Gardeners Blog

20 May 2025

By Gardener Liv

Spent bluebell foliage flops across the ground in clumps of green, tangled hair. A muted sky stands quiet above the chatter of birds, awakening to Spring in the ever-thickening foliage of the trees. The light has changed, and views of the landscape have become encased in richly textured tree outlines. Fresh bramble leaf grows, its tips already hinting at the appearance of a flower. 

The mornings after a rainfall, walking among the trees, nature's suddenly livened state is palpable - in the complex but familiar smell of dampened soil, or the many new fragrances of blossoms and leaves that seep through the air. It feels like an odd thing to miss rain, but our relationship with it has become increasingly inconsistent. Some years, it feels like it will never go away - an unwelcome guest that causes our crops to drown and fail, barely touched by the warmth and sunlight they so desperately need to thrive. Other years, it feels as if the earth is gasping, weeks passing without a drop, our plants parched by the sparseness of water. 

This Spring has been leaning toward the latter—the ground in places as hard as rock. Earlier in the month, already, watering had already become a large part of our daily routine in the garden. It's hard to tell, at present, what exactly the Summer will bring. A sense of relief accompanies every rainfall, and there is nothing quite so refreshing as catching sight of shimmering raindrops on the tip of a leaf, the edge of a bird’s wing, or trickling down the small, plump shape of an Enkianthus flower. 

A genus of trees that are a rather unusual sight in gardens, Enkianthus (or Pagoda tree) was first discovered in 1790 by a missionary living in Vietnam, who named the plant after the Greek words enkyos (pregnant) and anthos (flowers) - a nod to their characteristic clusters of campanulate flowers, similar in shape to a Lily of the Valley. The genus Enkianthus is not large - there are around a dozen species of this gorgeous yet unsung plant flourishing in the wilds of East Asia, from the Eastern and Northern Himalayas into parts of China and Japan. 

Along with Rhododendrons, Azaleas, and Heathers, Enkianthus belongs to a wildly diverse plant family called Ericaceae, or the Heath family, which also encompasses the likes of blueberries and cranberries. Ericaceous plants typically thrive in acidic soil, often doing well in woodland, heathland, or mountainsides. Enkianthus is no exception. In many regions of Japan, Enkianthus campanulatus graces forests and creeks with its delicately clustered bells in Spring and bright hues of red in Autumn. In its homeland, it is known as “furin-tsutsuji” (更紗灯台), which translates to “beautiful cloth-like bells,” with the wood of Enkianthus traditionally made into alcove posts in Japanese tea houses to create a rustic aesthetic recalling woodland. 

Out of the dozen or so species, Enkianthus campanulatus is most commonly grown in the UK - a quick online search reveals it is favoured not only by specialist tree sellers, but also by several well-known retail stores. This is simply down to history and trade, as is the case with many of the plants that we grow in our parks and gardens. Leading up to the 20th century, trading with Japan had become more accessible to Western Europe, making the plant more available to botanists and plant collectors. Other varieties, such as Enkianthus chinensis - which, as its name suggests, is native to China - were introduced to the UK much later on. 

As with Rhododendrons and Azaleas, Enkianthus grows relatively well in British soil. It loves a temperate climate and does well in the sun, as long as it isn’t too harsh. It also does well in dappled shade, which is sometimes a better location, as it prefers to have its roots encased in a gently moist soil. It is probably for these reasons, along with its vibrant Autumn colouring, that Enkianthus was selected to be added to the extensive collection of trees at Sheffield Park and Garden. Here, it joins the likes of Nyssas, Parrotias, and Vacciniums in creating what has now become one of the distinguishing features of the garden, as envisioned by Arthur Soames when he took up ownership in the early 1920s. 

The varieties of Enkianthus grown at Sheffield Park include campanulatus, perulatus, and chinensis. Although the Autumn is a wonderful time to enjoy these trees, the Spring display - if a little more understated - is just as spectacular, as exemplified by the Champion specimen of Enkianthus chinensis lining Aucklandii Way. From May to June, its branches are laden with thick clusters of dark pink-tipped bells. On a sunny day, for a bit of reprieve from the heat, it is best viewed standing beneath the shade of the tree, looking up into it, with flowers raining down and around like droplets from a cool cloud of green foliage. 

08 April 2025

By Gardener Liv

A woodland meadow is punctuated with white anemone stellate flowers, lemon-yellow daffodils, and pastel primrose petals. Tiny beacons of colour glow in a deepening stratum of green, playing among the striated bark of birch trees. Between nascent bluebell leaves, the apple-green foliage of wood sorrel and the spangled tufts of star moss begin their quiet stretch toward the light. Snowdrops, now spent, droop like deflated balloons at the end of a long celebration, leaving behind only modest seed pods. For many plants, though, the party has yet to start. The Spring Equinox has passed, gently marking a new chapter in our year.

Our world may feel chaotic at times, but there is solace in the steady rhythms of nature. Amid marked changes in our climate, one thing that remains unchangeable is the shifting of light - wherever on Earth one may live. As we looked up into the sky on March 29 to catch a glimpse of the partial lunar eclipse, we are reminded of this. Humans have always looked to the stars, finding comfort in their distance and quiet permanence, weaving meaning and stories into their patterns.

This season brings a gradual return to more light and warmth, yet it plays out as a surprising game of push and pull, as is characteristic of our mid-seasons. The sun gently coaxes us out of our layers of jumpers and scarves one moment, only to retreat behind a veil of fog the next. Ever unpredictable, March and April carry lessons in patience and hope - the same that any gardener understands when sowing seeds for the year ahead, patiently waiting for them to germinate, hoping the seedlings will thrive.

