Re-hanging baskets, Radicle thinking, and introducing my new apprentice

My attempts to beautify an unloved problem area in the garden. Plus, some cute links and interesting pics. Or was that the other way round?

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The hanging baskets of Walthamstow

I’m sitting at my dining table, looking out of the window along a narrow, brick-floored passage. This so-called side return – basically an alleyway designed by Victorian homebuilders to let light into the back of the house – is technically part of the garden, in so much as it is situated outside. But for a long time, it has felt less garden, more builder’s yard.

Since the day we moved in, the side return has been our de facto outdoor dumping ground. It currently plays home to a wormery; a narrow upright shed; four-and-a-half bags of peat-free compost; empty upturned pots of every shape and size (beneath which no doubt lie innumerable cosy slugs); a pair of stacked apple crates containing one waterproof bike cover and zero apples; a toppled bird feeder, and five silver birch poles leaning precariously against a waste pipe. 

In addition, trip hazards include – but are not limited to – a knotty, unfurled hose; separately, the blue plastic reel thing that the hose is meant to live in; a toddler-sized wheelbarrow in bright primary colours; a barely used, heavily rusted fire pit; and a little pot of hardwood cuttings taken over winter. 

The side return, to this day, is a problem area. The least attractive part of the garden by some distance. Those of a less nostalgic disposition, the kind of people who have never uttered the words “but it might come in handy one day”, or “but I’ve got a plan for that”, would probably bin most of this stuff. That’s not an option for me. It might come in handy! And I do have a plan for it! (Just don’t ask me what, exactly.)

As such, the side return will never be clear of clutter. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful. Enter stage left (and a little up): a trio of hanging baskets. 

The view from my dining table, at time of writing. (The shed roof has become a popular sunbathing spot for the local cat community)

I gather that hanging baskets are seen as being a little dated, a bit old-fashioned, somewhat twee. People who hold such views clearly do not possess a side return. Because when all available space at ground level is already occupied, the only way is up.

Custodians of small gardens soon learn to see their outdoor space in three dimensions. I think this is especially true of balcony gardeners. No soil? No problem. When needs must, fences, railings, walls and roofs all become viable growing spaces. 

Suspended from fence-post-mounted supports – that look a little like someone has kicked over a treble clef – my hanging baskets dangle at eye level and fill an aerial void with greenery and floral flavour all year round. They can be enjoyed from my current position, at the dining table, but also from the kitchen sink, and of course while stepping jauntily over hazards in the side return itself.

The only issue I have had with my hanging baskets in the past is that they dry out pretty quickly, compared to my other containers. The baskets are made of unlined coir and, whilst I’ve put an empty plastic fruit punnet at the bottom to keep some moisture in, the drainage is perhaps a little too efficient. This doesn’t tend to be an issue during the autumn and winter months, but means that I have to stay on top of watering during any hot, dry spells, or risk losing the plants and all of their pendulous prettiness.

I’m not a huge fan of watering, in general. Watering is time-consuming, expensive (we’re on a meter), and far from ideal from a sustainability standpoint. And so whilst some degree of watering will be inevitable when it comes to my hanging baskets, I’ve tried this season to fill them with plants that can handle a little drought/neglect. So, after salvaging what I could from the winter display, this is what I went for…

Basket one: red, red and more red

I’ve got a weird prejudice against pelargoniums (known colloquially as geraniums), and a strong bias towards tropaeolums (known colloquially as nasturtiums). I don’t really know where either feeling has come from, or why I hold them so strongly. In the case of the former, it’s probably a kind of anti-mainstream snobbery, in much the same way as I turn my nose up at Justin Bieber, say. All summer long, every window box in London is bursting with thick-leaved, flat-coloured pelargoniums. As a result, I’ve tended to adopt a pointlessly counter-cultural, anti-pelargonium stance. 

But when there’s no place for prejudice in any other aspect of my life (Bieber aside), why should there be in my plant selection? And so I went to the garden centre and bought six of the things.

In this first basket, I’ve grouped three “Geranium Zonal Green Leaf ‘Friesia’ – Bright Red”¹ with some purple-leaved nasturtiums (for visual contrast and gastronomical pleasure – the flowers, leaves and seeds of nasturtiums are all edible), a pint-sized variegated euonymus, a reddish-stemmed ivy, and a generic red-flowered salvia. Lots of reds, and lots of differently shaped and textured leaves and stems.

