿 Final Thoughts

Late summer doesn’t have to mean fading glory with dull greens and dusty browns. In fact, this is one of the most rewarding times in the garden. The heat has eased, the evenings have a comforting warmth, the light is golden, and the plants that shine now are doing it with quiet confidence.

They’re not in a hurry. They’re taking their time.

Which is a good reminder for us too. Slow down. Smell the roses (quite literally). Watch the bees bobbing on the echinacea, the sunlight through a floaty flowers, the flicker of wings around a rudbeckia bloom.

The garden is still full of life. It’s just a little softer now 🌿

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📝 Coming Up…

Next time: how to keep the colour going through late summer. I’ll share my best tips on deadheading, cutting back, feeding, and even a few favourite container refreshes.

After three episodes in the shade, it’s a very warm welcome to the sunny side of gardening. Around my gardens, I have two main container displays that catch the lion’s share of summer rays: the Courtyard Garden (a white-walled suntrap facing south and west), and the full-sun Terrace Garden, which positively bakes in the afternoon heat.

The pots are substantial. Bucket-sized, at the very least. Anything smaller just dries out far too fast. My container gardening philosophy? Big pots, deep watering, and one glorious weekly session with a Hugo Spritz in hand. Far better than faffing about daily with parched little pots.

Note: My garden is in Southern England, roughly USDA Zone 8b with a maritime climate.

The Pots

Most of mine are galvanised metal, and yes, I get a lot of questions about heat. “Don’t they get too hot?” or “Won’t the roots suffer?” Fair enough. Let’s just remember, many sun-loving plants evolved in far hotter places, growing in rocky, shallow, well-drained soils where “cool roots” simply weren’t on offer.

Yes, galvanised pots do heat up. But so does Tuscany, and nobody’s asking the lavender to move house. For Mediterranean-style planting, warmth is part of the deal.

If not galvanised, I’ll go for ceramic, glazed, or thick terracotta. And the compost? Always moisture-retentive yet well-drained. I rely on SylvaGrow Multi-Purpose with added John Innes, or their Tub & Basket mix (specially developed for containers). I adjust drainage with grit as needed.

Tip: If a plant’s label says “well-drained”, mix in grit. Lots of grit. “Moist but well-drained” still means decent drainage is essential. Always ensure your pots have drainage holes. For metal pots you can always drill more.

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Keep It Simple

Here’s another part of my container philosophy: simple is better. Most of my pots host a single plant. Why? Because mixed container displays, while beautiful, can be fiddly. They need a designer’s eye, careful planning for bloom times, and a willingness to accept the inevitable gap when something fades too soon. It’s like speed dating at the wrong table… someone’s bound to clash.

Planting one showstopper per pot lets each diva have their solo. No chorus line (or chat-up line) needed.

Single-plant pots let you:

1. Rearrange displays with the seasons (or your whims).

2. Swap out anything that’s gone over without disturbing the rest.

3. Show off each plant at its peak, no competition, no visual clutter.

I often plant into recycled plastic pots and then “drop” them into vintage galvanised planters or ceramics. When a plant is past its best, I just lift it out and replace it with something else. Hot-swapping pots is my version of a garden wardrobe change. One day it’s agapanthus, the next it’s all about the dahlias.

The Sun-Lovers I Grow in Pots

There are so many plants I could suggest, but these are the standout stalwarts in my garden. Those that have been turning up, year after year, with minimal faff.

Agapanthus africanus

Glamorous and statuesque, with tall stems and flowers in white, blue, or inky purple. They’re not cheap, but the moment they flower, all is forgiven. Even the eye-watering price tag. Feed regularly during summer to promote flowering for the following season, deadhead entire stems, and overwinter under cover if you’re unsure of your frost levels.

Scabiosa (Pincushion Flower)

Not glamorous, but this one turns up every day, gets the job done, and never asks for thanks. A floral workhorse. It blooms for months (June through to November) and the bees and butterflies go mad for it. Deadhead regularly and it just keeps going. Likes full sun, copes with a little shade, and thrives in a well-drained mix.

Lavender (English & French)

Sun-loving and fragrant. I grow it by the front door and steps so everyone who walks past gets an aromatic “Hello!” Needs gritty compost and hates soggy feet. Trim after flowering to keep it neat. French lavender is frost-tender, so many grow it as an annual.

Erigeron karvinskianus

My underplanting hero. Spills beautifully from under roses, bay trees, or olive pots. Has a timeless, cottagy charm. Tumbles and spills like it owns the place and frankly, I let it. I give it a short back and sides in spring, and again mid-summer to keep the flowers coming and tidy-up any straggly foliage. Neither hungry, nor thirsty, just quietly brilliant.

Achillea millefolium (Yarrow)

Feathery foliage with flat (umble), pollinator-magnet blooms in white, yellow, pink, orange and more. Easy, hardy, sun-loving. Cut back stems once they start browning to encourage repeat flowering. Best in leaner, well-drained composts, otherwise they get too tall and floppy.

Salvia

The gift that keeps on giving. Salvias bloom for months and come in every colour imaginable. I grow Salvia nemorosa, the Wish Collection, and my favourite Salvia ‘Amistad’ with its sultry purple flowers. Deadhead by cutting back to where new growth emerges. Needs gritty compost and benefits from a little extra feed throughout the season.

Veronicastrum

Tall, elegant spires in soft pinks and whites. Adds height, sway, and a touch of architectural drama. Thrives in full sun with a moist, well-drained mix. Even the fading flowerheads look beautiful through autumn and into winter.

Heuchera

A newer love of mine. Great foliage contrast with deep plum, near-black, crimson tones. Wonderful for breaking up a sea of green. Fine wiry stems hold up sprays of tiny flowers. Tolerates some shade, but the darker-leaved varieties love full sun if kept watered.

Geum ‘Totally Tangerine’

Orange sherbet in plant form. Fizzy, fabulous, and hard not to smile at. Along with Geranium ‘Rozanne’, this is one of my longest blooming perennials. Needs full sun and regular water. Cut the flower stems down to the base for continuous blooms.

Dahlia

A whole world of shapes and sizes, but in pots I now favour the smaller pom-poms, collarettes, and bee-friendly singles. With regular feeding and watering, they’ll flower right through summer and into autumn.

Dianthus (Pinks)

Softly scented, tough as boots. Your nan would approve. Pinks have a tidy habit, and brilliant at coping with drought. A perfect front-of-pot filler in whites and pinks.

And Don’t Forget the Shrubs

Hydrangea paniculata

A shrub that genuinely surprised me. If you can maintain moisture, these big, blousy bloomers are remarkably unfussy. Let them dry out and they’ll show it with drooping leaves, shrinking flowerheads, and a general air of disappointment. Regular watering is essential. Beyond that, a light feed and a spring prune is all they really ask for.

Shrub Roses

Big pots only, please. I use vintage dolly tubs, which are nice and deep, perfect for those woody roots. My favourites include Lady Emma Hamilton, Boscobel, Desdemona, Olivia Rose Austin, and Eustacia Vye. They flower for months.

Just steer clear of the lax, sprawly types like Young Lycidas and Mill-on-the-Floss. They’re far too floppy for pots and much better suited to the border.

A spring feed and another in June will keep these divas blooming all summer. Alternatively, a fortnightly seaweed root drench or foliar feed will keep them happy and healthy.

Peony

A short-season star for early summer, but what a stunner. Peonies grow surprisingly well in large containers, just make sure you size up as they grow. I often plant two together in a large container, then split and re-pot them once they mature. Feed in June/July to promote flowering these following season.

Top Tips for Growing Sun-Lovers in Pots

Water regularly

It’s far easier to maintain moisture than to rescue dried-out compost. Once it dries out, it behaves more like dust than soil, and water just runs straight off the top, as if it’s forgotten what it’s for. Reviving dry compost is a bit like trying to butter cold toast. Possible, but not pretty, and no one enjoys the process.

Tip: If you lead a busy life, or have limited mobility, it’s well worth considering a drip irrigation system. These can be connected to water butts and automated with a submersible pump for slow, steady watering without the daily faff.

Feed fortnightly

A fortnightly seaweed feed is like handing out sugar-rich smoothies to marathon runners. Regular feeding will keep most plants flowering their socks off. Remember, even the best composts only have enough nutrients for 4-8 weeks.

Group pots

Plants, like people, cope better in heat when they’ve got friends nearby for moral support. Crowding containers helps create humidity, reduces evaporation, and gives your plants shady neighbours.

Deadhead often

Snip snip… It’s the garden equivalent of a haircut and pep talk. Keeps things tidy and encourages more blooms. (I’ll cover this in more detail in an upcoming post.)

Play with height

Keep the materials consistent and let the plants do the talking. Personally, I love a run of galvanised metal, if you hadn’t noticed. But do vary the pot sizes and use bricks or stands to add height. It draws the eye up and stops everything feeling flat.

Think big

Don’t be shy with scale. Use tall grasses, statuesque perennials, or even small trees in pots. It lifts the whole scene and makes the space feel grander.

So there you have it. My summer sun-worshippers strutting their stuff in pots. Easygoing, glorious, and just thirsty enough to keep you outside with the watering can (or the Hugo Spritz).

Got a favourite sun-lover for pots? Or a plant that surprised you with its heat tolerance? Let me know in the comments. I’m always looking for new pot stars. 🌿

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🌿 Coming up…

Paid subscribers can enjoy an immersive high-summer tour around my gardens - a real peek behind the petals. I’ll be sharing the highs and lows, the wins and wobbles, the triumphs and inevitable “what was I thinking?” moments. I won’t shy away from the ugly bits, but you’ll have to forgive me in advance for revelling (just a little) in the glory of the summer garden.

If you’re not yet a paid subscriber, now’s a lovely time to upgrade and join me for the full tour. Bring your sunhat… it’s going to be a good one.

