Conifers have been ridiculed by the good taste brigade for far too long. Labelled as old school, they have been ignored by gardeners and garden designers alike – apart from English yew, of course, which, with its ability to be clipped and shaped, has escaped condemnation. But conifers do not have to be plonked in island beds with gaudy heathers, or peppered around Seventies-style rockeries like missiles. With these scenarios in mind, their loss of popularity has been catastrophic, the final nail in the coffin being the misuse of Leyland cypress generating headlines of bitter disputes.
Our gardening at Great Dixter involves stitching together a tapestry of colourful perennials with shrubs and annuals. The shrubs give us the bolster on which we hang a semi-naturalistic garden and conifers can – and should – be in this mix. At Great Dixter, a handful of conifers has been integrated into the garden. Notably, the sprawling Pinus mugo in the Long Border, which is hugged by the spikes of Yucca gloriosa ‘Variegata’ on one side and luminous hummocks of Spiraea japonica ‘Gold Mound’ on the other.
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In the High Garden, the skyline is dominated by fine-textured Chamaecyparis lawsoniana ‘Ellwood’s Gold’, blue-green with a metallic lemon tinge on the sunny side. Given to Christopher Lloyd as a dwarf conifer in the Fifties, it is now over 40 feet tall. Opposite is the ubiquitous Thuja occidentalis ‘Rheingold’, a mix of lime green and bright gold, dumpy but good all year round. By the oast houses is C. lawsoniana ‘Wisselii’, finally making a big tree full of character with a deep nitrogen-green grain rippling through its stringy body, interrupted by a sea of coral-red cones in spring. Also here is Pinus patula from Mexico, like an Afghan hound dripping with long soft-green needles, making quite a show against a dark backcloth of yew.
However, my most recent love affair with this curious group of plants was inspired by a single well-placed larch in American horticulturist Marco Polo Stufano’s New York garden. Shortly after that, I was mesmerised by an exhibit at the RHS Malvern Spring Festival by Owens Bros in Worcestershire, beautifully executed with dead wood, moss, conifers and dark water, which transported me to the Alaskan tundra. Hooked, I started buying more conifers, gravitating towards anything curious.
Conifers are a strange bag – you never know how they will turn out. What looks good young could be as dull as dishwater later or, indeed, the reverse. The first journey home with a boot-load of plants filled me with apprehension and joy. Once they were potted up, we used them in displays, either grouped or integrated among other pots. Cedars and larches proved useful, as their sweeping shapes and fine textures added movement to stiffer companions. From these displays, little by little, several worked themselves into the garden, adding punctuation or quirkiness where needed.
Cryptomeria is an interesting group, not coarse or predictable like pines, and with a deeper, more complex texture (although having said that, the Scots pine, Pinus sylvestris, is my favourite conifer of all). Cryptomeria japonica ‘Bandai-sugi’ was a great find. Resembling moss-covered volcanic rocks, it is irregular in shape and texture with congested branches and cinnamon-tipped needles. Another C. japonica, ‘Rein’s Dense Jade’, a small, broad tree wrapped with fresh green awl-shaped needles, was placed along the High Garden to add structure. C. japonica Araucarioides Group is extraordinary. Ungainly, scaly, green pipe cleaners reach out at all angles from whorls off the trunk to give an outlandish aura. We planted it among scheffleras and pseudopanax in the Exotic Garden, where the scene has metamorphosed into a Jurassic jungle, encouraging us to add more. Weeping blue-green Cedrus deodara ‘Pendula’ and lime-green ‘Gold Cascade’ became an antidote to lusher groupings, while Cedrus atlantica ‘Glauca’ added a coolness to nearby greens with its sky-blue colouring, and the pencil-thin form of ‘Glauca Pendula’ poses an interesting shape on the edge of the path.
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It is hard to believe one plant can have such a dramatic effect on the ambience of its surroundings. Larix decidua ‘Horstmann Recurved’, with its slender curling stems hanging with pink flowers, has done just that, making the space feel Himalayan rather than tropical. Thin as a catwalk model, Taxodium distichum var. imbricarium ‘Nutans’ has performed a similar act, while Picea omorika ‘Pendula Bruns’, a narrow, weeping form of the Serbian spruce, is an oddball with a mind of its own straight out of Where the Wild Things Are.
One word of warning if you are integrating conifers into planting schemes: give them plenty of space, as their foliage goes brown if there is too much contact with their neighbours. An open sunny position in good garden soil suits them best. Some will take water-logging – such as taxodium, metasequoia, certain larches, and Chamaecyparis taiwanensis – but good drainage is preferable.
The presence of conifers at Great Dixter has met with some scepticism, but I cannot ignore this exciting group of plants just because they are out of fashion. Their range is mouth-watering, adding form and texture with a twist. I have only just embarked on this exciting journey but, for those who know and love Dixter, don’t worry, it will not end up looking like a Swiss hotel car park.
Great Dixter House & Gardens and Nursery, Northiam, East Sussex TN31 6PH. Visit greatdixter.co.uk for opening times