Meanwhile, other hardy plants are already flourishing in the cooler temperatures of Spring. One of these is the wood anemone, Anemone nemorosa, known by many vernacular names: ‘smell foxes,’ for its musky scent; ‘grandmother’s nightcap’; or ‘moggie nightgown’ - a name used in parts of Derbyshire, where ‘moggie’ can mean mouse rather than cat. Yet its most elegant name, ‘windflower,’ seems particularly fitting. Appearing in early Spring, its delicate petals and leaves shiver in the breeze, as if animated by the very winds it is named for.

Anemone nemorosa belongs to the Ranunculaceae family, more commonly known as the buttercup family. Native to Europe, Anemone means "windflower" in Greek, or more literally, "daughter of the wind," from anemos ("wind") and the feminine suffix -one. The specific epithet nemorosa derives from the Latin nemus, meaning 'forest' - a nod to the woodland habitat where these flowers dwell.

In Greek mythology, Anemone, the daughter of the wind, was a nymph beloved by Zephyr - one of the four Anemoi, the wind gods representing the cardinal points. Zephyr was more than just a wind god; he was the gentle west wind that heralded the end of winter and the beginning of Spring. The story goes that when Zephyr's wife discovered his love for the nymph Anemone, she was banished and transformed into a flower. An unhappy fate for her, but a fortunate one for those who went on to marvel at the sight of these delicate blooms carpeting the forest floor.

Just as we weave stories into the constellations above, we do the same with the plants around us, shaping and reshaping the roles they hold in the fabric of our culture. The names we give them often carry echoes of the past. They are fragments of myth, belief, and observations, always reminding us of how deeply intertwined we are with the natural world.

12 November

by Gardener Liv

As evenings draw in, layers of leaves are quickly matting the paths, growing thicker by the day. Along the edge of a pond, the mud-brown reflections of an Oak tremble on the water’s surface, shivering with each ripple. Many of the Oak leaves still carry splashes of green, showing off those familiar, perfect frills we all recognize. Soon, the tree will stand bare, draped only in swathes of ivy curling up its trunk in a procession of dark, glossy green. Autumn isn’t over just yet, though.

Oak and Sycamore trees tend to be among the last to shed their leaves in this country, and indeed there’s still plenty of colour to enjoy at Sheffield Park and Garden. Personally, I enjoy the later stages of Autumn the most. The grass is in some areas is nearly entirely covered and the colours teeter towards burnt golds and reds. I love seeing the leaves curl into their dry, twisted shapes - tiny contortionists dangling precariously from branches. Acrobatic and a mere breath away from falling.

Among the browns and deeper reds, there’s one tree still in the midst of transformation – the Liquidambar. You’ll spot it along Church Walk, near two large old chestnut trees, just before reaching the edge of the first lake. Its colours range from yellowing green to deep burgundy, offering a wildly varying palette from the ground up. Liquidambar trees are often mistaken for Acers due to their palmate leaves, but the details reveal the difference: Acer leaves grow in opposing pairs on branches, while Liquidambar leaves alternate. Liquidambar trees are also marked by their distinct fruit – small, firework-shaped globes hanging down throughout the winter. These are packed with seeds, providing food for squirrels, finches, and other small wildlife.

Liquidambars are also known commonly as Sweetgum trees, a nod to the aromatic resin that flows from the tree when the bark is cut open with a knife. This resin was traditionally valued for medicinal uses, and when hardened, it was chewed as gum. Native to the southeastern United States and Mexico, Liquidambar styraciflua was introduced to the UK in the seventeenth century and is now prized for its ornamental beauty in many gardens throughout the country.

1 November

by Gardener Liv

Turning trees glow like flames across the garden, slowly surrendering the last traces of green, carpeting the ground below with discarded foliage. Carmine red, burnt orange, golden brown. Leaves the colour of fading sunflowers crinkle like old paper beneath the trees. Colours shift, muted one moment then alive the next when flooded by sunlight. The trees drape like cloaks. Above, the autumn sky is a dusty blue, heightening shapes and contrasts. Sprawling branches, stripped of foliage, poke out from leafy froth here and there, revealing their true form, primitive and plain.

The shapes of trees are endlessly varied, each following growth patterns inscribed in their genes - a set of codes dictating their final architecture. Some trees, like Nyssas, spread broadly, while others, like Larches or Cedars, are conical. Some still have a more irregular, ancient formation, like the Ginkgo, the Maidenhair tree, of which two large specimens stand proud between Upper and Lower Woman's Way pond at Sheffield Park.

A distinctive feature of this wonderful tree is, of course, its autumn color. As temperatures drop and chlorophyll drains from the leaves, a rich saffron yellow bleeds into the remaining lime green, like a finely executed graded paint wash. As leaves fall, the branches stand stark against the bright backdrop, their thick, dark boughs and stubby shoots resembling a blanket stitch woven with fan-shaped rosettes. Up close, the Ginkgo appears primal - its thick, cracked trunk punctuated with skinny, jagged branches.

Often called a "living fossil," the Ginkgo is one of the oldest tree species, unique in its solitary genus, Ginkgo biloba. It has no relatives. This may seem like a lonely state of affairs, but luckily the Ginkgo is remarkably resilient, withstanding extremes of temperature, resisting disease, and thriving in polluted environments. It is so tough, in fact, that six Ginkgo trees were found standing near the site of the Hiroshima atomic bomb blast in 1945. Seeds from these trees were propagated, the resulting seedlings then planted in Botanic Gardens and Colleges throughout the world as a living symbol of peace for the generations to come.

The history of the Ginkgo tree is somewhat chequered, though, and hasn’t been without challenges. Despite being widespread in cultivated gardens, arboretums, and city streets globally, the tree is still presently classified as endangered in the wild, with only a few native populations existing in China. In Europe and the Americas, its presence dwindled to nothing during the Cenozoic Era, a time of global cooling that began around 66 million years ago. Competition with other more ‘modern’ trees is likely one of the reasons why Ginkgos have struggled in their other global native habitats more recently.