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A Pollinator Primer

Flowers aren’t just pretty faces, they’ve cleverly evolved, over millions of years, to lure in pollinators and get the job done. Pollen, made in the anthers, carries the plant’s genetic material.

Nectar, a sugary liquid produced by the flower, offers cold-blooded pollinators a quick energy hit. Nectar draws them in, but it’s the pollen that seals the deal, especially for bees, who collect it to feed their young.

As insects move from flower to flower, pollen gets brushed from the anthers (the male bits) onto the stigma (the female bit) of another flower of the same species. Once fertilised, the plant can set seed and reproduce. Job done.

Planting with Purpose

Native plants are a brilliant place to start. They’ve evolved in step with the local climate, soil, and the pollinators themselves. In my own borders, you’ll find native primroses, red and white campion, Centaurea, cow parsley, foxgloves, sweet woodruff and wild carrot, quietly doing their bit.

Cultivars of native species often strike a lovely middle ground. Anthriscus sylvestris ‘Ravenswing’, cornflowers, Achillea, Scabiosa, Salvia, Verbascum and Digitalis all spring to mind. They look good, with stunning cultivars, and feed the wildlife too.

Of course, garden borders have never really stuck to national boundaries. Global plant imports are part and parcel of modern gardening. What matters most isn’t where a plant hails from, but whether it offers nectar, pollen, and easy access.

Just beware the showstoppers. In many modern cultivars, nectar and pollen production have been bred out in favour of ever more elaborate petals. Frilly doubles may look fabulous, but they often bring nothing to the buffet. So before you fall for a flamboyant bloom, check if it’s doing more than just turning heads.

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🐝 Fun Fact: Not All Nectar Is Equal

While it’s true that all nectar is similar in principle (a sweet treat to lure in pollinators), not all nectar is created equal. Its sugar content (Sucrose, glucose, and fructose) and nutritional value can vary quite a bit between plant species.

Some offer a rich sticky blend of sugars and amino acids, perfect for bees stocking up for the hive. Others produce thinner, more dilute nectar better suited to moths or butterflies. A few plants go further still, lacing their nectar with caffeine or other compounds to encourage repeat visits. Clever stuff, really.

So while the origin of a plant doesn’t matter much, the quality of what it offers can make all the difference. It’s one more reason to plant a varied mix of flower forms and to make sure your favourite bloomers are actually bringing something to the table.

A Garden That Flowers All Year

My garden is never still. There’s a gentle rhythm to it. A quiet rising and falling of blooms throughout the seasons. Summer is always a smorgasbord, overflowing with colour and scent.

But things kick off much earlier, with wild primroses, snowdrops, and Crocus, and they wrap up late with warmth-loving dahlias, Helenium and Helianthus. As autumn leans into winter, Viburnum blossom, Cyclamen coum, hellebores and winter honeysuckle step in to keep the buffet going.

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But have you noticed how motorways all look the same? A blur of barriers, beige service stations, and a monotony of signposts, maybe the odd sign for an amusement park you’ll never visit. There’s no stopping to admire the view, no tiny villages to detour through, fields of poppies to drool at, no homemade jam at a welcoming and rustic farm gate.

Now imagine the scenic route.

It’s longer, yes. Slower, undoubtedly. Full of bends and mystery turnings. But goodness me, it’s got charm! You’ll pass ancient trees and unexpected viewpoints.
Little lay-bys where you can pause and breathe. You might get lost once or twice (probably more). You might discover a pub that serves suspiciously strong cider and completely forget what day it is.

You’ll remember that journey long after you arrive.

Starting a garden is very much the same. You can choose the shortcut. Whack down some weed membrane, plonk in a few evergreen shrubs all equidistant and aligned, and spread gravel like you’re resurfacing a car park. Call it ‘low maintenance’ and feel very pleased with yourself. But… what’s the point if you never step off the path? You walk straight ahead, without the need to even turn your head.

Where the magic grows

The real magic, the heartbeat of a garden, is in the meandering route. It’s in the trial and error. The surprise self-sown foxglove and aquilegia. The bit you swore you’d sort next year that somehow became your favourite corner. It’s in standing ankle-deep in compost wondering where it all went wrong. It’s in the moment you finally understand why that rose sulked for two years and then burst into bloom like a star-lit diva on stage.

Gardens are not tasks to complete. They’re not Ikea furniture or tax returns.

They’re living, breathing things. To shortcut your way through is like eating instant noodles in a Michelin-stared restaurant. Functional, yes. Quick, definitely. But oh, you’re missing all the flavour, the ambience, and an entire experience.

Every good gardener I know…

Has led an error-strewn life, learning their best lessons by getting gloriously lost along the way. Maybe they’ve planted things in the wrong spot. Pruned things at the wrong time. Thrown seeds about just to see what happens. Moved plants, just because. And that’s where the joy lives. In the chaos. In the curve. In the things that don’t quite go to plan but bloom gloriously anyway.

So if you’re just starting out, or even if you’ve been gardening for years but still find yourself tempted by the odd ‘quick fix’, may I gently suggest:

Take the scenic route.

Stop at the viewpoints. Pack snacks. Admire other gardens without shame. Let your own evolve slowly, one curve and crooked step at a time. Keep learning. Keep wandering.

You’ll get to your destination, eventually.

But oh… what a journey it could be 🌿

Further Reading – if you fancy another wander…

If today’s post has you dreaming of slow strolls, crooked paths, and gardens with heart, you might enjoy these recent stories from my own patch:

You can take a peek at our Courtyard Garden, a small space brimming with vintage charm, all the greens, and seasonal stars. Or stroll through the Flower Garden, where blousy borders emerged from a spartan lawn and far too many roses. If you’re more of a veg patch sort, I’ve also written about the Cornerstones of my Kitchen Garden, all raised beds, mulching, seasonal rhythm, and the smell of tomatoes on warm hands.

Each space had its own learning curve.
Each one taught me to slow down and enjoy the ride.
Each one has been full of wonderful surprises.

Coming up…

Paid subscribers can enjoy their first exclusive post: a deep dive into the glorious mess of compost. I went behind the scenes at SylvaGrow to uncover how peat-free compost is really made, from bark piles and coir to conveyor belts, soil labs, and the surprising science of consistency. It’s was a truly fascinating day.

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Flaming June on the Terrace

This year, it’s lived up to its name. Gosh it’s been hot! Over 30°C (mid-80s°F). For my gardening chums across the pond, that’s probably easy going. But here, in old England, it’s stifling. Humid. Horribly sweaty. We’re simply not used to it.

Even though we do love to moan about the weather (obsessively), it really has been an extraordinary year. A record-breaker for sunshine hours, heat, and rainfall (or lack thereof).

I’m currently hiding indoors, feeling hotter than freshly toasted pitta, sitting on the sofa, fan on full blast, swigging iced ginger cordial, and catching up on Glastonbury highlights. It’s proving a little tricky to concentrate on gardening thoughts while the Scissor Sisters gyrate their way around the room.

Do I feel like dancing? No. But I did just spit out my tea after seeing Sir Ian McKellen on stage riffing with the Sisters. Seriously. Gandalf sexing it up!

Hardy Plants and Seasonal Shift

Despite the fierce heat (seriously, it’s only June, we shouldn’t be sweltering for weeks yet), the garden is looking fabulous, if I do say so myself. Burgeoning, blousy, surprisingly floofy, and utterly romantic.

Plants in the ground are grown hard. They thrive, or they’re replaced. No coddling here. Container plants get slightly more attention, dare I say, minimal low-level mollycoddling?

They’re given bucket-sized pots as a minimum (smaller ones dry out far too quickly), high-quality SylvaGrow peat free compost, and a deep, saturating drink once a week. Twice if there’s a heatwave. But no more. I don’t have the time (or the inclination) to spoon-feed plants. And in a garden this size, a leaner regime makes life very much easier.

As late spring gives way to early summer, the pastel prettiness fades and the bold, punchy show-offs take the stage. Tulips, narcissus, and dainty violas? A distant memory, swept away during the Terrace Garden refresh. The paving got a quick blast with the pressure washer, mostly to shift the accumulated bird poop, crud around the pots, and brighten up the stone.

Now the roses are blooming, the agapanthus is rising, and the dahlias are flowering (very early). Salvias, lavender, and a new favourite, Heucherella ‘Pink Fizz’, are joining the party. The Fizz has been flowering for weeks and shows no sign of stopping. Great value. And it seems very happy in a pot too.

Dolly Tubs and Dashing Dahlias

Amongst the acers, Japanese forest grass, and clipped box, five handsome vintage dolly tubs house repeat-flowering English shrub roses: two Lady Emma Hamiltons, Boscobel, Young Lycidas, and Eustacia Vye, all chosen for their blousy, ruffled blooms and exquisite perfume.

Adding height and a constant buzz of bumblebees are the single (daisy-like) dahlias, all grown from seed. A mix of Bishop’s Children and a packet from . The shear variety of colour never fails to surprise me.

Last year, I sowed the entire packet from the Farmgirl and raised dozens of dahlias for the cutting garden. A few were swiftly removed for being… let’s say “aesthetically challenging.” OK, horribly gaudy! The rest matured into healthy tubers with respectable hues. Some overwintered in the raised beds and were lifted in April once new growth appeared.

They’ve since been potted up for the Terrace, and while a few are still of questionable taste, mingled together they bring a sense of joyful abundance, and really, anything grown from seed always puts a huge smile on my face.

A View Restored (and a Splurge)

One warm evening earlier in June, I was slouched on the garden sofa (because those upright garden chairs are, frankly, a punishment). Clogs off, drink in hand, lounging as one should. But my view was… well, blocked. Beautifully blocked, yes. with a curated wall of plants, but a wall nonetheless.

I said to Jacq, my long-suffering better half (now very used to my bright ideas), “How about we make a gap? Maybe add a water bowl or something?” Very precise, as ever. No ambiguity.

