Thursday, December 25, 2025

Long Border Refinement: Baby Joe-Pye, Chelsea Chops, and Designing with Intent

 

Establishing the Middle Rhythm

This phase of the long border has been less about adding plants and more about understanding behaviour — how each plant actually moves, leans, competes, and cooperates once it’s in the ground.

The border runs broadly west to east, which matters. Light moves across the planting rather than sitting heavily on one side. That single fact resolves many of the theoretical shading problems you see discussed in books. Here, competition is dynamic, not fixed.

The back of the border is now structurally resolved (Buddlejas, Sambucus, Hydrangea, Fuchsia). What remained was getting the middle and front layers to speak clearly, without overcrowding or visual noise.

long border design showing front, middle, and back planting layers



The Baby Joe-Pye Question

Originally, I considered using regular Joe-Pye weed at the back, with Baby Joe-Pye in front — a classic tall-to-short meadow approach.

But regular Joe-Pye is a brute. Beautiful, yes, but dominant. In a border already anchored by shrubs, it would tip the balance from structured naturalism into constant containment.

Baby Joe-Pye, on the other hand, is civilised.

  • Upright, but not towering

  • Pollinator-rich without being invasive

  • Repeatable, rather than monopolising

That led to a realisation:
I don’t need two species to create depth — I can create it through management.


Using the Chelsea Chop as a Design Tool

The Chelsea chop is often explained as a blunt instrument: cut everything, make plants shorter. That’s not how it’s being used here.

Instead:

  • Front Baby Joe-Pye plants will be Chelsea-chopped

  • Back Baby Joe-Pye plants will be left untouched

Same plant. Two roles.

The effect:

  • Front plants become shorter, bushier, and flower slightly later

  • Back plants remain taller, airier, and flower earlier

Visually, this mimics the effect of using both dwarf and full-sized Joe-Pye — without introducing a second scale that might clash later.

This feels like a more honest way of gardening: working with the plant rather than importing solutions.


Middle Layer: Final Composition

From left to right, the middle layer now reads as:

  • Erigeron — soft, informal, a gentle entry point

  • Geum ‘Mrs J Bradshaw’ — early heat and momentum

  • Baby Joe-Pye weed — vertical lift begins

  • Yellow Achillea — flat plates to calm the eye

  • Devil’s-bit scabious — wiry, upright, late-flowering, and utterly appropriate

  • Echinacea ‘Magnus’ — structural authority

  • Seed-grown Dahlias — variation and play

  • Child of ‘Verrone’s Obsidian’ — dark foliage pivot

  • Baby Joe-Pye weed (repeat) — rhythm, not symmetry

  • Dahlia ‘Sunshine’ — a yellow reset

  • Russian sage ‘Little Spire’ — haze and release

Mixed perennial border showing Erigeron, Geum, Joe-Pye, Achillea, & Echinacea.



Front Layer: Holding the Line

The front edge is deliberately restrained. It isn’t where drama happens — it’s where the eye rests.

From left to right:

  • Erigeron

  • Fuchsia-toned Dahlias

  • Catmint ‘Six Hills Giant’

  • Dahlia ‘Tam Tam’

  • Eryngium ‘Blue Victory’

  • Catmint ‘Six Hills Giant’ (repeat)

  • Veronica spicata ‘Ulster Blue Dwarf’

The repetition of catmint is intentional. It’s the visual glue. Everything else is allowed to spike, blaze, or shimmer because the edge stays calm.


Nepeta ‘Six Hills Giant’ edging a mixed perennial border



A Note on Control

I’m not worried about future spacing issues.

I own secateurs.
I own bypass loppers.

This border isn’t precious — it’s managed.

Plants are allowed to express themselves, but not to rewrite the design. Pruning here isn’t corrective; it’s editorial.


Closing Thought

What this process has reinforced is that good borders aren’t built by adding more plants, but by understanding fewer plants more deeply.

Baby Joe-Pye taught me that.


Monday, December 22, 2025

Expanding the Long Border — Letting the Line Breathe

 

Newly lifted section of lawn forming a bulging curve in the long border

For now, I’m continuing to expand the border without planting anything new. All of that will wait until spring. What mattered here was shape.

Rather than extending the border in a straight, rigid line — something more suited to a formal or architectural planting, I’ve decided to let it bulge in the middle. A soft belly rather than a hard edge. It immediately feels more natural, more forgiving, and far more generous in terms of planting space.

I lifted another roughly 6 × 6 ft section of lawn here. Interestingly, this was the point where the rubble layer finally faded out, transitioning back into a more familiar clayey loam. In anticipation of long-term structure improvement, I incorporated around 140 litres of compost into this section. That should pay dividends over the coming seasons — better drainage, better root penetration, and a more forgiving soil profile overall.