Remarkably, the Ginkgo survives today largely because humans chose to cultivate it - a tradition that began around a thousand years ago, when people in China planted orchards of Ginkgo biloba to harvest its seeds. In doing so, they fortuitously saved the tree from being wiped out completely. This kind of relationship reflects a broader mutualism found across the planet, where many species benefit one another. It is also a beautiful testament to what can happen when nature and humanity care for one another and highlights the ongoing importance of conservation work.

26 October

by Gardener Nick

Waking up to the morning dawn just after the rain slows and with the scattered appearance of dull dimmed stars disappearing as the sun rises, we all venture out of the home to start our day. Autumn is a time to slow down after a fast paced summer. It’s the time when the stew dishes come out from the back of the cupboard to warm you up on a wet English day. It’s the time when we welcome you to explore the outdoors, experience colour from all around the world; and if you’re lucky enough you might just experience the Fothergilla major with its blazing display. 

What’s better than being greeted by a dance of colour on a wet day? Fothergilla major (common name is Large Witch Alder or Mountain Witch Alder) is a deciduous shrub from the woodlands and swamps of South Eastern United Sates, but more specifically from the Allegheny and Appalachian mountain range spreading across Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia. This shrub has been named after the plant collector ‘John Fothergill’ who built a botanical garden in what is now West Ham Park in London, which became one of the first gardens in the UK to host the first alpine and wilderness gardens. ,  

Fothergilla major dazzles us this October with its intense yellow, orange and red leaves as it turns against the ever-changing background. But autumn isn’t the only time you can see this shrub in full display. In Spring the Mountain Witch Alder has small, white-spiked flowers covering the upright trails of stems that rise from the ground providing varied seasonal interest. Because of the perfumed smell it promotes before its flowers are even noticed, it attracts early pollinators such as bees and moths with its nectar and pollen rich flowers. Next time you take a stroll through Sheffield Park and Garden see if you can spot one along Church Walk .  

Another favorable mention from the United States across the garden is the Taxodium Distichum (common name is Swamp Cypress). You will find this deciduous conifer in the South Eastern region of the USA including Florida, Louisiana and parts of Texas, proving its ability to be able to adapt to many different conditions. For example, we have the Swamp Cypress growing around the waters edge of our lakes because of its ability to be able to send its roots to the soil surface. These roots that protrude out of the soil are called pneumatophores, but less scientifically known as ‘Knees’. This allows the tree to take up more oxygen in compacted, waterlogged soils aiding in gaseous exchange.  

In autumn, the Taxodium offers a copper orange colour on its needles that reflect beautifully across first lake. This year, the Taxodiums across the garden are changing at different points due to their micro climates. If you are lucky enough to see the most spectacular display of colour across the reflection of the lake, then be sure to point out the Taxodium as its display is one to look out for.  
 

21 October

by Gardener Liv

October. Long grasses swarm with soggy apples rotting fast, their bittersweet smell of fermenting fruit hanging in the damp air. On cooler days, the darkening sky smells of coal, and we walk slowly, boots clogged with sticky leaves, dripping wet. The first signs of reds, yellows, and oranges begin to ripple through the trees. On Church Walk, a majestic copper beech nears the end of its metamorphosis - from purple to deep green, it is now flecked with irregular sparks of golden leaves scattered through its branches.

Autumn is a season of decay, yet as it progresses, the rich scents released by the earth reveal a hidden world, teeming with microorganisms, busy breaking down the fallen leaves and spent plant life. While there may be no bright flowers to admire, the season holds a depth that is unrivalled by any other time of year. It pulls us in, urging us to look beyond the darkness, inviting us into its deep magic.

Fall also brings with it a sense of abundance. Spiky green husks litter the ground, split open to reveal glossy chestnuts. Squashes ripen into rich oranges or deep greens on allotments, while we gather the last fruits from orchards, destined for eating or brewing. Of nature's offerings, of course none is more satisfying to stumble upon than a humble mushroom. Whether an expert forager or a curious novice, there's something irresistibly pleasing about searching through the undergrowth for these sometimes minute gems.

Mushrooms, sometimes called toadstools when they are poisonous, are not technically plants. They are the fruiting bodies of fungi - a group of organisms that also includes moulds and yeasts. A fungus begins life as a spore, a tiny oval-shaped single cell, smaller than a seed, carried by the wind or by an unsuspecting animal, like an insect. When a spore finds just the right spot - a patch of rich soil or a sheltered corner - it germinates, sending out fine, thread-like tendrils called hyphae that extend through soil or plants in search of nourishment.

These delicate strands weave through the earth, forming a network called mycelium, an unseen web spreading just beneath our feet. Mycelial networks may merge to produce more spores or compete for resources and survival. Once the mycelium has absorbed enough nutrients, specific environmental conditions - like cooler temperatures and increased moisture - encourage the growth of fruiting bodies, known to us as mushrooms. The weather of autumn is, of course, ideal for this process.

Though the life cycle of a mushroom varies by species, most fruiting bodies have a brief lifespan, appearing suddenly and then vanishing just as quickly. It’s no wonder that "sporadic," which describes their seemingly random appearance, originates from the Greek root "spora," meaning "spores." As a mushroom's cap matures, its gills (or pores, in some varieties) release their spores into the air or onto the ground, beginning a new life cycle once again.

One of the most enchanting aspects of mushrooms is the variety they present up close – a dazzling spectrum of colours, shapes, textures, and even scents. The Lilac Fibrecap, Inocybe lilacina, may seem dull and grey at first glance, but closer inspection reveals its soft purple hue. The Earthy Powdercap, Cystoderma amianthinum, hiding among tall grass, seems ordinary, yet a careful look uncovers the intricate details of its cap edge, shaggy collar, and the delicate granules running down its stem. Some mushrooms surprise the senses with their aromas—the False Death Cap, Amanita citrina, smells of raw potato, while others wear a perfume of acetone or pear drops.

