“A sensible notebook is essential. I keep two of them going concurrently. One is for ongoing notes with names of plants seen or acquired. ... The other notebook is for when I’m away from home for two or more days. It spends most of its time at my bedside and is a diary of events which I write up in bed, early the following morning, while all is still fresh in my mind. In future years, it is an invaluable source of reference. ... Make yourself more observant. You miss so much that you shouldn’t. So much around you is interesting and deserves a mental image. Note it down there and then, and make a good description that will mean something to you when you next look it up.”
From “New Years Resolutions” in Cuttings: A Year in the Garden with Christopher Lloyd by Christopher Lloyd
There was the view of the rolling hillsides that I remember from my last visit some 12 years ago to Great Dixter. “This has to be one of the best parking lot views of any botanic garden in the world,” I said to Karen as we climbed out of the car. I made sure I had my camera ready and pocket Field Notes that I carry with me when visiting gardens for taking notes. Christopher Lloyd had written that advice years ago in his book Cuttings, and these pocket notebooks have served me well to remember what I saw.
The sun was sinking in the afternoon sky riddled with clouds as we walked toward the great hall. I saw a lady in the white barn, and I said, “We are looking for Fergus.”
“Oh are you?” she stated back as if it was a question she had been asked a thousand times.
“Yes, I’ve never met him, but we’ve been in touch, and he said to meet him this evening at 5:30.”
“Well, he’s one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. They are wrapping up the symposium now. He should be near the house.”
We walked toward the great hall and paused in front of its rustic majesty. I closed my eyes to bolster my ears, and the hunt for voices in the garden began. “This way,” I said to Karen as I heard some noise around back. Behind the house we started encountering some attendees from the symposium that Fergus has been hosting, and I started asking the question, “Have you seen Fergus?”
“Not recently,” one person answered.
“Hmm, I just saw him, but I’m not sure,” piped another one. We saw more people in the distance and went to ask them.
“Perhaps he’s in the house,” this group answered.
“Could you please show us?” I asked. “We’re not from around here.”
“Oh, I could have never guessed that,” one of them joked back.
She took us through the house. We emerged through the front door, and in an inverted host-and-visitor greeting found Fergus standing outside with the biggest smile and a hearty welcome.
With pleasantries aside, we introduced ourselves. We talked about our trip highlights so far, saying we were balancing gardens for myself with Downton Abbey’s Highclere Castle and bookstores for Karen. Fergus asked Karen if she liked plants, to which she replied she did and liked to draw them.
Two symposium attendees sauntered up, and I recognized an accent I really hadn’t heard in a few days. They were from the states, one from Ohio and one from just outside Philly. They had come to learn more about the horticulture techniques used at Great Dixter. I was amazed that people travelled that far to come to this symposium. They were discussing the day’s content. Meadows and encouraging biodiversity had been the topics for the day, and both ladies were amazed at how a small planting with the right species could welcome all kinds of the creatures to their gardens.
“Let’s find somewhere to chat. Come in the great hall,” Fergus said as he took us back in the house. Not rushing this time, we were able to appreciate the ancient architecture, the massive wooden beams, and the off-white walls.
He offered us tea and biscuits in true English fashion, and we gladly accepted as he gave us a quick tour of the house that Christopher Lloyd had lived in. “Let me take you upstairs,” Fergus said. We entered a door off the back side of the room.
As we climbed the stairs, I said, “I told Karen this house dates back to the 1400’s.” “Yes,” Fergus stated. “About 1450 to be more exact.” We entered to find a large collection of library books.
“There is much history in this room. It’s special. I thought you would would like this, Karen, since you like Downton.”
Karen smiled and nodded in appreciation. We headed back downstairs and out of the house.
“Wow, that planting looks great,” I said in reference to the silvery theme they had in the solar garden in front of the house, an area that changes out a few times a year with different annual displays. The grays of Plectranthus and Helichrysum glistened amongst Canna and other annuals.
“Yea, we just planted it two weeks ago.” He showed me a photo on his phone of the display only a month ago that was ripe with reds and oranges. “We left a bit of the annuals in for seed here at the left. The planting before had turned brown as it ended its seasonal display.”