That very same week, I received an email from A Place in the Garden, selling off their Chelsea ex-displays. I’d chatted with the owners at the show and fully immersed myself in their display (probably drooled on it too). I passed the email on to Jacq with a casual, “How about this?” complete with a nonchalant emoji wink. 😉

(You’re already ahead of me, aren’t you?)

Yes, we bought one. An ex-display. At a monumental price. But come on… isn’t it utterly gobsmackingly gorgeous? The Leaf Ball is made from hundreds of individually cut leaves, layered and hand-welded onto a spherical frame, then hot-dipped in molten zinc. Absolutely lush.

And you know what? It’s made a huge difference. More beautiful babbling water. A gentle cooling of the air. But most of all, a gap to stare through, down to the Flower Garden and its unashamedly exuberant planting. Delphiniums, roses, salvias, hardy geraniums, knautia, peonies, all dancing in the summer breeze.

Glorious.

Looking Ahead: What’s Still to Come

By the end of the month, the Hydrangea paniculata will be flexing their floral muscles, with those enormous cushioned cones adding weight and volume. The roses will be into their second flush (deadheaded diligently through June), and I’ll no doubt shuffle a few more plants from elsewhere... or go plant shopping.

Probably the latter. Definitely the latter, let’s be honest. I tell myself it’s important to keep sowing and plant shopping throughout the year, just so you don’t stack your garden with only early bloomers, leaving you with an irreversible fade to green through late summer.

Yes, I am officially giving you permission to go plant shopping. Seize it!

The Maintenance Bit

A few timely tasks keep things ticking over on the Terrace:

• Deadheading faded flowers to keep things neat and blooming

• Weeding pots (a cursory glance over for those sneaky seedlings!)

• Snipping off any yellow or munched leaves, if I have a spare moment

• Feeding roses to help them re-bloom (a dedicated rose fertiliser or a regular seaweed tonic is great)

• Container grown dahlias, annuals, bedding, salvias, all love a dose of the good stuff too. Seaweed or Tomorite are great options.

And in this heat, do keep things well watered. If the water rushes out the bottom, the compost’s likely bone dry. Sit the pot in a tray of water overnight to let it drink slowly, from the roots up. Leave it there until the compost is saturated and you’re good to go.

You don’t need to do it all at once. A few weeds today, a splash of seaweed feed tomorrow, a spot of deadheading at the weekend. Your garden doesn’t need a superhero gardener, it just needs you. Slightly sweaty, dusty-kneed, definitely determined, and showing up with secateurs and watering can in hand. 🌿

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Coming up…

We’re back in the shade! If Part One of The Shady Garden helped you decode the mysteries of shade, then Part Two is where the fun really begins… the plants!

We’re diving into the stars of the show: perennials, groundcovers, and statement plants. Basically, my favourite shady stalwarts, those easy-going, reliable types that form the backbone of my Cottage Garden planting. All written and waiting to land gently in your inboxes this weekend.

You’ve planted up your borders. You’ve filled your pots. You’ve chosen the longest-blooming plants you can find. Everything is looking glorious, and frankly, you deserve a moment to sit back with a cup of tea (or something cold and clinking) and admire your handiwork.

Do take time to waste a moment or two. Gardening is about enjoyment, after all, not just jobs. That said, don’t put those snips away just yet.

If you want to keep the colour coming all summer long, you’re still needed out there. And it all starts with one simple practice: deadheading.

Don’t Dread the Deadhead

I know. Taking a blade to a living plant can feel dramatic. Even a little barbaric. But think of it less like surgery and more like giving your plants a haircut before a hot date. A little trim, and suddenly they’re blooming with confidence.

Rest assured, you can’t kill a healthy plant just by snipping off its flowers. And once you start? It’s remarkably satisfying. Like popping bubble wrap, but with petals.

You can pinch them off with finger and thumb (some hardcore gardeners grow a particularly long thumbnail just for the job), or use snips or secateurs if you want a cleaner cut. There are a few plant-specific quirks (which we’ll get to), but as a general rule, always cut back to something. A pair of leaves, a side bud, a leaf node, or a branching point.

The Royal Horticultural Society has an excellent guide here if you want to nerd out on the finer details.

By the way, I really love Gardena’s GripCut Snips for deadheading. They grip the flowerhead as they cut (clue’s in the name), which is handy if you like to keep things tidy. Or you can simply chop and drop, letting nature absorb the organic matter back into the soil.

Why Deadhead?

In botanical terms, deadheading removes the plant’s reproductive organs, the faded flower heads that, left alone, will develop into seed. Once seeds form, the plant thinks, “Job done!” and begins to slow down and close up shop... perhaps a little prematurely.

Snip off those spent flowers, and the plant has to reconsider, “Wait a minute, I haven’t finished!” It quickly pumps out more blooms in response. You’re essentially tricking it into keeping the show going. Like a performer basking in applause, just keep clapping and they’ll keep coming back for an encore.

🌸 The benefits?

• More flowers, for longer

• Tidier, fresher-looking plants

• Less energy wasted on seed production

• Reduced self-seeding chaos

• Lower chance of rot or fungal problems in damp weather

Self-Seeding: The Double-Edged Sword

Now, I love a generous plant as much as anyone, but some of them are just a bit too generous. In my own garden, Eupatorium, Valerian, Althaea, Bistort, and Scabiosa are prolific seeders. If I didn’t deadhead them promptly, I’d be battling a thicket of seedlings come spring.

That said, as summer drifts into autumn, I do change tack. I’ll happily let some plants go to seed. They’re food for the birds and shelter for the bugs. It’s a balancing act. Deadhead during peak season, let go as winter approaches.

I’ll dive into how I harness the power of self-seeders in a future post. A garden with no self-seeders can feel a little too neat, too orderly. Somehow, self-sowers add a sense of romance and heritage.

A Few Tips to Keep You Snipping Happily

✂️ Deadhead often
It’s much easier to stay on top of things if you do a little and often. Ideally, just a few minutes each morning or evening is enough. But let’s be honest, who really has time for that? A couple of times a week works well. Weekly, at the very least.

🔪 Cut cleanly
Use sharp clean snips or secateurs for anything with a woody stem. Don’t just tug. For softer green stems, though, a gentle snap or pinch is usually all you need.

🌧️ Avoid soggy petals
Old flowers can rot in damp weather and (potentially) spread fungal spores. Removing them early helps keep your plants healthier. Think of balling rose blooms, those damp, clumped flowers that never quite open, but just rot.

🐦‍⬛ Mind the birds
Some plants, like echinops, sunflowers and echinacea, produce seedheads that birds love. If you’re not chasing repeat blooms, feel free to leave a few behind for the wildlife.

📆 Know your plants
Not all flowers respond to deadheading. Some bloom once and that’s it, like most foxgloves. Others such as modern shrub roses, scabious, echinacea, dahlias, cosmos and clematis will keep flowering if you keep snipping. I’ll share a quick guide on what to deadhead and what to leave in a moment.

Flower Power Needs Fuel

Deadheading is only part of the picture. If your plants are flagging, there are usually two other culprits to watch for: water and nutrients.

🚿 Water deeply and regularly
This is especially important for containers. Plants under drought stress will often drop their flowers early or skip blooming altogether. For more on how to water wisely, see The Slow Art of Watering post linked below.

🌱 Feed wisely
For flowering plants, use a high-potash feed to encourage blooms over leafy growth. I prefer a natural seaweed extract. You can use something like Tomorite® if that’s to hand, but I avoid synthetic, high-nitrogen feeds. They produce soft, leafy growth that’s irresistible to aphids. It’s like laying out a buffet for the greenfly, then being surprised when they bring all their mates.

When Deadheading Doesn’t Work (and When Not to Bother)

Before you head out with your snips like some sort of floral vigilante, it’s worth knowing: not all plants respond to deadheading in the same way. Some simply don’t rebloom. Others are best left to their own devices.

🌼 One-and-Done Bloomers

Some plants are naturally programmed to flower once per season. Deadheading won’t hurt them, but it won’t bring back the party.

Foxgloves (Digitalis) – Stunning biennials that usually flower once and then set seed. Occasionally, side shoots will follow, but not reliably. Once that main flower stem has finished, the plant usually dies off.

Lupins (Lupinus) – You might get a second flush from side shoots if you’re quick, but don’t count on it. Each new flowerhead tends to be smaller than the last. I’ve found that trying to force a second wave can stress younger plants and invites those plump grey lupin aphids, in their thousands.

Peonies – A deadhead here is purely for aesthetics as old blooms quickly brown. Although the blooms are fleeting, they are glorious. Like a celebrity cameo in a soap opera… there for a good time, not a long time. Savour them, feed them in July, then look forward to a bumper blooming next year.

Roses – Many old garden roses, alba, gallica, damask shrubs and almost all ramblers, flower just once in early summer. If you deadhead them, you’ll miss out on their second act… those glorious, fruity hips in autumn.

Poppies (Papaver) – Especially the oriental and annual types, like the opium or field poppy. Once they flower, they’re finished. The seedheads are attractive, though you might want to snip them off unless you’re after poppies by the hundred.

❄️ Worth Leaving for Wildlife or Winter Beauty

Sometimes, it’s better not to deadhead, whether the seedhead is beautiful in its own right (Nigella, for example) or especially beneficial for wildlife.

Seedheads like echinacea, rudbeckia, teasel and alliums provide vital food for birds in winter.

Grasses such as Stipa, Miscanthus and Calamagrostis add stunning structure as they catch the light and frost.

Other stars: Sedum (Hylotelephium), Phlomis, Echinops, Nigella and Libertia all hold their own well into the colder months.

🌿 When in doubt?

Let the plant tell you. Observe whether it sets new buds below spent flowers or goes straight to seed. And remember, gardening isn’t about doing everything perfectly. You’re not expected to know it all or get everything right. It’s about paying attention, learning the quirks, and enjoying the process.