The joy of discovering a cluster of mushrooms lies in their connection to the hidden world beneath our feet, often overlooked as we admire the grandeur of towering trees above. Finding them requires intent, patience, and presence - qualities that have grown scarce in a world constantly bound to screens and swamped by the hullaballoo of virtual distractions.

The slow hunt for nature's gifts also stirs a certain childlike wonder, an instinctive curiosity too often buried beneath the weight of more pressing adult obligations. It reminds us that there is magic in the act of searching itself, whether or not the object of our quest is ultimately found. And so, mushrooms, with their fleeting and unpredictable nature, offer a simple yet profound metaphor: nothing in life is guaranteed, and the true treasures are often the ones we stumble upon by surprise.

4 October 2024

By Gardener Liv

Autumn's ever-shifting pattern of colour is charging full steam ahead. No two days are the same as our many species begin to burst into colour.

The Acers are still a highlight, dotted dramatically around the lakes creating fiery reflections, as are the Spindle tree, or Euonymus (see the next two tabs along on the blog), but this week we look further afield as Gardener Liv picks one of her favourite autumn trees, the Quercus rubra.  

Quercus rubra - Gardener Liv
Down a fresh path, amidst meadows glistening with dew, the first murmurs of autumn begin to call. Like the singed edges of a once bright page, the leaves of the red oak, Quercus rubra, are tinged with red, their luminous edges announcing the gentle start of the season.

Also known as the Northern Red Oak, Quercus rubra finds its roots in the rich soils of North America. It thrives across New York and New England, weaving through the landscapes of Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Vermont. In autumn, its vivid red leaves brighten these regions renowned for their fall colour, illuminating the forests where it stands tall. While somewhat similar in shape to the soft, frilled leaves of our native English Oak, Quercus robur, the Red Oak is distinguishable by its larger leaves and sharper lobes.

Several beautiful examples of Quercus rubra grow at Sheffield Park and Garden. As visitors wander left from the Visitor Reception toward the first lake, they will find two or three lining the main path, with many more scattered throughout the collection.

Other sights to look out for around the garden

Sweet chestnuts
Glance up as you pass the gnarled, veteran sweet chestnut (Castanea sativa) trees and you will be greeted by a classic autumn sight - prickly sweet chestnut cases. The nuts within are edible to humans - they were particularly loved by the Romans - and can be roasted or used for other recipes. Squirrels enjoy them too!

Fungi
Fungi is abundant right now and the iconic fly agaric (Amanita muscaria) is particularly striking with its white-spotted, scarlet-red appearance. It can be easily found at the base of different conifer species, such as pine and fir, with which it forms symbiotic relationships.

Reds and golds amongst the greens 
The march towards autumn is a fascinating display to watch. Every day the vibrant flecks of colour multiply, and soon they will merge into rich pools of autumnal shades. This fascinating process can be seen in our famous Nyssa sylvatica 'Sheffield Park' trees which are starting to turn. The Carya cordiformis (Bitternut hickory) by reception is another tree to watch. We call it our autumn indicator tree - when it turns golden we can say that autumn is well and truly here.

27 September

As September draws to a close...

It is a joy to walk around the tranquil paths here at Sheffield Park and Garden and watch the beginnings of autumn unfold - the first hints are really beginning to shine out. It is an unusually beautiful time of year as every imaginable shade of green contrasts with the early bright reds, yellows and oranges. Even a short walk around the lakes allows for a world of colour.

Each week from now, gardeners Liv and Nick will bring you their highlights of the garden as the autumn colours reach their fiery and dramatic peak.  

Acers
As you stroll around the gardens this week it is impossible to miss the stunning autumnal shades of Sheffield Park and Garden's many Acers. In fact, we have over 25 species and 240 specimens in the garden, so their glow can be seen around almost every corner. Keep an eye out for their picturesque winged seed pods as you pass.

Golden larch (Pseudolarix amabilis)
One of the earliest trees to turn can be found at the bottom of Aucklandii Walk. The Pseudolarix amabilis  - or golden larch - is a suitable showstopper as you head back up to reception after a peaceful walk around the gardens.

The golden larch is not a true larch, hence the botanical name Pseudolarix, or false larch.  The species originates from eastern China where it is listed as vulnerable on The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. It is therefore very rare in the wild and occurs in a few remnants of primary forest on isolated mountains. There is just one specimen of this tree in Sheffield Park and Garden

Spindle (Euonymus europaea)
For a small tree, the Euonymus europaea or spindle makes a big statement during this early part of autumn. The clashing pink and orange fruits have ripened and are particularly striking and alien-like. For the full spindle experience, take a read of Liv’s fantastic piece dedicated to this beautiful tree - click to the next tab 'A breathtaking display.'

Why not plan a few visits to watch the spectacle unfurl? Every day here is different and brings with it a truly unique beauty.  

Autumn need to know

• Pre-booking is not required but on busier days parking is on a first-come, first-served basis and you may be directed to the overflow carpark which is on rough terrain.
• Sheffield Park and Garden are not accepting the ‘Escape into Autumn’ pass.
• Specially for families, look out for giant red mushrooms dotted around the garden complete with Fantastic Fungi facts and jokes.
• Dogs on a short, fixed lead are welcome in the gardens except for Saturday mornings before 1pm. 
• Mobility scooters are available to book in advance, subject to availability - please call the office on 01825 790231 (Mon-Fri 9am - 5pm) well in advance as they are very popular. Wheelchairs are also available to borrow subject to availability - please ask reception on arrival.
• Consider visiting out of peak hours (11am - 2pm) or on weekdays when the gardens are quieter. School holidays are another busy time. In East Sussex, October half term is Saturday 26 October Sunday 3 November.
• We have limited space for campervans, motorhomes and coaches. Please call the office on 01825 790 231 to check details and to book.
  Read more about autumn at Sheffield Park and Garden 