“How do you keep things from falling over with freshly planted material?” I asked as I find new plants can be floppy.
“We make sure that they are heavily watered before planting,” Fergus replied.
We walked north of the house toward a patio where a container display of mostly conifers sat in the corner, resting on a patio of stones cobbled in the pattern of two dogs. I knew from reading books that these dogs were Christopher’s two dachshunds, Canna and Dahlia.
We then turned and walked down beside the house where a Magnolia grandiflora shaded plants in pots. Fergus said that these plants and containers were for the attendees of the symposium for the morning. The student interns would make the arrangements and then the attendees would appraise them from what they had learned in the symposium.
Around the back of the house on the terrace, Fergus sat for a moment with the topiary lawn in the background, the manicured shrubs and billowy Cotinus erupting from a sea of grass. A cat hopped up on the ledge. “Why, hello there. What’s the cat’s name?” I said.
“Neil,” Fergus said as he smiled. “This cat is from Afghanistan”, Fergus revealed as he petted him. At first I thought it’s origin odd and far off, but then I realized we were only a channel away from being on the European continent with a direct beeline to Afghanistan. Neil would join us for the rest of our tour, following in Fergus’s footsteps. I didn’t realize until after we left that Neil is famous. He has a book written all about him.
I took the pause in our exploring to ask Fergus how he taught his audience, whether they be symposium attendees or interns.
“It depends on the person you are educating.” He paused as he petted Neil. “I bring them along on a journey. I weigh their capabilities and gauge what they are able to do. You have to tailor your lessons to the person, to their abilities.”
He paused again as Neil nuzzled up to Karen. “Let’s go to the exotic garden.” I began to realize this was a pattern, Fergus using the imperative to encourage our exploring and always suggesting what was to come next.
As we approached a hole in the yews, he quipped, “Go in there,” and we did. We found ourselves immersed in the foliage of a secret garden hidden by a hedge. It was not a claustrophobic feeling but instead an embrace by the plants around us. It felt like a jungle.
“Yes, that’s what it’s supposed to feel like,” Fergus replied to my comment.
“Wow, in only a few square feet there’s a Ginkgo, a Taxodium ascendens, and a weeping Cedrus,” I said astonished.
Then, Fergus said the words that any young plantsperson loves to hear from an elder. “You know your plants.”
I grinned a bit, and then said, “But, I don’t know that.”
“That’s Iochroma australis (Eriolarynx australis).” Of course, the flowers resembled Iochroma cyanea that I knew from southern gardeners.
“Let me go turn the water on while you explore.” We wedged our way under the foliage of bananas, past Persicaria and Boehmeria, and rounded the dissected foliage of Rhus not able to see around the next curve.
Suddenly, Fergus reappeared dragging a yellow hose. As we exited for him to turn on the water, the bright-eyed Inula magnifica greeted us on the other side of the exotic garden against a background of Gunnera tinctoria. Karen went for a photo, and I commented on how she loves the aster family.
I noticed that a single leaf of the Gunnera had dry down damage, but didn’t say anything. “It’s so dry.” It was like Fergus read my mind. This was his first lamentation of many about the dryness.
“Is it always like this?” I inquired.
“No, this is abnormal,” he responded.
As we walked back toward the house, I piped up, “The exotic garden was great. I remember reading about it from Christopher’s book and how it used to be a rose garden? Oh! I should ask did you call him Christo?” I asked stressing the i into an e. “Am I saying that right?”
“Chris-TOH,” Fergus corrected me. “Yes, the exotic garden has changed since Christo’s time but the meadows are the same. I’ve tried to make the exotic garden more wild.”
Back near the house, we saw Erigeron karvinskianus, Centranthus ruber, and succulent plantings growing in stone circles near a 100 year old mulberry. “Edwin Lutyens designed these steps and circles, am I correct?” I asked as I butchered the name.
“Yes,” Fergus said, pronouncing Lutyens as Lutchens.