Final Thought: Make It a Ritual

Deadheading isn’t just a chore, it’s a check-in. A chance to connect with your garden, to notice what’s thriving, what’s struggling, what’s new. Spot those weeds hiding in plain sight. Some of my best ideas have come from an early morning wander, or evening stroll, snips in one hand and a cuppa in the other.

So don’t dread the deadhead. Embrace it. Your flowers (and your compost heap) will thank you.

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💬 Over to You!

Do you have a favourite plant that rewards a good deadheading? Or one that surprises you with self-seeded babies? Let me know in the comments. I love hearing how other gardens behave!

BONUS SECTION

Plants to deadhead for more blooms:

🌸 Annuals & Bedding Plants

These are flowering machines. Deadheading keeps them going right through to the first frosts.

• Cosmos

• Sweet peas (Lathyrus odoratus)

• Zinnias

• Marigolds (Tagetes and Calendula)

• Petunias (especially older varieties)

• Geraniums (Pelargoniums)

• Antirrhinums (Snapdragons)

• Verbena

• Nicotiana

• Salvia splendens

🌼 Perennials

These perennials will often give a second (or even third) flush if deadheaded regularly:

• Delphiniums – may flower again if cut back to the ground after the first flush

• Campanula (Bellflower)

• Hardy Geranium (Cranesbill) – many varieties benefit from a chop back after flowering

• Penstemon

• Geums - Remove entire flower stem

• Knautia

• Echinacea (Coneflower) – if not left for wildlife

• Rudbeckia – again, if not left for seedheads

• Dianthus (Pinks)

• Scabiosa (Pincushion flower)

• Dahlias – absolutely love a regular snip

🌹 Shrubs & Climbers

• Repeat-flowering shrub roses – especially repeat-flowering English shrub roses, floribundas and hybrid teas

• Clematis (especially Group 3 types like viticella)

• Buddleja (Butterfly bush) – deadhead to encourage more flowers and prevent self-seeding

Drifting around in the gardening ether, there is plenty of well-meaning but overly cautious, time-consuming advice. And I’ve been wondering whether this over-complicated, ‘needy’ watering simply creates weak, shallow-rooted, mollycoddled plants? Not exactly the toughened, grizzled champions you need in a world of heatwaves and downpours.

Deep Roots, Strong Plants

If you water little and often (repeatedly), as some suggest, roots can grow laterally, staying shallow, chasing scant droplets that barely soak into the soil. For some plants, this isn’t a problem.

Take Lavender with its lateral roots, evolved to creep out just under the surface to soak up any moisture available (even dew). Perhaps a good reason to plant more Mediterranean types? Well, only if you have well-drained soil, of course, and your garden doesn’t flood.

But for most garden plants, that would normally search deeper, they’re exposed to extremes when the next scorching heatwave arrives. Surface roots are the first to suffer: baked, withered, and often lost altogether, leaving the plant struggling to access water from under-developed roots deeper down. They’ll wither and droop, telling you in no uncertain terms they’re in desperate need of a drink.

So, if you are going to water, make it count. Give plants a proper drink. A long, deep soak right at the base. Encourage those roots to dive deep. Deeper roots can access a wider range of nutrients, contributing to overall plant health and vigour. So, leave the hose running gently and direct the flow to the roots, not the leaves. Give yourself the time to do it once a week, and it will save you time overall, once you’ve added all those sporadic sprinklings together.

Sponge Logic

If the ground is parched and cracking, don’t rush. Spray around the area first to moisten the surface, let it settle in for a few minutes, then go in again. Moist soil is far more absorbent than dry, baked earth.

Think of it like a sponge: once primed, it draws water deeper, allowing it to percolate slowly down to the roots where it’s really needed. It takes a little patience, but your plants will thank you with stronger growth from deeper roots, bringing greater resilience.

A Word on Spring Watering

Autumn and winter will leave the soil saturated (at least it does here in the UK). Come spring, leave your plants alone and let them get on with it. The deep waterings will have promoted deeper roots, and they’ll cope better with the coming season.

When the Skies Open

Now, let’s flip it. Say we get a downpour, torrential rain and localised flooding, which are also more frequent these days. The surface becomes waterlogged, and most plants need both moisture and air around their roots to survive.

Without air, roots rot and die, quickly followed by the rest of the plant. This is why wisteria, lavender, and many Mediterranean herbs suffer so badly in prolonged wet weather. Their roots and crowns simply rot in stagnant soil.

The Mulch Advantage

That’s where mulching comes into its own. A good organic mulch doesn’t just conserve moisture, it also softens the impact of heavy rain. By promoting soil life that opens the soil structure, water filters slowly through and percolates down to where roots can use it, instead of turning the surface layer into a stagnant puddle or washing straight off onto your lawn or down the drain.

A Scene from the Village

Effective watering also brings certain advantages to the garden as a whole. Let me paint you a scene. Perhaps one you’re familiar with…

One of my neighbours enjoys a leisurely wander around his garden in the evening, usually dressed, although not always (don’t ask). Hose in hand, carefree, he joyously sprays water over everything in sight. Apparently, he needs a soundtrack to do this with.

He loves to soak the leaves: “They look better and must enjoy a refreshing splash after a hot day!” Why wouldn’t they? We do. He moves on, the water pattering against the fence… (I assume he’s washing down cobwebs). Then more leaves… then the fence again. Five minutes later, he’s winding the hose back onto its heavy-duty reel, job done. The back door shuts with a wallop and on goes the TV.

Splash and Spores

Several things happened here. Watering in the evening sounds like a good idea. The sun’s not beating down, so water can soak in without rapid evaporation, right? Not quite. Most of that (gleefully sprayed) water never reached the soil at all. It evaporated into the warm evening air.

What little did reach the ground quickly vanished, barely moistening the surface. Hardly enough to percolate to where it’s actually needed. Meanwhile, all those roots continue to grow a little closer to the surface, seeking moisture… only to be baked the following day.

And as my neighbour heads inside, the molluscs are just heading out. Slugs and snails emerge for a night of foliage feasting, and my neighbour (bless him) has obligingly moistened all the surfaces (even the fence) to make their journey so much easier. Producing sticky, slimy mucus takes energy, you see. In dry conditions, slugs follow the same trail as it's more efficient. But a nice damp path? Oh, the whole garden’s their oyster.

Inside, the telly’s now on. Outside, the leaves are still dripping. They might look refreshed, but the plant’s ability to transpire (to absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen) is reduced as it naturally slows to a crawl during the night. If it’s not transpiring, the plant is not drawing up water.

The air is warm (consistently above 10℃ ) and fungal spores are floating about, looking for a soggy landing pad. They’re species-specific, but with so many wet leaves on offer, it’s not long before Rosy Rust or Blighty McBlight Face finds a new home with perfect conditions: warmth, stillness, and moisture.

A few nights later, my jovial neighbour’s out again, bouncing around his garden, but the hose is left behind. This time, he’s wielding a garden sprayer with real menace. He douses practically every plant with fungicide and pesticide, and then throws slug pellets around like confetti.

It all sounds laughably far-fetched, I know. But I could give you his address. Because, sadly, it’s very real.

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Gardening Tough (With Exceptions)

Thankfully, in the broad scope of gardening, things are shifting. More gardeners (and the gardening media) are leaning toward natural balance: wildlife-friendly practices, water capture, and horticultural climate resilience.

I think I’ve nudged my own garden in that direction, almost by accident, because I like growing plants hard. I'm not running a plant day spa. I water them in when they’re planted. Maybe spot-water a couple more times. Then let them get on with it.

This way, you force them to grow their roots deep, to hunt for moisture and nutrients. In doing so, they toughen up. They become more drought-tolerant. More independent. More robust. It’s also another good reason to ease off the fertiliser and break their dependency on you. Show them some tough love.

Let Nature Lead

The no-dig approach helps too. By leaving the soil structure intact and preserving the fabulously complex network of mycorrhizae and microscopic life (from worms to microbes), everything just works better. As it should. After all, by layering on mulch, we’re simply replicating nature’s autumn leaf fall.

Water soaks through compost mulch, flowing down trillions of tiny holes in the soil, and eventually reaches the roots below… rather than hitting a crust of dry, cracked soil and running off.

Drought or Downpour

Case in point: it’s been a particularly dry spring in the south of England. The sunniest spring (43% above average) since sunshine records began in 1910. The warmest since 1884. The driest in over a hundred years! (Met Office1)

My parched Cottage Garden has had just two waterings this year, and those were only for the spring plantings. The Flower Garden tells a similar story. Initial waterings for new additions, one deep drink for the roses, and that’s it.

Instead of keeping some early-flowering perennials limping through the drought, looking utterly dreadful, I’ll cut them right back to the ground. Brutal, perhaps, but they’ll bounce back with fresh growth in a few weeks.

But, as is so often the case now in the UK, the rain does arrive and usually in dramatic, torrential downpours. That slow, steady rain we all yearn for seems to be a thing of the past. It’s either drought or deluge.

Still, with those heavy rains, everything bounces back to full vigour. Lush, upright, cheerful. All without me lifting a hose. There’s never even a puddle. The well-mulched beds soak it all in, holding the water where it’s needed instead of letting it rush off to the nearest drain.

A Rose-Tinted Weakness

For the sake of absolute honesty, though, I do have one soft spot. A sentimental weakness. The English shrub roses in the Cottage Garden. It’s a brutally dry site. The border is sunny (the only one that is), but it’s also the fastest-draining spot in the garden. It’s edged by railway sleepers, drains like a colander, and competes with mature ash and birch trees for every drop.

In hindsight, I might not have planted roses there. But I love them. They’re one of my few vices, so they’re staying. And to help them cope, I did lay an irrigation line. But does this single act of mollycoddling cancel out the rest of my efforts toward resilient gardening? I don’t think so. You don’t have to be purist or partisan. Every little helps.

Final Thoughts

Watering isn’t just a chore. It’s a quiet conversation between you and your plants, and sometimes, not saying much at all is exactly what they need.