Newly mulched border section showing curved outline and compost-improved soil

I’ve updated the design file to reflect this change, and visually it works far better. The border now reads as something organic rather than imposed — a small but meaningful shift.


Planned Divisions: Geum and Echinacea

Mature Geum ‘Mrs J Bradshaw’ showing multiple crowns ready for division

One plant that’s now firmly pencilled in for spring work is Geum ‘Mrs J Bradshaw’. I’ve been growing this clump for around five years and it’s naturally formed five distinct crowns — essentially dividing itself. Perfect timing.

Come spring, I’ll lift it, split it cleanly, and redistribute those divisions into the main border. Strong, reliable colour, and excellent pollinator value — it earns its keep.

Over in the pollinator fish-shaped border, I had what I thought was an early resurgence of Echinacea ‘Magnus’ foliage appearing beside the Allium ‘Millennium’. On closer inspection, though, the green shoots weren’t Echinacea at all, but Green alkanet (Pentaglottis sempervirens) — a deep-rooted opportunist making its move while the crown was dormant.

Green alkanet (Pentaglottis sempervirens) 

This actually presents a useful opportunity. In spring, I’ll dig out the entire Echinacea clump, remove the alkanet properly, and then split the Echinacea into two or three divisions for the main long border. The vacated spot will be replanted with a division of Allium ‘Millennium’, which feels like a more stable long-term pairing for that space anyway.

Updated long border design plan showing widened central bulge and planting zones


Thursday, December 18, 2025

The Long Border — Establishing Structure, Soil, and Time

 Gardens are not built in straight lines, even when the borders are. They arrive in stages: effort, pause, revision, return. What looks intentional at the end usually began as disturbance.

This post acts as a thread-starter for the long border — a place to gather earlier entries, updates, and reflections as the border continues to change. I’ll be folding older posts into this narrative rather than rewriting them, letting the record show its own sediment layers.

Below is an image from last May, when the long border was still more excavation than planting. It captures the moment between lawn and garden — when grass gives way to intent.


Newly dug long border in lawn, showing stages from turf removal to planted bed, photographed in May.

What strikes me now is how physical the process was. Digging deep, levering compacted soil, moving weight by hand. Gardening here wasn’t ornamental — it was functional labour. The border began in the glutes and lower back long before it began in design.


Earlier Entries in This Thread

These two posts form the foundation of the long-border work and are best read as companion pieces:

They document the transition from lawn to border — physically, mentally, and incrementally — before the planting schemes became clear.


Establishing the Backbone

This season was not about flowers. It was about structure.

The priority was to establish the backbone of the border — the shrubs that will eventually act as the visual and ecological backdrop to the perennials at the front. Until that framework exists, everything else feels provisional.

The original idea was simple and repeatable: Buddleias and Sambucus forming a rhythm along the rear of the border, punctuated by other shrubs where variation felt necessary. That underlying structure still holds, though it has been refined as the ground and the plants themselves dictated amendments.

What matters here is continuity rather than symmetry. Repetition gives the eye somewhere to rest; variation prevents it from becoming rigid.

Current Shrub Layout (Back of Border)

From left (west end) to right (east end), the shrubs now in place are:

Seen together, they already hint at the future border: dark foliage anchoring the lighter, airier forms; summer pollinator shrubs setting the tempo; winter silhouettes quietly doing their work when everything else has retreated.

The perennials will come and go. These plants are the constant.


Extending the Border — Late Season Work

I’ll add the border plan image at the end of this post, as a reference point.

In September, I acquired several Mexican Fleabane (Erigeron) bareroots, which I’ve been growing on in pots since. Autumn into winter is probably the best time to work soil for a new border, particularly heavy soil, and that’s exactly what I’ve done this December.

With a mild forecast stretching right through to the New Year, I felt comfortable extending the border at both the west and east ends, planting only what is genuinely suited to going into the ground at this time of year.


West End

The idea for the west end began back in summer. I’d been thinking about Mexican Fleabane for a while, largely because David Maxwell is forever praising it as one of the best plants for pollinators, and from what I’ve seen, he’s not wrong.

I liked the idea of starting the border with a rockery feel — either a low wall or simply a loose arrangement of stone — and letting the Erigeron spill and wander over it. As this is the start of the border, I wanted a shrub at the back that wouldn’t dominate or announce itself too loudly.

I settled on a dwarf Buddleia as the anchor, with the Fleabane beneath it.