Basket two: red on white

This time, I’ve gone with three white-flowered pelargoniums (“Geranium Ivy Leaf ‘Lona’ – White”) interspersed with a silver-leafed ivy and more of that eventually bushy salvia. In the centre of the basket is a tuft of textural carex which, along with the ivies and the euonymus from the previous basket, are veterans of last season’s display, and will occupy their lofty aerial positions as long as they stay healthy.

Basket three: the punt

Speaking of twee: in previous summers, my hanging basket go-tos have always been petunias. I love their abundant displays of trumpet-like flowers, and there are limitless cultivars in every imaginable colourway. So whilst I’m giving pelargoniums a chance this year, I couldn’t turn my back entirely on my trusty petunias. I’ve gone with Petunia ‘Viva Red’, which should bear a bounty of crimson blooms. Also: more ivy, more salvias, more carex.

The punt here is that I’ve also squeezed in a couple of the nasturtiums. Not for any particular design reason, just because I had some left over. A logic which I’m pretty sure qualifies as “bad design”. I’ve got a nasty feeling that the big-leaved, stringy-stemmed trailing nasturtium won’t sit super well alongside the more compact petunia. But in the end: who cares? Worst case scenario, we’ll be eating a lot of nasturtium-centric salads over the coming months. 

Radicle thinking

A few days ago, I wrote a piece for the brilliant Substack publication Radicle. As a reader, I find Radicle a breath of fresh air. It’s the only garden-focused platform I can think of that tackles horticulture through the twin lenses of social and political justice, and sets out to amplify otherwise marginalised voices. What I especially love is Radicle’s outlook and tone; even when asking sometimes uncomfortable questions, it does so in an inclusive and forward-looking way. 

My post is called ‘Making better decisions’ and explores a phenomenon called Gardener’s Guilt, which is the idea that the more we learn about traditional gardening “best practice”, the greater the shame that we can feel about the environmental and ecological impact of our actions. Though as ever with Radicle, the message is not one of doom-and-gloom, but of hope. Please do have a read, not just of my post, but some others from the archive too.

The gardener’s apprentice

In the first summer of my son’s life, he was working towards the mastery of skills such as sitting up and rolling over. He posed no threat to my plants. 

In his second summer, he was a menace. “Gentle” wasn’t in his vocabulary. (Well to be precise, nothing was in his vocabulary.) If he was out in the garden, I went to great lengths to keep him confined to the paddling pool, and to keep his grabby little hands away from my plants.

As we enter his third summer, I have come to realise that the garden is as much his as any other member of the household’s. Also I have no choice: he is too able, too wilful. I cannot stand in his way. Still, I’ve come to welcome this, and to welcome him into my – sorry, our – garden. The garden is a space to appreciate and enjoy the wonders of nature – why should I have a monopoly on this pleasure? 

And so I am going to guide him gently through the joys of gardening, to foster his wonder and delight upon seeing a laddyburd or beeee, toolip or boobell. And also to exploit his naive enthusiasm towards tedious tasks, such as weeding and watering. 

My new apprentice, performing his favourite garden task

The other side of the story

A few days ago, I watched the first episode of a TV show called Couples Therapy, which is a fly-on-the-wall documentary series filmed, as the name suggests, inside a couples therapist’s consultation room. It’s not really my “kind of show”, but I did take something away from it. Namely, how two people’s memories of the same event, interaction or conversation can be so different. Sometimes these differences in interpretation are subtle, other times… not so much!

I was reminded of this when I woke up this morning to find the latest Rootbound email in my inbox. You might have read my recent write-up of an encounter with fellow gardens Substacker Boaz Frankel, following his visit to London from the US. Well, now Boaz has written up his version of events. 

I realise that the above paragraphs imply that there was some sort of tension to our encounter, or our memories of it.² That couldn’t actually be further from the case. I just think it’s curious how the personalities and perspectives that we bring to an encounter determine in nuanced ways what we take away from it. Have a read of the two write-ups and see what you think. 

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Are you a fan of hanging baskets? If not, why not? And if so, what have you got growing in yours? I say this every time, but I really do love hearing from you. If you want to get in touch or respond to anything you’ve read in today’s post, you can either hit ‘reply’ to the email in your inbox to send me a private note, or leave a comment for the whole Earthworm community to enjoy. Either way, I will always respond. Thanks for reading.

1. FYI: zonal pelargoniums have a more upright habit, whilst ivy leaf pelargoniums are more trailing. I’m curious to see the different effects this produces in the neighbouring hanging baskets.

2. For the record, Boaz and I are not filing for divorce. Or taking a break. Or consciously uncoupling.