Water deep, and less often. Water in the morning if you can. Let roots grow downward, not just outwards. Observe your plants, listen to the soil, trust your instincts. When in doubt, leave the hose be.

They’ll thank you for it.

Here’s how I keep the peace in my garden, using a little wit, vigilance, wild friends, and a well-timed torch. This one’s all about those sneaky, slimy visitors we gardeners love to hate: slugs and snails.

The Secret Lives of Slugs and Snails

Molluscs love the shadier, damper corners of the garden, especially under pots, tucked between paving slabs, or nestled just below the surface near walls. These gregarious gastropods are particularly fond of damp wood, like old boards restraining raised beds. Anywhere that stays dark, cool, and moist through the day is a five-star slug hotel.

They’re masters of stealth, popping out at night to nibble on hosta leaves, young seedlings, and anything tender, like uninvited wedding crashers. Damp, rainy evenings are their party time. Out they come, gliding across patios, sliming up windows, and glooping their way up plant stems.

But once you know their hidey-holes and habits, you can start playing their game, on your terms.

Outsmart the Slimers

Here’s what’s worked for me. No chemicals involved, just good old garden wit:

Lift Your Pots

Raising pots off the ground on little feet or chocks cuts off easy slug highways and improves drainage. A double win. Lift them onto a table and it’s even trickier for the blighters. Metal tables, in particular, are not to their taste.

Keep It Tidy

If you’ve got fragile plants (think lupins and delphinium shoots just poking through) clear away nearby fallen leaves and debris regularly. Slugs love cosy corners under cover to lay eggs, so less clutter means fewer invaders.

They’re especially fond of the underside of those large fleshy allium leaves, so I make a point of trimming them back, or removing the whole bulb if they’re too close to something slug-prone.

Bed & Board

If you have a slug-prone area of a border, try leaving a plank of wood amongst the plants. Come sunrise, the slugs and snails will head for the nearest cool, dark corner. In the morning, lift the board and you may well catch the culprits in bed — caught in the act like teenagers after a house party.

Night Patrol

Grab a torch (a head torch if you're feeling particularly serious about it all), pop on some gloves, and head out after dusk to scoop up any slugs and snails you spot.

Dispose of them as you see fit. My great-grandmother used to seize a snail and smash it on the paving with surprising ferocity. Mid conversation! Some gardeners really do hold grudges.

Mine go on the compost heap. Yes, they may come back, but many seem perfectly content there. It's either a slug spa or the world's slowest game of hide and seek. Either way they seem happy munching on kitchen trimmings and old lettuces.

Invite the Helpers

Encourage wildlife by offering water, shelter, and natural food sources. Hedgehogs, frogs, toads, slow worms, blackbirds, song thrushes, starlings, and ground beetles all love a juicy slug or snail. They’re the garden’s natural pest control squad.

Blackbirds and thrushes in particular like to smash snail shells and often have a favourite ‘anvil’, so I leave cobbles and paving offcuts around the garden.

Slug Deterrents

I wouldn’t rely on these alone. They are definitely worth a trying, but a combination of these and the previous tips will work best.

Barriers

Copper tape wrapped around pots, staging, and table legs, or copper rings placed around prized plants. Crushed eggshells or seashells, raw sheep’s wool, sharp grit, and coffee grounds have all been used as deterrents.

Copper, in particular, gives slugs a mild electric shock when they touch it with their slimy bodies. Not enough to harm them (I know some of your are thinking, “Oh what a shame!”), but it’s definitely enough to make them change direction, even if its to find a bridge over the copper.

Trial them for yourself and see what works in your garden. They can be hit or miss. What can work in one gardens, may be a stupendous failure in another.

Garlic Wash

You can also try a homemade garlic wash. It’s surprisingly effective and very simple to make. Crush two large garlic bulbs (yes, bulbs, not cloves) and simmer them in a litre of water for about 10–15 minutes. Strain out the solids (You can always add the softened cloves to a stew later) and let the liquid cool.

Dilute this concentrated mixture with water (about two tablespoons per litre) and use it to spray around the plants you’re hoping to protect. The smell fades quickly to us, but slugs seem to get the message loud and clear: No dinner here!

Beer traps

The proof is in the drinking. Yes, they trap slugs. But are you actually inviting even more slugs over for a garden bar bender? Not exactly my idea of pest control. But again, for some gardeners they work.

Nematodes

This bio-control has been very effective in my Kitchen Garden. Nematodes are microscopic predatory worms that occur naturally in the soil. They require a few applications throughout the season, and they’ll hunt out and kill (or at least scare off) the entrenched slugs. Unfortunately, they don’t touch snails, so the battle continues.

Why Skip the Chemicals?

Chemical warfare has no place in my garden, and frankly, I don’t think it belongs in any garden. It’s a merciless random-firing shotgun approach, and surely we 21st-century gardeners are above that kind of Victorian solution?

Of the 40-odd slug species in the UK, only around 20% actually cause serious damage to plants. The rest? They’re just minding their business, breaking down organic matter and, in some cases, preying on other slugs. Take the leopard slug, for instance. A misunderstood creature, but a real asset. It hunts other slugs, so it’s worth encouraging, not eliminating.

Tossing pellets around kills indiscriminately, including the good guys who recycle garden debris, enrich the compost heap, and keep your ecosystem ticking. These molluscs are lunch for birds, frogs, and hedgehogs. Using pellets is like throwing a poison party for your garden’s best allies. Madness.

Avoiding slug pellets and fostering a balanced ecosystem means fewer slug problems over time and a much happier, healthier garden.

So, Give It a Go. Bin the poisons (safely)

With a bit of persistence and a splash of night-time prowling, even the most slug-besieged gardener can emerge victorious, mildly damp, slightly muddy, but proud.

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Got your own slug-fighting tricks or funny stories? I’d love to hear them in the comments. Sharing makes gardening all the richer and you’ll be helping fellow flower fanatics in the process.

Until next time, keep your gloves dirty, your heart light, and your garden thriving.

Your fellow leaf lover, Elliott 🌿

Today we’re planting up our beautiful dahlias for a summer-long flower fest. Grab your gloves, a fresh brew, and let’s get these hungry plants off to a roaring start.

Buckets, Containers, and Size Matters

I’m planting mine in large galvanised buckets. Ideal because the minimum pot size for dahlias is pretty generous. Most varieties are ravenous for nutrients and space, so aim for a container at least 30 cm across and 30 cm deep, larger if you can. A bucket is really a bare minimum.

Those show-stopping decoratives, which can grow up to 1 m (3 ft) or even 1.5 m (5 ft) in some cases, will need all the room and stability they can get. You don’t want a top-heavy plant toppling over in the breeze!

Tip: Make sure your pots drain really well! Dahlia tubers hate soggy feet! If you’re using galvanised planters, drill in a few extra holes. Make sure all you potted dahlias are lifted up on chocks or blocks, so there’s a clear gap underneath, letting any excess water escape.

From Clippings No. 2 to Planting Day

In my Clippings No. 2, I walked you through planting bare-root tubers. This year I ordered from DutchGrown, and honestly, their tubers have been amazing. Fantastic root structures, vigorous shoots, and rock-solid health all around. They’re absolutely romping away.

Once those tubers developed a couple of pairs of true leaves, I pinched out the main stem to promote side-branching and more blooms. When day temperatures crept upward, I moved the pots outside by day and back into the conservatory at night.

It’s a bit of a faff, but this regular exposure to direct sun (hardening-off) toughens up leaves and stems so that, come planting time, they shrug off slug attacks like champs. And thanks to a particularly sunny, warm spring, they’ve sprinted ahead in growth.

Soil, Compost, and Feeding the Famished

Dahlias are absolute gluttons for nourishment, so we need a high-quality, peat-free compost. My go-to is Sylvagrow Multi-Purpose with added John Innes - rich, well-balanced, and ready to fuel months of flowering. The contents of a tomato grow-bag, loaded with that extra potash, works wonders too. Into the mix, I stir in a scoop of grit (plus any leftover perlite) for drainage, and a sprinkling of Fish-Blood-Bonemeal for an extra nutrient-packed oomph.

Planting steps:

1. Drainage layer: A couple of centimetres (1in) of grit at the bottom of the pot.

2. First compost layer: Firm it down a you load it.

3. Position the rootball: Crown at the same depth it was in its pot. The tuber itself should be around 10 cm (4 in) deep. If you spot the tuber poking out, add a bit more compost so it’s snug.

4. Backfill: Pack the compost around the tuber firmly. No airy pockets!

5. Water thoroughly: Settles the soil and load the compost with moisture.

Regular Watering & Seaweed Feeds

After planting, keep the compost moist but not waterlogged. I water deeply once a week with a liquid seaweed feed. This steady stream of trace elements and growth stimulants ensures your dahlias crank out flowers from July right through to the first frosts.

Tip: When the heat spikes, up the watering, and check your pots regularly. If a pot feels light, give it a long, thorough drink. If water just rushes straight through, the compost has dried out. You’ll need to stand the pot in a tray of water overnight so it can wick moisture up by capillary action and rehydrate the compost.

Raised Beds and Intercropping

I’ve also planted more dahlias in a raised bed dedicated to cutting flowers. Between the dahlias, I’ll plant and sow salad crops (the usual suspects, lettuce, rocket, spinach) so they get a bit of afternoon shade and I get my cut-and-come-again greens. It’s a win-win! and a great use of space.

If you’re planting straight into the ground, the process is identical: dig a hole deep enough for the tuber and rootball, mix in fresh compost to act like a moisture sponge during dry spells, backfill, then sprinkle a little granular fertiliser around the crown. A light scratch-in ensures rain or irrigation carries the feed right down to hungry roots. Don’t forget a regular seaweed feed to keep those flowers pumping out their best.

Tip: If you’re planting in the ground and it’s bone-dry (it has been an exceptionally dry spring here in the UK), fill each planting hole with water first and let the water drain away. That way, when you pop in your dahlia (or any plant) it’ll have instant access to moisture.

