Dahlia Experiments, Early Blooms & Quiet Guests

Breeding Dahlias – A First Attempt

I've always wanted to breed dahlias. It's one of those quiet dreams, lodged in the back of the mind — imagining one day I'd raise a seedling worth naming, something recognised and distinct. But I’m also realistic. This is amateur territory, driven by curiosity, not legacy. And it's great fun.

This spring I’ve started my first real attempt. I’ve planted:

• 7 seedlings in containers

• 8 in the long border

• 3 still waiting for their spot

Most of them carry visible signs of their parentage: dark foliage typical of Bishop types, or the jagged, star-like leaves of 'Verrone’s Obsidian'. One plant stands out, though — smooth green leaves, quite unlike the others. It’s growing in a container and reminds me more of 'Tam Tam' in form. No idea what its flowers will be like, but that difference makes it exciting.

Deep burgundy ball dahlia 'Tam Tam' with tightly packed petals and dark green foliage.

Dahlia 'Tam Tam' is a compact ball dahlia known for its rich, velvety burgundy blooms and tight, spherical form. A reliable performer around 90 cm tall, it pairs strong structure with intense colour.

I’m especially eager to see anything that comes from 'Verrone’s Obsidian' — it’s such a vigorous parent, and I expect that energy to show up in its offspring.

Only one seedling has been pinched back so far — the first one I planted in the long border. For anyone unfamiliar: pinching the growing tip encourages the plant to become bushier. That’s because the apical meristem (the dominant growth tip) produces auxins — hormones that suppress side shoot development. Remove it, and you reduce those signals. The plant then redistributes growth to lateral buds, which leads to a fuller, stockier shape.

Video showing progress of dahlia seedlings in containers and border plantings, including foliage variations and growth habits.

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Early Blooms: A Dahlia Surprise

Dahlias are usually seen as the stars of late summer — August and September are their traditional window. But in my garden, especially those planted in containers against the south-facing wall, they ignore the calendar.

Right now, it's still May, and the first flowers are already out.

Bright yellow Dahlia 'Bishop of York' in flower, with a bee collecting pollen.

'Verrone’s Obsidian' was the first to open — no surprise given its vigour. But the real surprise came from 'Bishop of York', already glowing with that classic golden yellow and pulling in bees. That combination of dark foliage and luminous petals never gets old. It’s one of those simple thrills that signals summer is on the way.

The dahlias in the pollinator border are taking their time. Normally they’d be close behind the containers, but this year they’re lagging. Growth is steady, but slower. Judging by the current pace, I’d expect them to peak sometime in July — later than usual, but likely still worth the wait.

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The Shift from Spring to Summer

The allium season is starting to wind down. The white varieties have already gone over, and the small purple ones won’t last much longer. But now is the moment for Allium 'Ambassador'.

Tall Allium 'Ambassador' blooms rising in front of fennel, with purple buddleia and verbena in the foreground.

These giants have just opened and they’re commanding attention at the back of the pollinator border. Typically reaching 1.5 to 1.8 metres, they hold their own even among the height-gaining fennel — which will hit 2 metres in a month’s time. That’s when it throws up its airy yellow blooms, irresistible to hoverflies.

As the alliums finish their display, I make a point to deadhead them. Removing the spent flower heads prevents the plant from putting energy into seed production, redirecting it instead into strengthening the bulb for next year's growth. This helps ensure the blooms return, year after year. I leave the foliage to die back naturally — it’s the engine that fuels the bulb’s recharge.

Masses of yellow fennel flowers with buddleia and verbena complementing them in the foreground. (Taken August last year on top of stepladder)

In the second photo, taken last August, you can see the fennel in full bloom — a haze of yellow umbel flowers rising above the border. It illustrates what’s to come: right now, the fennel is just beginning its upward stretch, but within weeks it will dominate the back with those airy, pollinator-friendly blooms. Buddleia and verbena are in the foreground, their purple hues providing contrast and continuity. It’s a glimpse of high summer — when the precise, architectural forms of spring give way to abundance and sprawl.

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Baby Joe and the Baby Mushroom

Last spring, I planted Baby Joe (Eutrochium dubium ‘Baby Joe’) in the pollinator border — a compact form of Joe Pye weed native to eastern North America. It’s smaller than its larger cousins, usually topping out around 90–120 cm, but with the same dusky mauve flower heads that pollinators can’t resist. The bees and butterflies were on it instantly.

A butterfly feeding on the soft purple flowers of Baby Joe pye weed in full summer bloom. (August last year)

I started the plants in pots, and in the end, I had more than I could fit in the border. So I placed one in a container, and it turns out it’s been just as happy there. It came through the winter strong and is now pushing up multiple stems. If it keeps up this form, I’ll divide it next spring and add it to the long border where it can bulk out.

Propagation by division is simple and effective with perennials like this. Once the plant has grown a healthy clump, you lift it out of the ground (or container), cut or pull the root mass into sections — each with some shoots and roots — and replant. Early spring or just after flowering are usually the best times. It’s one of the easiest ways to expand your planting and keep the mother plant healthy.

A small golden-brown mushroom emerging from mulch beneath the stems of Baby Joe pye weed.

This spring brought an unexpected visitor: a beautiful little mushroom growing beneath the stems in the container. Golden-capped, slender-stemmed, and perfectly posed in the dappled light — I’m calling it Baby Mushroom. I’ve no idea how it got there or what kind it is, but I’m taking it as a good omen. Another quiet guest in a garden full of surprises.