“Forgive me; I’ve learned by reading,” I replied. Fergus smiled.
“Let’s look at the long border” Fergus said as we walked under the mulberry’s crown.
The long border was spectacular, better than I remembered. Overall, the planting was heavier on the yellows at this time of the year, mostly because of the gold foliage of several species and the butter-yellow panicles of Verbascum olympicum rising above the splattering of colors below.
We walked and Karen began snapping photos of plants to draw. I asked about a dahlia that Karen eyed asking what was the cultivar. It didn’t matter since we can’t really grow them well, but I though it nice to know the name. Fergus bent down to find the label, and he read off 'Kenora Wow’.
I noticed as Fergus pulled the foliage back that near the base of a plant was sheep wool. “What’s that for?”
“Slugs,” Fergus responded. It was interesting to see such an ingenious solution to keep the pest at bay.
We walked the long border’s length, pausing to take photos with the fragrance of Phlox paniculata wafting in the air. Fergus lamented again it was dry. I said, “Yes, but so is Texas, and this looks nothing like Texas. But, it’s cooler here.”
Fergus, chuckled, “Yes, it is cooler here.” I couldn’t see the stress on the plants, but Fergus could. He talked about if rain didn’t come that plants would soon start to crisp.
Reaching its end Fergus invited, ‘Let’s sit here and talk.” He revealed to us that this was one of Christo’s favorite places to sit at the end of the day, and he and Christo would often sit and chat about the garden.
We talked about many things, how Fergus went to college at Wye where Christo and Nigel Dunnett went. “The real learning happens on the ground,” Fergus shared about the benefits of hands-on learning. He revealed that he had been here for 30 years, and was married in 1994.
“What is your favorite food?” Fergus asked us. We said that we really liked pub places in Texas, and there was an Asian fusion place where you can get tacos and fried rice in town.
“Tacos… tacos and Mexican seem to be the number one thing people miss from the states. I ask people this question who have been here a while, and that’s the one thing that seems to always come up.” Karen and I realized that we really hadn’t seen that cuisine here.
I asked him what was Christo like?
“Eccentric,” was the first word that Fergus used. “If you worked hard, he would give you anything you wanted. Christo valued work ethic and would work hard, partly because he was so focused. But, he was kind,”
I said, “You’ve probably been around the world. Where’s your favorite place you’ve been to?” he replied, “New Zealand was special,” which was followed by Japan.
I asked about the people visiting from the states, amazed that they travelled so far. “Oh, yes. We get visitors from all over for our weeklong symposium. We host four a year.”
He got up and said, “Let’s go up here,” while snapping a photo of the border for an Instagram post.
As we walked through the border up toward the orchard stock beds, he said, “We’ve been doing a biodiversity assessment here.”
I said, “Yes, Thomas Rainer shared that with me, some story about a spider.”
“Yes, the endangered Meioneta mollis was found here.” Gardens often get a bad rap for being deserts of biodiversity, but the surveys that Fergus is having conducted really give him concrete evidence to show that Great Dixter is a special place for many organisms.
“Have a look in there while I go check on water.”
We walked a few steps down a narrow passage to find the most spectacular pairing of plants while Fergus disappeared through a hole in the hedge. Verbascum, Lythrum, Inula, Oenothera, Erigeron, Dipsacus, and more were backlit by a lowering sun. It was one of the best contrasting color combinations I had ever seen. I had heard before from others that if you want reliable color drama to pair yellows and purples together, but this mixture blew it out of the water.
Behind us, more Verbascum olympicum rose with Cynara cardunculus and a lovely yellow Alcea. With just the two of us Karen asked, “Why didn’t you talk this place up more?! This is one of the best gardens I’ve ever been, too.” Ah, yet another person enraptured by the spell of Great Dixter. I suppose I left out that we were visiting Christopher Lloyd’s home, a man who many consider to be the greatest garden writer of the 20th century. Sadly, he passed away in 2006, but it was quite evident that Fergus was doing a smashing job of keeping his spirit alive at Great Dixter.