Stakes, Canes, and Supporting Your Giants

For dahlias expected to top 90 cm (3 ft), they’ll need some support. Insert your supports at planting time so you don’t accidentally stab a tuber later. I use sturdy garden canes: three per plant for the biggest varieties, strung together with soft 3-ply garden twine. As stems grow, tie them in loosely. This keeps your blooms upright even after heavy rain or strong gusts.

Final Thoughts

Planting dahlias really is a breeze once you’ve got the container, compost, and feeding routine nailed. From the moment those first power-packed buds burst to the first hard frost of autumn, you’ll be rewarded with a kaleidoscope of colour and countless Insta-worthy bouquets (if that’s your thing).

So, happy planting, my gardening chums! 🌿

If you’re not yet subscribed to The Gardening Kind, now’s the perfect time. New posts (mostly) every Wednesday and Saturday. Gloves optional, dirty knees essential.

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I really can’t quite believe it happened, but around a year ago, the BBC’s Gardeners’ World team turned up at my gate: producer, sound engineer, cameras and all, to film my humble garden. Especially the roses rising in a crescendo of bloom and scent. Who could blame them? It was looking rather fabulous! Episode 10 will air this Friday, 16th May and this snippet from the BBC gives you a flavour:

It was all very last-minute. One of the producers had spotted my garden on Instagram and got in touch, keeping everything wonderfully low-key. We chatted about the garden, my gardening experience, and my rather profound mental health journey.

From the moment I got the nod, I set to work: tidying borders, sprucing the small lawn, deadheading everything, feeding and watering the roses, mowing, trimming, and rearranging pots and planters in the Courtyard.

Yes, admittedly, I was a tad vain, fussing over it all (really, I was just masking my outright panic) but I wanted everything looking its most presentable. And yet, I still managed to forget the odd trug, the garden hose, or a wheelbarrow unceremoniously tossed aside.

They arrived on a Monday afternoon just to recce—and immediately started filming. The light was gorgeous, perfect for all those B-roll close-ups. The next day they arrived around 7’ish and we dove straight into shooting. Partly to beat the heat (officially the hottest of the year at a tick over 30°C) and partly to get ahead of the volley of daytime noise.

The sun was scorching… Blistering, really. Bees and hoverflies zoomed around like tiny rocket-fuelled helicopters. The roses were just ever-so-slightly past perfect, hence the rush; after a last-second spruce, they looked glorious. Even the freshly-picked peas tasted extra-sweet that day, and the crew had me popping them take after take. We explored the garden, then they asked if they could film me, photographing the plants. Who am I to refuse?!

Honestly, the garden looked cinematic. If only my memory of the day were as flawless…

You see, one bizarre symptom of my bipolar, especially from the crushing depressive episodes that hit me twice a year, is how it’s affected my memory. It’s literally a form of brain damage (they call it pseudodementia). So profound that I’ve lost entire chunks of my life from 2012 to 2022, and my short-term recall? Forgetting names was bad before (I’d regularly blank out), but now it’s downright laughable. It is reversible, but it really catches me out when I’m under stress.

So when they asked me to repeat my line (blaming the background noise) I’d go completely blank, stumble through a dozen new versions, then blank out again. Thankfully, the team were exceptionally patient and kind, reminding me it’ll all be stitched together seamlessly. Phew!

I hadn’t realised just how commanding the sound engineer is: we paused for every passing farm vehicle (of which there are many) Thames Water digging up the nearby road (they’d graciously delayed the start for us), planes rumbling high overhead and light aircraft buzzing through, the neighbour’s mower, and another’s power drill and saw. We’d all patiently wait between takes (with the odd chuckle) as I desperately tried to remember my line, waiting for the producer’s gentle prompt.

After hours in the garden, explaining my plant choices and design (as you do), it was time for the interview: the classic shot on a photogenic bench, where they ask you to introduce yourself and your garden. The garden itself had become my sanctuary: a nurturing, safe place, a welcome distraction, something I’d created that flourished and proved to myself (and the monster in my head) that I wasn’t ‘completely worthless.’

Obviously, part of that chat focused on my struggles with mental illness. I spoke candidly about those desperate times. When my mind spiralled into hopelessness and darkness. The moments I felt suicidal, and finally, my diagnosis as bipolar.

But before I could finish, I broke down. Words caught in my throat, tears streaming in front of complete strangers. It was sweltering, all eyes on me, and that lens felt like a spotlight.

I tried to say, “The diagnosis saved my life.” I tried to say, “If only I’d been diagnosed sooner, I wouldn’t have spent the last decade cycling through suicidal episodes.” But the words never came. I think I ended on the word “bipolar,” followed by tissues, tears, and a hushed (awkward) silence.

It was excruciatingly uncomfortable. But looking back, I’m strangely grateful I did it, because I’m still here. It’s living proof that when you summon the courage to ask for help, you can face down that (insidious) demon in your head. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of strength. It’s saying, “I refuse to give up. I am worth saving.”

If my cracked, trembling voice and tears can show even one person there’s always a way out, no matter how convincing your mind’s worst thoughts feel, then it was worth every sweaty, painful, awkward moment.

I’m not going to lie. I’m nervous about the response when it airs on Friday. I think it’s only natural to feel exposed. Even the BBC producer warned me to steer clear of social media for a while, because you just know some pathetic keyboard troll will see vulnerability as fair game.

I’ve been told how brave I am for sharing my story. I’ve never felt brave. I’ve felt a million things other than brave. Will viewers appreciate it? Or will they mutter, “Oh dear, too much information,” or “Not another sob story,” or “Just show us the damn garden”?

Anyhoo, if you fancy it, I promise the garden is looking gorgeous, so grab a brew, or something cold and clinking (no judgment here) and join me this Friday, 16th May. I’ll be watching, tears and all, as they pan across those beautiful roses. I might duck out of the room during the interview, but it would mean the world to know you’re tuning in along with all my friends and family.

You’ll even get a cameo of me planting a hosta. And if you catch me chuckling (or blinking back a tear), know it’s partly joy, partly pollen… and partly relief that I finally remembered a plant’s name after seven takes.

(And for any of you tuning in from outside the UK, you can catch it on BBC iPlayer, it’s Episode 10 - click here)

Thank you, as always, for reading and for being part of this little gardening journey. I feel like I am finding my voice here on Substack. I know it won’t be to everyone’s taste, but that’s fine. It’s a joy knowing you’re out there, loving my garden, cheering me on, even when I’m sweating buckets, forgetting my lines, and the roses are busy hogging the limelight.

Here’s to more blooms, more tales, and enough muddled moments to keep us all thoroughly entertained. 🌿

Your gardening chum,

Elliott

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Why the Regular Feed?

Just as with watering, container-grown plants rely on you for their nutrients. You may be feeling very proud of your recently-planted garden centre purchases, but you should know that store-bought compost will only feed your plants for roughly 6–8 weeks (it says so on the packaging).

That maybe just enough for flash-in-the-pan seasonal bedding (but it’s a stretch). Loam-based mixes (think John Innes No.3) have a longer-lasting nutrient profile, more suitable for permanent or long-term planting. But it’s still finite.

Topping up long-term potted plants with a fresh layer of compost mulch in spring does help. Especially if you stir in a slow-release fertiliser or something like Fish-Blood-Bone meal that takes its time breaking down. Homemade compost is especially good for this, loaded with nutrients that will not be flushed away by the rain and watering.

But let’s be honest, even this is not enough. I’ve gone through the rite of passage myself, tempting fate by ignoring all the sage counsel about regular feeding. Result? Lacklustre plants, feeble growth and some frantic repotting sessions to resuscitate beleaguered plants. Without a steady feed, roots keep stretching, circling the pot, hunting for food until they’re hopelessly root-bound.

A regular feed (weekly, fortnightly, or whenever you remember) fills the nutrient gap. Think of it as a mini celebration for each container, keeping roots nourished and plants thriving instead of lagging. Stressed plants? They’re magnets for pests and diseases. Even more reasons to feed them.

Tip: Why not use your smartphone’s Calendar or Reminders app to give you a weekly nudge to feed your plants?

Choosing Your Potion: What to Feed and When

Now, before you go grabbing any old bottle off the garden centre shelf, let’s talk about what you’re actually feeding them. Not all plant food is created equal. Most fertilisers are based on the three major plant nutrients: Nitrogen (N): For green leafy growth; Phosphorus (P): For healthy root and shoot growth; Potassium (K): For flowering, fruiting and general hardiness.

For leafy pots where the foliage is the star (think hostas, ferns, heucheras) a ‘balanced’ feed or a one higher nitrogen feed will do the trick. You can use Growmore or MiracleGro. To promote flowers and fruit development, you’ll want to up the potassium: Liquid seaweed or a ‘tomato feed’ is perfect.

Slow-release granules can aid the lazy gardener’s. Simply add them to the potting mix or sprinkle them on spring, and they’ll trickle nutrients over the season. However, these tend to be synthetic and not always fully biodegradable. But liquid feeds? That’s where the magic happens. They’re like little energy drinks for your plants!

Liquid Seaweed vs. High-Nitrogen Feeds

Liquid seaweed concentrate is like the smorgasbord of plant food, brimming with trace elements, natural hormones and all the micronutrients your pots could dream of. It’s naturally high in potassium (potash). It helps plants bounce back from heatwaves, disease, pot-fatigue, drought drama or transplant shock.

High-nitrogen feeds (or as I like to call them, “Miracle-Gloopy”) promise instant greenness, but they are a double-edged trowel. Sure, your leaves will grow, beautiful and lush, but too much nitrogen invites leggy, sappy growth that aphids absolutely adore. Those soft stems often buckle under heavy blooms (hello, flop-fest), and the rapid nutrient burn means you’re restocking and refilling far more often, plus you’re paying more for the privilege.