Autumn events

• Autumn Wreath Making Workshops
  Let nature be your inspiration as you style your home for the Autumn season in one of our wreath making workshops. 
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• Free Fantastic Fungi Walk & Talk
  Join nationally recognised fungi expert, Martin Allison, on a guided tour of the fantastic fungi in our gardens.
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• Free Gardener Walk & Talk: Brilliant Birches with Fiona & Nick
  Go on an adventure through the garden and through the ages exploring the different textures and colours of the birch tree
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• Autumn Colour Photography Workshops
  Utilise the Sheffield Park's Autumn Colour to improve your photo composition skills.
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• Autumnal Foraging Workshop 
  Join professional forager Megan Howlett on an autumnal exploration through the gardens, learning more about the seasonal delights on offer.
  Read more & book...

17 September 2024

by Gardener Liv

In the quiet pause of waiting, as nature hangs on the edge of autumn, some corners of Sheffield Park and Garden are splashed with early whispers of colour. Come fall, the Spindle tree, or Euonymus, reveals a breathtaking display, its berries splitting open to reveal brilliant orange arils. These are certainly alluring, but they are also dangerously poisonous to humans. Meanwhile, to other forest creatures such as birds, mice, or even foxes, they are a welcome feast, while the leaves of the Euonymus serve as food for many species of moth or butterfly caterpillars. 

The common name of Euonymus is a nod to one of the ways in which its timber has been traditionally used. At once dense and finely grained, the wood is perfect for crafting delicate tools or sharp points, such as spindles for spinning and twisting wool into yarn. It was also traditionally used as material to craft knitting needles, pegs, or skewers, and the smaller twigs make high-quality artist’s charcoal for drawing. Even certain parts of musical instruments, such as violin bows, can be made from this fine wood.

Among the 170 species of Euonymus, one of them, which will be familiar to many, is native to Britain—the Euonymus europaeus. Most of the other species are native to Asia. Illustrated here by Laura, one of our gardeners at Sheffield Park and Garden, is a Euonymus sachalinensis, of which there is a wonderful example at the top of Church Walk, near the Main Entrance of Sheffield Park and Garden. Its berries open out like little umbrellas, from which the arils fall like tangerine coloured droplets. Pictured here in the photo is another delicate pink variety, Euonymus hamiltonianus sieboldianus, one of our champion trees, which can be viewed along Woodland Walk near Burnt Path.
 

24 August 2024

by Gardener Liv

A breezeless heat clings to the skin, and the air is thick with the sweet breath of pine and the sharp scent of a Magnolia Grandiflora blooming just off an uneven path full of flint. The leaves of Nyssa trees drip in green, forming shadowy pools that invite rest and play. On sunnier days, August’s warmth settles over the earth like a soft haze, enveloping all life and slowing everything down. In a world that insists we cannot, must not, slow down for fear of losing productivity, July and August stand as reminders of how little we truly control. Especially when it comes to the pace at which we expect things to grow and come to fruition.

Amidst the summer heat, the Water Lilies of Sheffield Park spread out in masses of glossy leaves, splashed with dashes of pink and white, drifting in their watery home. Their pointed petals unfurl one by one into spiralling flowers, each petal curving to fold neatly back in at nightfall, keeping the bloom sealed and watertight. There is nothing more serene than gazing over water filled with these aquatic plants. Yet, while it is tempting to swim among them, doing so isn’t easy—swimming limbs can easily become entangled in the leggy stalks that reach into watery depths, rooted in the sediment below. Even the oars of a drifting boat can get caught, hindering its path.

The unique stems of Water Lilies, made from spongy white cells called aerenchyma, are both buoyant and surprisingly strong. Evolved to be flexible enough to sway with the water yet tough enough to withstand hidden currents beneath the surface, Water Lilies are clever survivors. They have adapted to their, at times, unpredictable environment in ways both subtle and profound, a process perfected over millions of years. Fossils discovered in China trace their lineage back to the dawn of flowering plants, showing that although ancient Water Lilies were smaller, they shared many of the same characteristics and morphology as today’s freshwater dwellers.

One of the most remarkable traits of Water Lilies is of course their ability to thrive while mostly submerged in water. This is achieved through an ingenious system that allows oxygen to reach their water-bound roots, called rhizomes. The large leaves of Water Lilies play a dual role: they absorb sunlight to fuel photosynthesis while acting as conduits for oxygen, which travels down the stems to the rhizomes anchored in the mud. This delicate balance of water and air is crucial for their survival, allowing them to multiply and expand their aquatic dominion.

Water Lilies primarily spread by producing more rhizomes, which are about as thick as a wrist. Out of the water, with shoots dangling off, they resemble giant centipedes. In the UK, the rhizomes of the native Nymphaea alba, a pure white Water Lily, were once harvested for the dark dye they produced, heavily used in the manufacture of Harris Tweed. Collecting these rhizomes, especially in the Highlands, was a dangerous task, requiring wading into silty pools crowded with lilies or navigating by boat. Perhaps this is why the Gaelic name for Nymphaea alba, translating to "drowned white leaf," carries a somewhat ominous tone.

Rhizomes aside, Water Lilies can also spread through pollination, though this method is less reliable. It morbidly involves trapping unsuspecting beetles in the flower overnight. The pollen covered insects fall into a pool of liquid at the flower’s base, fertilizing it in the process. Once the whole process is complete, the flower retreats beneath the surface to develop seeds in the moisture and safety of the water. Later, these seeds are released, carried by the water to another site where they may take root.