Outline of the new west-end extension marked out in turf

As with all digging, it begins the same way. I reached for the moon-shaped edging tool and extended the border edge at the west end. Once the line was set, I lifted and removed the sods within it.


Amending the Soil

Three stages of developing the border

After lifting the turf, I double-dug the area with a shovel — breaking up compacted clay, teasing out weed roots, and removing the largest stones as I went.

Sand, grit, and compost added to the dug area

Once the ground was opened, I added sand, horticultural grit, and compost. The shovel comes back into play here — not just to mix, but as another opportunity to find stubborn roots and break up remaining clay clumps.

Large mound of amended soil before levelling

At this point it always looks excessive. The amended soil stood nearly two feet high, an ungainly mound that felt wrong. But experience says otherwise. Through repeated cycles of raking and shovelling — back and forth, levelling and settling — the soil drops, consolidates, and finds its own level.


Planting and Finishing

Buddleia and Mexican Fleabane planted

Only once the ground had settled did I plant. For both the Buddleia and Erigeron, I added no fertiliser beyond the compost already worked in. My soil is naturally clay-based, and clay, for all its faults, is the most fertile soil medium there is. It holds nutrients. It remembers.

Horticultural grit around plant crowns, wood mulch applied

Around the crowns, I applied horticultural grit, then a layer of wood mulch. The grit protects the plant bases; the mulch moderates moisture and temperature.

Large stones laid over the mulched bed

Finally, I placed large stones around the Mexican Fleabane plants. This area needs to feel like a rockery, not just read as one. The stones complete that intention — weight, permanence, and a sense that the border didn’t arrive all at once.

Wednesday, December 17, 2025

Overwintering Dahlias: Container Storage, Covers, and Letting the Tubers Rest

 Dahlias demand attention through the growing season, but winter is where restraint matters most.

Not fussing. Not interfering. Simply creating the right conditions and stepping back.

Dahlia 'Verrone's Obsidian'

This post marks the beginning of a broader journal on how I overwinter dahlias — not as a rigid set of rules, but as a record of methods that have worked for me, year after year, in an Irish climate.


The Timing: Frost as a Signal, Not a Panic

After the first light frosts, I begin the process early — but gently.

Across the garden, I cut back the dahlias, removing roughly a third of the foliage and the growing tips. These growing tips are where enzymatic signalling pushes energy towards flower production. Removing them interrupts that message.

What follows is intentional waiting.

The remaining foliage is left in place for several weeks, allowing the plant to:

  • absorb late autumn sunlight

  • redirect energy downward

  • continue swelling and strengthening the tubers

This is the quiet part of the year, where nothing visible happens, but everything important does.


The Hard Frost of 2025

In 2025, the first proper hard frost arrived on 21st November, with temperatures dropping to around –2 °C.

That frost did what it always does:

  • blackened the foliage

  • collapsed the stems

  • cleanly ended the growing season

Only then do I move fully into storage mode.


Container Dahlias: Stored As They Are

After removing all the dead foliage, I gather the container-grown dahlias together and line them up closely, creating a single block rather than isolated pots. Any weeds that have seeded themselves into the containers are removed at this stage.

Once everything is clean, I add an insulating layer directly above the crown. This year I chose pine needles, simply because I have an abundant supply in the garden. They’re light, breathable, and shed water well — ideal material for this job.


Containers with pine needle mulch.

After laying down the pine needles, I place a rigid plant tray over the crown (the same type normally used under pots in summer). A few stones or a brick go on top to keep it firmly in place, and then I add another layer of pine needles over the tray.

Each container receives this same treatment.

When all the pots are prepared, I add a secondary insulating layer across the entire group. Some years I’ve used leftover loft insulation (rockwool), but this year I kept it simple and used cardboard, laid flat over the tops of the containers. Over the cardboard, I place old blankets for additional insulation.

 Insulating layer across the entire group

The final and most important layer is the outer cover.

I use breathable weed-control fabric to cover the whole arrangement, securing it with stones and bricks. This material is ideal: it keeps the bulk of the rain off while still allowing air to circulate. Trapped moisture is far more dangerous than cold.

Weed-control fabric layer, held down by stones.

Once covered, I use my hardy perennial containers as a final defence, positioning them around the edges. Irish winters are rarely consistently cold — they’re far more often wet and stormy. Placing heavy containers around the perimeter stops wind from getting underneath and lifting the fabric.

Outdoor Dahlia storage setup.

This is my tried-and-tested method for overwintering container dahlias outdoors in Ireland. It works. The tubers remain dry, dormant, and alive right through winter.