My vote? Liquid seaweed all the way. It’s gentle, (relatively) eco-friendly, budget-smart and your plants will thank you with steady, sustainable growth.

Tip: Buy your seaweed in bulk. I buy Seasol or Envii 5ltr seaweed concentrate. The dilution ratio is excellent. Empathy feeds are very good, but can work out costly if you have lots of pots. I have over 100 to feed.

Your Feeding Kit

Step-by-Step Feed Ritual

1. You’ll need your liquid seaweed concentrate, watering can (5–10 L) or garden sprayer for foliar feeding, measuring jug or cap (I use a laundry detergent cap marked at roughly 30–40 ml).

2. Add your seaweed concentrate to the can first (follow the dilution instruction rate for your fertiliser as they do vary - do not over feed), then fill your can (about 2 gallons / 9 L) with water. The action of filling will mix the contents thoroughly.

3. Slow Pour, Deep Soak: Water each pot slowly. You can guesstimate by count. I eyeball the pour relative to the container size: bucket-sized pots get a 5-second pour, dolly tubs half a can, my specimen acers enjoy a full can each.

Bonus Tips

1. Keep an Eye on the Weather

If you’ve hit a heatwave, your plants are practically guzzling water and nutrients like ice lollies on a scorcher, so feed more often with a more dilute mix. Early morning or evenings are best to avoids heat stress and accidental leaf scorch. If the compost surface is parched, water it briefly first, then come back in a few minutes and you’ll find the compost farm more absorbent.

2. Mind Your pH

Some divas (azaleas, rhododendron, blueberries) are acid-loving plants and will be happier with a seaweed feed that contains ‘added iron’. Avoid using Fish-Blood-Bonemeal on these lime-haters.

3. Seasonal Switch

Come late summer and autumn, ease off on the the feeding. Your plants are winding down for winter and don’t want a caffeine jolt. Any new growth runs the risk of frostbite.

4. Play Scientist (and Keep Notes!)

You may need to adjust the frequency. Heavy feeders (tomatoes, roses, dahlias) many need weekly or fortnightly feeds to perform at their best. Slow-growers (hostas) perhaps monthly. Your garden is its own little world, so don’t be afraid to experiment. Jot down what you tried, when, and how your pots reacted. Before long, you’ll have your own unique schedule.

Beyond the Basics

For an extra homemade boost, why not whip up a comfrey (or nettle) concoction? Just pack a bucket with comfrey leaves, cover them with water, and let the magic (and the pong) happen for two to three weeks. Fair warning: it smells appalling! (Actually makes me gag and retch!) Once you’ve got that pungent tea, dilute it about 1:10 before you feed your plants. This potassium-rich tonic is brilliant for flowering pots and fruiting crops… think of it as a natural, sustainable energy drink.

Another DIY classic is compost tea. Grab a generous scoop of mature compost, pop it into a porous bag (an old pillowcase works a treat), and dunk it in a large bucket of water. Give it a stir and then let it soak for two to three days. What you’re left with is a microbial-packed tonic that you can pour around the base or even spritz over the leaves. Your plants will lap it up! Just remember to strain out the bits so your watering can or sprayer won’t clog.

Ready to Pick Your Day?

Feeding your containers isn’t just another chore. It’s the secret handshake between you and your plants. With a little regular TLC (tea or glass in hand, of course), you’ll swap wilted sighs for happy, perky foliage and blooms that practically burst with gratitude.

You’ll probably forget a week, or two, or three. Don’t worry. That’s life. Plants are pretty forgiving if you get back on the wagon. And honestly, they’d rather you gave them an occasional half-hearted splash than ignored them entirely.

So, next time you’re wandering around the garden, tea in hand, give your pots a look. Do they need a pick-me-up? A bit of liquid gold in the watering can? Pop on your favourite podcast, give everything a glug, and watch your pots puff themselves up with smug satisfaction.

Happy feeding… on Friday, Saturday, or whenever you choose! 🌿

Pampered Pots

There are two kinds of plants: The rugged brave-it-alls, with roots sunk deep into the earth, tapping into hidden rivers of moisture and beneficial fungi threads; And the pampered pot-dwellers, stranded above ground, waiting patiently (and sometimes not-so-patiently) for their next drink.

Plants in pots are a little like cosseted aristocrats. All beauty and bearing — but in desperate need of regular refreshments and the occasional display of devotion.
Left unattended, they wilt dramatically, drop their leaves in a fit of pique, and stage slow-motion rebellions on the Terrace.

Unlike their earth-rooted cousins, potted plants have no secret networks, no fungal lifelines to call upon. Just you, the watering can, and a simple choice: indulge them... or risk a garden mutiny. If it's in a pot, you need to water it. No exceptions, no excuses — not even the succulents, who pretend to be stoic but still enjoy a little sip now and then.

You see, in open ground, plants are plugged into the intricate underground society of mycorrhizal fungi — microscopic companions who extend root systems, swap nutrients, and generally make life infinitely easier. In a container? Your plant is flying solo. It’s a bit like being stranded at a picnic with no food: delightful for an hour, dire after a day, dead after a week.

When To Water: Two Trusty Tests

Don’t wait for the droop. By the time a plant is sagging in protest, it’s already stressed. A little attention earlier keeps them upright, content, and quietly thriving. Make it part of your regular routine.

The Finger Test is simple:
Poke your index finger a good knuckle deep into the compost.

• If it feels moist, relax and put the kettle on.

• If it’s dry and dusty, fetch the hose!

Don’t like getting your hands grubby? No problem. Use the handle of an old wooden spoon and look for the moisture line like a plant detective.

The Lift Test is perfect for smaller pots — up to about the size of a trusty garden bucket.

• Heavy as a sleeping cat? Leave it be.

• Light as a feather? Water it.
  (After watering, lift again and admire the satisfying heft of a fully hydrated pot.)

Quick aside: peat-free composts can be tricky. They often look dry on top but hold moisture deep down, so poke and lift before you panic.

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Best Time To Water?

The short answer: early morning.
The long answer: morning if you can, evening if you must, and whenever you remember if you’re truly desperate for time.

Morning watering gives plants a full day's head start, filling their reservoirs before the sun gets fierce. Plus, dry ground by nightfall makes it harder for marauding molluscs to glide about feasting on your hostas. (Don't aid and abet the enemy.)

Evening watering is a solid Plan B — plants transpire less at night, meaning water lingers in the soil longer and will be ready for them in the morning. But let’s bust a myth while we’re here: plants do not drink like sponges at night. Water movement is driven by transpirational pull — the fancy term for evaporation from leaves dragging water upwards. No evaporation at night = very little water uptake. They’re not chugging like marathon runners; they’re snoozing.

What About Wilting?

Ah, the drama queens of the garden. Plants like delphiniums, hydrangeas and dahlias often flop dramatically during hot afternoons, only to perk up by sunset as if nothing ever happened. It’s normal. It’s strategy. It’s the botanical equivalent of a siesta.

If they’re still slumped and sulky come morning, then it’s time for a rescue mission!

More subtle signs of water stress (especially in shrubs) include yellowing leaves starting from the bottom and slow upward defoliation. Not exactly ideal. Avoid it by checking in regularly — a daily stroll through your garden is more than maintenance; it’s courtship. Gardening isn’t a fire-and-forget hobby. It's an ongoing conversation, a slow, sweet getting-to-know-you process where every wilt, every flourish, teaches you something new.

Choose Your Weapon: Tools Matter

Most hose attachments are about as delicate as a pressure washer at a pastry shop.
That gun-like spray trigger? Too fierce. The "jet" mode? More suited for cleaning car wheel arches than caressing tender roots.

Invest in a good watering lance with a fine, soft spray and steady stream. I swear by the Gardena Comfort Lance (genuine love for this). Gentle, precise, a good reach, and kind — everything you want in a watering companion.

Or, if you're feeling old-school (and a bit heroic), reach for a trusty watering can. Choose one with a coarse rose for a faster, more generous flow, and a long spout for those hard-to-reach pots tucked behind the jungle. Just be honest about your muscles: a one-gallon can weighs about 8 pounds (around 4kg) when full — nimble enough for quick dashes — while a two-gallon beast tips the scales at nearly 17 pounds. Fewer trips to the tap, yes, but you may find yourself developing the forearms of a Tudor blacksmith. Both have their place — and their own particular kind of satisfaction.

Think of it like this: a good tool doesn’t just deliver water. It sets the rhythm of watering — slower, softer, more deliberate.

Technique: Slow Your Flow

Spraying water wildly over leaves does no one any good (except maybe the fungal infections, who are practically throwing a party). Instead, aim low — at the base, around the stems — and take your time.

Pour too fast, and water just rushes straight through the pot, following ancient escape routes (or ant motorways — ants love a bit of dry soil chaos) and vanishing before your plant can take so much as a sip. Slow down. Damp the surface first, then circle back for a proper soaking. You’ll see it: the compost softening, drinking, settling in like a happy sponge.

Good watering is slow magic.

I have over a hundred pots and planters, and every week from April to October, I douse them all deeply — once, properly. No casual sprinkling. No wild drive-bys. It's a ritual now, stitched into the bones of the week: a time to notice, to tend, to fuss a little.

And yes, even if it’s been raining, I still check — lifting and poking — because every pot, every plant, every week tells its own small story. Some are greedy little drinkers; others are dreamy, slow sippers. You only learn by listening.

(And by the way: I rarely bother with pots smaller than a bucket. They're heartbreakers — drying out faster than a scandal at a village fête.)

Time-Saving Tricks

• Watering deeply: This might seem slower in the moment, but it saves you time in the long run — plants drink deeper, the soil stays moist longer, and you skip the need for frantic second rounds later in the week.

• Irrigation systems: A dream when they work, a nightmare when they don't. I run mine manually to top up prized plants like the Japanese Maples, always checking for leaks and mischievous malfunctions along the way.