Straddling the realms of water and air, it’s no wonder Water Lilies are revered as symbols of rebirth and creation in many cultures. Their Latin name, Nymphaea, is inspired by the mythological nymphs of ancient Greece—elusive creatures connected to nature’s fleeting beauty, forever shifting, and tied to different natural elements. It is this ephemeral quality, this existence between worlds that captivated the French artist, Monet. He created a pond of Water Lilies in his garden in Giverny, France, which became the inspiration for some of his most famous painted works. The Water Lily – like a creative spark or a fleeting idea – needs to be captured before it slips away again, vanishing back into watery depths from which it emerged.

There are many different species of Water Lilies at Sheffield Park, ranging from bright pink, to lighter pinks and whites. The pontoon on Second Lake is an ideal viewpoint or why not take a seat on the big old tree stump off Woodland Walk and contemplate a sprawl of white Nymphaea Gladstoniana still in bloom.

27 June 2024

By Gardener Liv

After months of uncertainty, the sun playing its teasing game of hide and seek, summer has finally arrived. Its long, warm days stretch effortlessly into dusk, as the setting sun skims over thistle-filled meadows, punctuated by shores of ox-eye daisies, swimming in waves of gold, purple, and green grasses. The warmer days carry the perfume of sweet marjoram, eglantine rose, honeysuckle, and elderflower, while fresh bodies of water reflect the perfect sky above, scattering in a million fractured, sparkling lights.

Summer is a paradox, both grounding and freeing. In a garden, the days are packed with a multitude of urgent tasks: watering, weeding, cutting grass, feeding. Once sparse beds suddenly become crowded, demanding attention, their growth hastened by the heat. Yet, gardens also become places of enjoyment and carefree pleasure, where one can languish despite the inherent busyness of cultivating plants.

In the grounds of Sheffield Park, passersby stroll leisurely through lacy patches of light, as fibrous patterns dance across the ground, moved by the breeze. Towering trees laden with strong foliage cloak clusters of foxgloves in their shadows, ripe with pink flowers snaking eagerly upwards, lodged between tree roots. At the top of Church Walk, a majestic tulip tree, its leaves shaped like crudely drawn butterflies, stands out. Cradled in the branches are cup-shaped flowers floating airily, each one with a little orange flame licking its base. A tulip tree in flower - Liriodendron tulipifera - is a truly delightful display to see.

There is something so perfect about a flowering tree, with blooms open and reaching for the sky, far above the gritty, heavy soil where flowers usually exist, comfortable and at eye level. Tulips - the bulbs - are inhabitants of that realm. The tulip tree, unlike its namesake, marries earth and sky. Its name, Liriodendron, combines the melodic "lírio" (Greek for flower or lily) with the more guttural "dendron" (tree), illustrating this duality perfectly.

Though tulip trees are unrelated to their earthbound namesake, the resemblance is striking. The sight of a Liriodendron tulipifera in flower can surprise the unacquainted. Disguised amongst broad leaves, the blooms often congregate near the topmost branches. In full bloom from June to July, the orange and yellow petals resemble delicate lanterns glowing softly in a mass of green. In autumn, an elongated cone-shaped fruit forms, composed of winged seeds called samaras. As the cones dry, they break apart, and the samaras scatter, carried by the wind.

Like their cousin, Magnolia, the origin of Liriodendron traces back to the Lower Cretaceous period, about one hundred million years ago. During this epoch, erupting volcanoes spat fire from their greedy mouths, dialling up the heat and making life on earth unpredictable. A warm and humid climate encouraged flora to grow thick and fast. Conifers, podocarps, ginkgos, palms and giant horsetails filled the land, while the first flowering plants called angiosperms arrived on the scene.

It is in these dense forests of the Cretaceous era that a common ancestor of Magnolia and Liriodendron, named Archaeanthus, appeared, later evolving into the two distinct species we now cultivate in our modern parks and gardens. While records show specimens of Magnolia grandiflora reaching up to 37m in height, a Liriodendron tulipifera can grow to a lofty 61 meters tall, one of the widest on record measuring over 9 meters in girth. Most of the larger specimens of this tree have been recorded on its native soil, in North America. In Britain, the tulip tree was introduced in the mid-seventeenth century, though fossil evidence shows it once grew naturally in Europe, preceding the last ice age.

Gazing up into the branches of the Liriodendron tulipifera in Sheffield Park, it is easy to imagine a similar specimen gracing the vivid landscapes of prehistory painted in our minds. We are propelled back to a time when wilderness reigned, unsullied by human activity, with all its re-ordering, dividing, controlling and cultivating. The tulip tree stands as a testament to the enduring beauty and history of our natural realm. Straddling earth and air, it is rooted in the present, while its ancient form lingers far off in the mind as an idealized image of primordial flowering trees, wild and unaltered.

29 May 2024

By Gardener Liv

As May comes to a close and temperatures grow steadily milder, thick canopies full of healthy new leaves transform Sheffield Park and Garden. On sunnier days, the sudden heat surprises us, making the protection offered by denser foliage all the more welcome. Many paths are shrouded in cloudy shadows, perfumed with the sweet scent exuding from fluffy white rhododendron clumps drifting overhead. Eyes up to the sky, summer is close, no longer a faraway dream. A little gap along Church Walk offers a glimpse across the lake, dotted with shiny nascent lily pads, with a view resembling a jigsaw of purples, greens, and pinks. One piece of the puzzle is missing where a giant redwood, Sequoia giganteum, once stood, its crown towering above the other trees, until a large portion of it came down during a storm in 2022.

The devastating loss of old tree specimens like the redwood at Sheffield Park and Garden or the more recent destruction of the Sycamore Gap tree in Northumberland is revealing of what our landscapes truly mean to us. We live from our lands, building our homes within its convex and concave shapes, finding shelter from violent seas, raging storms or unbearable heat within its contours. Our identities intertwine with it, down to the cells in our skin and bones. Human culture and language are shaped by it, as are commerce and agriculture. Yet many landmarks, such as those mentioned above, over the years become akin to old friendly guides in the vastness of the earth. 