From February into March, I begin to gradually reintroduce them to light. Because they’re positioned against a south-facing wall, they benefit from a sheltered microclimate, often waking earlier than dahlias stored elsewhere. Done carefully, this gives them a quiet head start on the growing season.


Lifted Tubers: Cleaned, Dried, and Stored Bare

Some dahlias are lifted entirely — either because they’ve outgrown their containers, are being moved, or simply to reset them for the coming year.

Once lifted from the ground or removed from containers, I snip off all the fine roots, leaving only the tuber cluster itself. The tubers are then placed into a trug of water for around 30 minutes, which helps loosen remaining soil.

After soaking, they’re washed thoroughly — sometimes with a hose, sometimes by splashing water between the tubers using a watering can. The goal isn’t perfection, just removing most of the growing medium so nothing wet or compacted remains against the skin.

Tubers prepped for storage.

Once cleaned, the tubers are left to dry in direct sunlight for a few hours. This isn’t about desiccation, just ensuring no free moisture remains trapped.

When dry, the tubers are placed upside down into plastic storage containers. Each container holds one variety only, clearly labelled to avoid confusion later. They’re laid on a bed of newspaper or straw, which cushions them and absorbs any residual moisture.

Stored tubers.

This year, I’ve stored five different varieties this way in the porch. The porch is unheated and north-facing, staying consistently cool without experiencing hard frost.

Stored like this, the tubers remain stable and dormant until the growing season begins again.


In-Ground Dahlias: Covered, Not Dug

Some dahlias stay exactly where they grew.

For these, I use a simple layered approach:

  1. The crown is covered with straw, newspaper, or pine needles

  2. A rigid plastic plant saucer or tray is placed over the crown

  3. Stones or bricks are added to stop movement

  4. The area is finished with mulch

This creates a small, dry dome — crude, effective, and easy to remove in spring.

Three dahlias prepped for winter, hidden under trays and mulch.


A Control Group: Doing Nothing on Purpose

This season, partly out of curiosity and partly for scientific-like reasons, I’ve decided to introduce a control group.

Rather than intervening everywhere, I’ve deliberately left a small number of dahlias to deal with winter entirely on their own.

In total:

  • Three dahlias remain in the ground, completely untouched

  • Four container-grown dahlias have also been left without any winter protection

The three in-ground dahlias occupy different conditions:

  • two are in full winter sun

  • one is in partial sun

The container dahlias are in partial sun edging into full shade, receiving roughly four hours of light during winter.

Ireland’s winters are rarely defined by extreme cold. They’re defined by persistent wet, fluctuating temperatures, and long periods of low light. This makes it an ideal environment to test whether dahlias truly fail from frost — or whether moisture and predation are the real culprits.

This experiment isn’t about proving a point. It’s about observation.


The Real Cause of Rot (In My Experience)

Over the years, I’ve noticed something that runs counter to much of the standard advice around dahlias.

Dahlias left in the ground don’t usually rot because of cold.
They don’t even rot because of winter wet — at least not directly.

They rot because the enemy arrives first.

The enemy, of course, is the evil bastards — technically known as Deroceras reticulatum — more commonly referred to as slugs.

On several occasions, I’ve dug up dahlias prematurely to check their condition. What I’ve found time and again are small slugs actively feeding on the tubers. They don’t consume the tuber outright. Instead, they cause just enough damage to breach the skin. That damage then becomes the entry point for rot.

Once that process begins, the tuber is finished — not because of frost, but because it was compromised.

This repeated observation has shaped how I approach winter storage. From what I’ve seen, dahlias are surprisingly tolerant of winter conditions when left alone with minimal protection. It’s subterranean grazing that does the real damage.

If you actively suppress slug populations — for example by applying nematodes — then leaving dahlias in the ground with light protection can work well.

If you don’t intend to wage full war on slugs and snails, lifting tubers and regrowing them in spring is the safer choice.

Cold and wet are manageable.
A bored slug with access to a tuber is not.


Cold vs Wet: The Potato Rule

Dahlias don’t truly fear winter cold.

They fear wet, stagnant conditions.

In that sense, they behave much like potatoes:

  • cold is tolerable

  • saturation is lethal

Rot is almost always the result of waterlogged or damaged tubers, not frost alone.

Once this clicks, overwintering becomes less anxious and more observational.


Closing Reflection

Winter storage isn’t about control.

It’s about creating conditions and stepping back.

The tuber already knows what to do.
Your role is simply to keep it dry, still, and undisturbed.

Spring will handle the rest.

Long Border Refinement: Baby Joe-Pye, Chelsea Chops, and Designing with Intent

  Establishing the Middle Rhythm This phase of the long border has been less about adding plants and more about understanding behaviour — ...