• Plates placed under pots: This helps retain precious moisture during heatwaves, giving your plants a little extra reservoir to sip from.

• Group thirsty pots together: Create little "water villages" by clustering pots with similar needs. It saves you legwork and helps retain humidity around them. If it’s going to be a scorching week, push them all into the shade.

Final Thoughts

Watering isn’t just another garden task. It's a skill — a quiet habit that builds up over time, like any good craft. Each watering is a small promise: to notice, to care, to show up when it matters.

"Remember: watering well is less about the hose pressure, and more about the patience.

Happy drenching, friends!" 🌿

Step 1: Order quality

In the UK, there are specialist growers like Withypitts and Halls of Heddon. Then there are the prime retailers like Farmer Gracy, DutchGrown, Peter Nyssen and J Parkers. From experience, I’ve had excellent results from all of these. They’re not entirely faultless, but that’s just the nature of bulbs and bareroots.

When I’ve bought loose or pre-packed from garden centres and supermarkets (it’s the price… I’m only human… I can’t resist!), the results have been mostly underwhelming. Dahlias can live for many years and you can easily propagate from them, so if your budget allows, you’ll want to get the very best start.

Step 2: What will you need?

I plant bulbs and tubers in large batches, like a factory line. Everything is organised on the table or workbench and it takes me just 30secs to pot each tuber. A quick heads-up, after potting you’ll need a light, frost-free area to leave your potted tubers. More on that later… So, with your tubers safely delivered and awaiting your attention, there’s a few thing you need to get ready…

1. Clean plant pots and labels. I use 2-3ltr (2-3qt) recycled pots with lots of drainage holes. Tubers will arrive in varying sizes so it’s worthwhile having a few options to hand. The pot should be just larger than the tuber.

2. Peat-free multi-purpose compost. My go-to is always SylvaGrow. Choose a compost that is light, friable, and drains well. If you’re not sure, if it feels lumpy and claggy, add some perlite or grit and mix.

3. Trug or bucket. I like to use a large trug to unload the compost from the bag and bash out any lumps.

4. Gloves, a trowel, or a scoop if you don’t want to get your hands grubby.

5. Secateurs to snip out broken or soft tubers, old stems, or trim roots.

6. Hose or watering can to water your pots afterwards.

Step 3: Unpacking

Be gentle! Open the packaging and you will find a rather odd dangling collection of tubers, resembling peculiar potatoes! Treat them carefully as they can be fragile. Somewhere near the middle, you’ll see one or two old woody stems. Make a note of these.

Check over the tubers. The odd ‘tuber’ may come away in your hands, but don’t panic. It happens. If you find any that are soft or (sharp inhale) rotting, then cut these out before you go any further. If there is a mass of stringy roots, you can trim these off too. The tubers will produce new roots anyway.

Step 4: Potting

Scoop some compost into the pot, laying 1-2in or 3-5cm of compost in the base. Lightly firm this down. Now, very gently, lay the dahlia tuber in the pot, with those old woody stems pointing upwards. You can spread-out the tubers, but don’t force them as they’re likely to break off.

Now fill the pot with compost, jiggling the pot now and again, just to settle the compost around the tubers. You can push compost around the tubers with a finger, but I find a little jiggle is enough. Keep filling until the tubers are buried 1in or 2-3cm beneath the surface. Lastly, tamp down the pot on a hard surface. This should knock out any remaining air-pockets. Label the pot and set to one side while you pot up the rest.

Step 5: Watering

Here is where (I think) dahlia newbies may trip-up… simply by killing their dahlias with kindness. Once your tubers are potted-up, water the pots evenly and lightly! Your only aim here is to moisten the compost, not fill the pot with water. At this stage, we’re just rehydrating the tubers and roots. Right now, the tubers are not actively growing and drawing moisture. If you leave them in a pot of waterlogged compost, there’s a high risk of rotting the tubers.

Step 6: Protection

Dahlias are frost-tender plants. New shoots will be damaged or killed-off, if exposed to frost. So, once your tubers are potted-up, watered and left to drain, they need to go to a light, frost-free location like a greenhouse. I wouldn’t personally recommend a coldframe unless you can be absolutely certain it’s frost free and devoid of pests.

I don’t have a greenhouse, so I line them up on my north-facing conservatory windowsills. It’s well-lit and stays above 10℃. Keeping your tubers ‘under cover’ also helps protect those tasty new shoots from being gnawed off by… Yes! You guessed it! Our old friends, Slimey and Shelly. Slugs and snails LOVE dahlia shoots!

Step 7: Raising your dahlias

When you see new green shoots, give them another water and this time you can be a little more generous as the tubers and roots are actively drawing the moisture. From now on, regularly check moisture levels by either pushing a finger into the compost or by simply lifting the pot and gauging its weight. Ideally, you want to maintain a regular moisture level, rather than flood-n-drought.

Please don’t be tempted to plant them out just because they have a few leaves. Spring weather is unpredictable and infamous for its extremes. April and May can bring freezing temperatures and hard frosts, storms, hail, torrential rain… It’s far better to get them growing strongly under cover, so when they are planted out, they can grow away fast and survive any early attacks by the those dastardly marauding mollusks!

Happy planting! We’ll pick-up with dahlias again in a few weeks!

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Practical guide (video)

Disclosure: This video was produced for DutchGrown™️ and I received payment for this work. They also supplied a range of dahlia tubers to trial and use in this video. They were excellent quality and sprouted within a a few days of potting.

Next up on the Clippings…

Caring for those spring bulbs! As spring progresses, I’ll be deadheading and feeding narcissus and tulips. After flowering, some will be lifted and planted out ‘in the green’. I’ll explain all next week!

Identifying your hydrangeas

The vast majority of Hydrangea shrubs for sale are: Hydrangea macrophylla, Hydrangea paniculata, Hydrangea arborescens. We’ll look at Hydrangea macrophylla first because we have two subsets: The Mophead and the hardier Lacepcap.

The Mophead, or florist’s hydrangea, is the most familiar. Large ball-shaped flowerheads in pink, white, or blue. The Lacecap is the flat, umbel-shaped flowerhead with a larger set of ‘flowers’ forming a ring around the outside. They both need minimal pruning.

This is our first group.

Next we have Hydrangea paniculata, H. arborescens. H. paniculata is the very familiar ‘Limelight’ with large conical flowerheads and H. arborescens is the increasingly popular ‘Annabelle’, with large cushion-shaped flowerheads in white or pink. These need pruning to create a strong framework for the best flowering.

This is our second group.

Standard Pruning

1. Prune all of these hydrangea shrubs in early spring (depending on your climate). I usually tackle mine in March, early April is fine too.

2. Always prune down to something, whether it’s a pair of buds, or a joining branch.

3. Tackle the 3Ds first. Prune out the Dead, Diseased, and Damaged stems.

4. Prune any weak growth sidehsoots.

5. Prune any crossing stems, especially those that are rubbing and creating wounds.

6. Once you’ve finished pruning, your hydrangeas will really appreciate a good mulching, watering deeply first, if it has been a dry spring.

Pruning Mopheads & Lacecaps

Start by deadheading all the old flowerheads by cutting each stem down to the next pair of strong buds, beneath the flowerhead, working your way from the top down. If the flowerhead has fallen off already, you can still cut down to a pair of strong buds. For younger shrubs, this is usually all you need to do.

If you have mature shrubs and flowering has really slowed, you can remove a 2-3 of the oldest and woodiest stems. Cut these old stems right down at ground level and you will promote fresh new stems and more flowers (the following season).

If you have an old shrub that flowers poorly and just looks tired, you can rejuvenate the entire shrub by cutting all the stems right down at the base. Be brave! You will lose flowers for this season, but it will be an entirely new and invigorated hydrangea! I’ve taken this drastic action here and it works.

Problems:

1. Pruning too hard and accidentally removing the flowering growth for the current season.

2. Pruning too early and emerging buds are scorched by frost.

3. Mis-identifying older stems. Do this by their colour and texture. New stems tend to be dark and smooth. Older stems are straw-coloured and look more fibrous.

4. Not pruning related, but if you’ve bought a blue hydrangea and it’s turned pink, then your soil is alkaline. Blue hydrangeas need acidic soil to remain blue. White-flowering shrubs remain white irrespective of soil pH.

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Pruning Limelights & Annabelles

With these hydrangeas we’re looking to create a permanent open framework of branches, so bear this in mind…

Simply put, the harder you prune, the more vigorous the regrowth, the larger the flowerheads. So if you prune the stems to just 8-12in (22-30cm) from the ground, you will trigger strong growth for the largest flowerheads. However, they can be so large, they may need significant support.

Alternatively, take each stem down by roughly 30-40% (down to a minimum of 40cm from the ground) and you will trigger modest regrowth and many more flowerheads, albeit smaller in size. However, the advantage is that they won’t need supporting because of the stronger framework. So there’s the trade off. I know many gardeners want the biggest, showiest flowerheads, but I prefer a ‘modest’ display and no supports.

I generally prune down to within a few centimetres of the previous year’s pruning point, so I’m gradually building a strong framework. I cut just above a pair of buds, removing all thin weedy side shoots back to the stem. Any weedy stems emerging from the base are removed entirely. For those that would like to see a practical pruning demo, I’ve added this little video of me pruning some of my Hydrangea paniculata..

Problems:

1. Not pruning hard enough and having lots of leaves and lots of tiny flowers.

2. Pruning so hard, the new growth is too lush and each stem needs supporting when in flower.

3. Feeding too much also results in lush growth that needs supporting. Plants in the ground do not need feeding, just a good mulch.

What would you like to see on Clippings?

Next up in Clippings, I’ll be potting-up Dahlia tubers, but there’s a wide range of topics to choose from: Pruning, watering, feeding, weeding, sowing seeds, planting, mulching, potting plants, composting, deadheading, garden tools, etc. Do let me know in the comments. Also, as this is a new feature, I would love your feedback.

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