Our landscapes are so much more than just a backdrop to human life. Far beyond a purely aesthetic tableau, land provides nourishment in every sense of the word. A great solace in times of change and difficulty, it holds within its deepest parts the memories of loved ones. It offers hope through discovery, adventure, and escape, even on familiar terrain. There are paths I've walked countless times in places I call home that still surprise me, depending on the season. Like a well-worn book or familiar song, certain locations find new meaning as we revisit them over the years. We find our bearings by familiar landmarks: that funny old crooked tree stump, the storm-felled tree, or the ancient oak with branches twisted and torn dancing across the skyline. We know these details so intimately, making it crucial to care for our ancient trees.

Amid the infinite dynamism of a natural world always in flux, ancient trees stand proud, firmly rooted, providing shelter to countless living creatures, down to the tiniest microorganisms nursed within their leaves, roots, branches and bark. The loss of a tree impacts more lives than we can imagine - they have countless nooks and crannies where things live. Even the deadwood amassed on the crown of an older tree can become home to what is known as a ‘cuckoo tree’ – a younger sapling that has seeded itself and grown on another ‘host’ tree.

As they age and go through senescence, ancient trees take on a distinctively stout, bare appearance as they self-prune and shed many of their branches. This process, known as 'retrenchment', is a clever mechanism that allows them to survive for longer by focusing their energy on the most essential physiological processes. Trees can sometimes survive for decades, even centuries, in this state. The sweet chestnuts lining Church Walk at Sheffield Park exemplify this perfectly. Some of these striking specimens date back to the sixteenth century.

Established trees have other survival strategies, for example 'phoenix' trees that rise again after falling. Persisting even when bent at a ninety-degree angle, they continue to draw energy from any remaining roots and make for the light above, creating startling shapes in our forests and gardens. Some tree specimens can also grow new shoots from broken branches buried in leaf litter, deadwood, and moss.

Cycling back to the giant redwood at Sheffield Park, its future remains uncertain because it is hard to know exactly how such a tree will respond to a significant shock. There are noticeable changes in the colour of the bark and in the response of surrounding trees that are now exposed to altered light levels, but a lot is unknown. The threat of losing such a specimen is certainly a poignant reminder of our duty to preserve the natural world, but is also a testament to the determination our trees have to survive. There is speculation that new shoots may even regrow from the remaining stump of the sycamore in Northumberland. 

One thing is certain: our trees uniquely remind us that we too can weather life's storms and continue pushing toward the light. They mirror how we may nurse younger generations, welcoming them into our homes and hearts. They teach us about the necessity to let go of what no longer serves us in order to channel energy towards what is essential against nature's odds. In doing so, our cherished ancient trees act as landmarks not only in the landscape but in our lives too.

30 April 2024

By Gardener Liv

April continues to unfold, hurtling its way towards May. Along the edges of sparkling ponds, the fronds of a Royal Fern unfurl one by one in silvery green elegance. Choppy waters cradle emerging water hawthorn, flowering rows of little white teeth. Bright bluebells spread across the grass, nurtured by dewy mornings, encouraged by the sun. Everywhere leaves hatch from buds still crumpled, like the wings of a butterfly fresh out of a cocoon - painful work, a necessary process. Busy bumble bees hum, shaken from a winter slumber, their earthy homes stirred by root and shoot activity. Though Easter is over, many treasures await in a garden and in the wild. The perfect green of a new tree is one of them.

The vibrant green of spring leaves stands as a sure sign of the season’s arrival. From lime green, to sage, to silver or chartreuse, the spectrum of spring leaf colour dazzles with its wondrous variety. Against the backdrop of still bare branches and tree trunks, these vibrant greens create a striking contrast, often accentuating tones of red, blue and even violet in the wood. These amazing greens are due to chemical processes in the leaves that mirror those occurring in autumn - these two seasons are in a way, cousins. Lower levels of chlorophyll in spring cause the light green of young leaves, which deepen in colour as the year progresses. 

Nowhere is the contrast between new growth and old more striking than in the foliage of evergreen conifer trees. It is fascinating to witness the way these trees steadily undergo each cycle of renewal while retaining their ageing foliage, at once embodying the wisdom of an old soul and the vigour of young growth. In spring, conifers reveal an incredible array of colours in the new leaves and in the young female cones, which is their version of a flower. Spruce cones, in particular, have wonderful patterns and colours that can flourish into the summer months.

Spruces (Picea) are members of the Pine family (Pinaceae), which comprises eleven different familiar species, including Larches (Larix), Cedars (Cedrus), Pines (Pinus) and True Fir (Abies). These all sit in a larger family of trees called Conifers, which simply means 'cone bearing' in Latin. Similarly to the wonderful Magnolia trees mentioned in a previous blog entry, Conifers belong to an ancient lineage of plants closely intertwined with Gingkos and Palms. They fall under the botanical category of gymnosperms, a term derived from Greek meaning ‘naked seed’. In essence, gymnosperm plants bear their seeds on exposed surfaces, such as leaves or, in the case of conifer trees, the scales of their cones, rather than encased within the fruit. The female cones of conifers serve a role akin to flowers, acting as receptacles for pollen. As the cones mature and dry, their scales unfurl, releasing the precious seeds to the ground.

Many coniferous trees have been introduced into the UK from other parts of the world for their invaluable contribution to commercial forestry, spruces being one of them. These are hardworking trees and tough ones. Thriving in the unforgiving landscapes of boreal forests, Earth's northernmost realms stretching from Alaska and Canada to northern Europe and Russia, they endure the harshest of conditions. These conifers are the elders of the forest's realm. One such venerable tree, known as 'Old Tijkko', resides in Sweden. This Norway spruce (Picea abies) boasts roots reaching back an astonishing 9550 years, with a trunk weathered by time, spanning over 600 years in age.

