November is a time when many of us lose heart in our gardens: the clocks have gone back, winter is coming, and there’s nothing but dreariness in prospect for months.
Not so Neil Lucas at Knoll Gardens in Dorset. As far as he’s concerned, the garden is at its peak. It’s been hotting up since August, reached a first flush of glory in September and October, and is now revelling in autumn splendour. A gingko tree blazes like a gorgeous golden firework. Scatterings of spindle trees dangle pink, coral and scarlet fruits; a sturdy whitebeam (Sorbus intermedia) groans with berries; Rosa glauca is studded with glossy red hips. That flash of jewel red is repeated in every direction: the persistent rosy blooms of persicarias and fuchsias, blood-red acers, the leaves of the sacred bamboo (Nandina domestica) turning from green to bronze to vermilion, the lipstick-red heart of the wildly exotic-looking bromeliad, Fascicularia bicolor. And all is drawn together by a rippling sea of grasses in full flower – furry pennisetums, plumes of cortaderia and soft clouds of panicum, silvery fountains of Miscanthus ‘Morning Light’, bronzy mounds of pheasant grass (Anemanthele lessoniana) topped with a gauzy nimbus of pink.
“Grasses do all kinds of exciting things in the garden,” Lucas says, “but the fact that they extend the garden season right through the winter is probably the number one reason for growing them.”
Knoll’s four closely planted acres present a living lecture on the endless adaptability of grass. Narrow paths snake through areas of woodland, to open suddenly to broad, sunny lawns, skirted round with deep banks of grasses arranged in rhythmic masses. A gently undulating gravel garden groups grasses in an airy, understated Mediterranean planting; while the Dragon garden goes all out for drama, with towering grasses and late-season perennials in big, loose blocks round a formal, circular pool, and threaded through with tiny paths: who could pass by the silken tassels of Miscanthus sinensis or soft bottlebrushes of pennisetum without a sneaky stroke?
There’s a perception that this kind of naturalistic planting can only be attempted on a grand scale. Not a bit of it, Lucas insists. Grasses can work beautifully in even the tiniest garden. Their dynamism, providing interest from late spring to the following February, offers the perfect solution.
In April comes the thrill of the first new shoots, then mounds of green are a backdrop for perennials, then the grasses seize centre stage, building to a great autumn climax. Then their rich colours fade to shades of gold and silver, beige and tan, mink and oatmeal. “When you compare the textures, shapes and forms, you still have plenty of interest,” Lucas says, “especially in low winter light. Often we’ll get a bit of early morning or early evening sunshine, and the grasses sparkle. They seem to radiate light, as if they had a lightbulb in the middle.”
To bridge the spring gap, he recommends bulbs – daffodils and tulips, then camassias and alliums, that look great against the grasses for weeks. “Plant successionally, with the later stuff towards the front to hide what is fading at the back.”
Grasses are great for time-pressed gardeners, requiring little attention. Deciduous grasses such as miscanthus, panicum and calamagrostis need cutting back to the ground in February (or earlier if they start to look tatty – but many last well into March), while evergreen grasses such as Stipa gigantea require only a comb through with gloved hands to remove debris. Mix in a handful of bonemeal when planting, water till established, then leave well alone. Both the grass and the local wildlife will thank you for it.
In fact, the hardest thing about growing grasses, Lucas says, is remembering their names. But learn the main groups and you can’t go far wrong. “Miscanthus is tall, with dense, fluffy flowers. Panicum has tiny flowers, but millions of them. Pennisetum makes a rounded, more solid mass, with long, brushy flowers. Calamagrostis is tall and upright. Each has a different shape, so whichever cultivars you choose, if you combine one from each group, you can’t fail.”
Grasses for the smaller garden, picked by Neil Lucas
Miscanthus ‘Ferner Osten’ A big grass (1.8m) for a small garden, but a superb feature plant, with deep red flower plumes and spectacular coppery autumn foliage.
Panicum virgatum ‘Northwind’ Will reach shoulder height, but is narrow and stays upright – ideal for confined spaces or containers. Handsome blue-grey foliage turns bright butter yellow in autumn.
Pennisetum ‘Fairy Tails’ (1.2m) Works hard on its own and as a screen or hedge. Upright habit and masses of flowers over a long period.
Pennisetum ‘Dark Desire’ (90cm) Fabulously handsome, with dark flowers (which Lucas likens unkindly to loo brushes) almost 5cm wide and 15cm long. Likes a sunny, well-drained spot but, given that, is easy.
Hakonechloa Grown for foliage, this knee-high Japanese grass is perfect for town gardens with high walls and tree cover: fresh green H. macra and gold-striped H. aureola cope well with dim, dry conditions. Lucas uses both round the bases of trees.
Sesleria autumnalis Lucas considers this a woefully underused grass – handsome 60cm mounds or masses of fresh lime green. It seldom needs trimming, so is a good choice for roof gardens.
Carex ‘Ice Dance’ Not as showy as the flowering grasses, but the bright green and white striped leaves light up any dingy corner, slowly making neat, weed-smothering mounds. It appears to be indestructible.
• Knoll Gardens is open Tuesday to Saturday, 10am-4pm in winter.
