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.

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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

One Bite at a Time: Building Borders and Watching Summer Break

 

The Signals I Trust

Ah, summer is finally here. Not by the calendar, but by subtler signs I’ve come to trust.

This week, I found myself deadheading the geums—an annual ritual that quietly signals the season’s shift.

Close-up of a geum seedhead with a background of soft, mauve-toned bokeh balls — light catching the delicate structure like spun glass

Nearby, the first petal of Dahlia 'Verrone’s Obsidian' is just beginning to break through the bud’s outer bracts, forcing its way into the light with a dark, almost lacquered sheen.

The peony is right on the edge—buds tight but swelling, pink edges just visible. It always holds the promise of a brief, showy drama. And already, Salvia nemorosa has surged into bloom, its spires fully extended, buzzing with pollinators.

It’s been warm and dry for weeks. This doesn’t feel like the start of summer. It feels like we’ve been living in it.

According to the ancient Irish calendar, summer begins with Bealtaine, which opens the season on the first of May. That tradition runs summer through May, June, and July—a seasonal rhythm shaped by agriculture, light, and lived experience. Not a bureaucratic date, but a felt reality.

Eryngium flower head tightly closed, bristling with texture, just about to bloom — cool silvers and steely blues against a blur of green.

I’ve also just finished work on the long border for the season. I’ll admit my back’s a little sore. The final section I tackled was rough going—more like cement than soil. Classic urban fill: very sandy, compacted, and full of debris. A stark contrast to the clayey loam that most of my garden rests on.