Just when the sun disappeared behind a cloud and the light became right, we heard a familiar voice. “That’s nice isn’t it.” Fergus came back to say he was checking on sprinklers, and I said no worries.
“So, with this planting and the color combination, do you do designs the previous year?” I asked
“No, it sometimes just comes together from what we grow,” Fergus replied.
“So, what do you call this garden?” I inquired.
“This is the orchard stock beds.” Fergus stated.
“Really?” I exclaimed. I had never seen propagation beds look so good.
“Yes, we will dig most of this out to propagate for the nursery,” he replied. Ingenious, if you ask me.
“Let’s go up here.” We walked through the hole where Fergus had disappeared and found yet another beautiful planted area. Erigeron dotted the dark foliage of a low hedge of Symphyotrichum lateriflorus ‘Horizontalis’. In the background fading giant fennel and flowering hollyhocks rose for height.
I had never seen Ferula communis in seed, and was amazed. “Wow that’s so big!” I said in reference to the giant fennel. Then, I noticed the color echo. “Ok, did you plan that?” I asked pointing to the fennel stem and the hollyhock having the same pink color. Fergus smiled, “I have to be honest and say no.”
We made our way up to the high garden where the vegetable garden and compost area were.
“I always love to see vegetable gardens as that’s where I got my start,” I commented.
He said, “Have you ever seen that?” pointing to the compost pile. Pumpkins draped themselves down either side of the behemoth mound.
“We planted about 10 different varieties on top.” I reached down and grabbed a handful of the black gold. Strands of grasses were still visible.
He dug around in the pile for a bit, the pitchfork hitting dry layers. “We cut the grasses in the meadows and then everything from the garden goes in these piles.” I thought of all the things I’ve seen so far here, I think I’m most envious of this compost pile.
We retraced our steps back toward the house and arrived where we had first begun. Neil made a point to assess the display containers in front of the house that are regularly changed out to keep up appearances.
Fergus then took us to the barn garden. Edwin Lutchens had designed this area to be flat but there was now a sunken pond in the middle. We walked around admiring the plants, and the diversity in this small space seemed the richest we had seen thus far. Everywhere we looked were plants thriving. There was a lovely pink Abelia with more Phlox paniculata that perfumed the air, a haze of Salvia sclarea against the electric Euphorbia donii ‘Amjilasa’, an espaliered fig on the wall whose girth was too wide to photograph up close, flaming Cuphea cyanea in the pots, the puffball of Santolina neapolitana, and the neon pink Salvia microphylla ‘Cerro Potosi’ with Verbascum chaixii ‘Album’.
And, Karen was quite keen on the hydrangeas. I noticed ‘Ayesha’, one of my favorite varieties for its cupped sepals.
As we exited the barn garden, I asked him about a comment from Thomas Rainer about woodland management. “Thomas said you had some type of system to manage your woodlands.”
“Yes, here, I’ll draw it for you.” Fergus took my Field Notes and began to sketch it out. “It’s a coppice with standards system. You have the oaks as your standards for building and are grown for 50–100 years. You coppice the ash and hornbeam for firewood; let’s say 20–40 years for them. Last you have your chestnut for poles, 15 years of growth.
He turned the page and said, “Let’s say this is your woods.” Then, he divided it up into segments drawing oaks, then ash and hornbeam on the left and chestnut on the right. “So, you cut progressively overtime so that you have this dynamic forest with changing light levels over a 25 year period. It’s an ancient way of managing woodlands through coppicing.”
I was amazed. Even the woodlands that surrounded Great Dixter were managed with care and thought, just like the gardens.
“Well, I must go. I have another day of symposium tomorrow to prepare for.” He and I both agreed about garden talks that the slides were easy and fun. The plant list was the hard part, getting the names right and proofing them. We thanked him for his generosity and time, we said our goodbyes, and we left, the same way we came, down the long path through the meadows toward the parking lot.
The sheep were gone but the sky riddled with clouds remained, as do our memories of this special evening strolling through the gardens of Great Dixter with Fergus. I can’t wait to visit this place again and spend some time with our new friends Fergus and Neil.