Among the thirty-three diverse species of spruce, none are indigenous to Britain. However, two have firmly rooted themselves in our soil since their introduction: the Sitka spruce (Picea sitchensis) and the Norway spruce (Picea abies). Both flourish at Sheffield Park, where a magnificent Picea abies 'Aurea' graces the path between Nyssa Grove and Birch Grove. In spring, its foliage is a shower of bright green tassels, dripping down from every branch. Another lovely spruce, nestled near the Cricket Pitch on the northwest side behind Queen’s Walk, catches the eye with its striking plum-coloured cones. Against the backdrop of modest green foliage, these cones appear almost unreal, contrasting the blue sky above. This remarkable specimen is a Picea wilsonii.

Numerous spruces also have delicate female cones that resemble little strawberries. One such species is Picea breweriana, aptly named Brewer’s weeping spruce for its graceful cascade of foliage. Each strand is garnished with cones showcasing delicate hues ranging from pink to bronze. A splendid specimen of this weeping conifer stands proudly along South Garden Walk, just before reaching the summer house nestled among the Camellias. Another gorgeous variety of spruce tree lives among our conifer collection, on the opposite side of the lake. Originating from Europe, it goes by the name Picea omorika, with 'omorika' signifying 'spruce tree' in Serbia, its homeland. The visual appearance of Picea omorika is as joyful as its name, with branches that reach skyward in a delightful flick. These are covered with tiny rose-coloured cones contrasting perfectly with the bluish undertones of the foliage.

From the delicate unfurling of fern fronds to the majestic presence of evergreen conifers, each element of our landscape tells its own story of renewal and endurance. While we admire the swift emergence of spring's bright new growth, we can also take a moment to appreciate the enduring grace of evergreen trees. Their steadfast presence serves as a poignant reminder of life's cyclical nature, where resilience meets timelessness in perfect harmony.

1 April

by Gardener Liv

It is always surprising to me how the season of spring has gained such a reputation for being a gentle season. Easter is joyfully celebrated in pastel colours, with vases full of delicate branches festooned with soft feathers or painted eggs, meanwhile the saccharine imagery of rabbits or ducklings decorates shop windows and cafes everywhere. Yet, this time of year is far from tranquil and instead embodies a raw energy that often eludes us.

Think of Stravinsky’s musical piece, Rite of Spring – a memorable theme made famous by its accompaniment to the dinosaur scene in Fantasia – one would hardly describe it as docile. The piece perfectly captures the unpredictable, sometimes even violent, nature of the season, evoking it as a battleground for survival, where animals awaken, hungry, from hibernation, while others fiercely guard their young against menacing predators.

This season is anything but sweet. It is a force to be reckoned with, where life bursts forth into a flurry of activity. In our forests, the air is thick with the pungent scent of wild garlic, a potent herb known for its tonifying properties. Determined to live and thrive, leaves and flowers compete, pushing through earth and wood towards the light and out of their darkness. Still, though, the threat of a frost looms on the horizon.

As humans, we merely grasp the surface of this tumultuous time, only sensing its nuances more keenly in those moments when we are more attuned to our surroundings. Mostly, from our viewpoint as disruptors of nature, we observe from the sidelines, detached from the drama unfolding around us. We may catch a fragment of spring warmth and bask in the sun for a minute or two, delighted by the sight of blossom. Or revel in the sight of a Magnolia in bloom. Out of all the flowering trees, it is the latter that embodies the simultaneous vulnerability and strength of spring more than any other.

Magnolias are the essence of the delicateness of spring. The refined pink tulip shaped flowers of, for example, Magnolia soulangeana, are a common sight in urban areas and parks at this time of the year, as they grow well in most soil types. (There are several nestled in various locations at Sheffield Park and Garden, mostly along Big Tree Walk) Cradled within the petals hides a little cluster of spiky, hedgehog like stamen, which reveal themselves more as the flower passes and loses its petalled mantle. This is a first clue that this flower has a little more resilience than meets the eye.

Magnolias are, simply put, as fascinating as they are beautiful, Magnoliaceae being one of the oldest tree families in existence. They evolved on Earth earlier than bees, coexisting instead with the dinosaurs as far back as 95 million years ago during the Cretaceous period, so it is in fact beetles that pollinate the flowers. Because of this, the Magnolia’s carpels – the female reproductive part of a flower – are tougher than most flowers as they must withstand the damage caused by a beetle’s mandibles while it retrieves pollen.

The natural habitat of Magnolias ranges from North and Central America, and Asia, specifically in China, Japan, and Korea. The difference in blooming times between American species of Magnolia – of which there are eight in total – and the Asian ones, reflects the climates they habitually thrive in. Most American species – such as Magnolia grandiflora  - bloom later once the leaves have been produced and frosts have passed. Meanwhile, most Asian species bloom earlier, on bare branches, untethered by any competition with burgeoning leaves. These wonderfully paired back varieties are depicted in many Asian paintings and art, for example by Katsushika Hokusai or Kubo Shunman, and, as with Camellias, are part of a rich cultural web, spanning myth, science and art.

Other than their claim to fame as one of the oldest trees, Magnolias have been getting a bit of press lately for other reasons. One is their edibility - some species are favoured among modern foragers and chefs, falling neatly in line with the current trend for edible flowers. The other is their intolerance to climate change. As early as 2007, a report published by the BGCI (Botanic Gardens Conservation International) and Fauna and Flora International, found that from a total of 245 species worldwide, around 131 wild Magnolias were in danger of extinction – that is almost half of the Magnolia population. As such, many species are classified as being endangered and feature on the IUCN red list of threatened species.

And so, despite their incredible resilience and capacity to have survived on Earth for thousands of years, many species of Magnolia are also extremely vulnerable to sudden environmental changes. The early blooming varieties, programmed to break through their tough furry shells and flower in warmer conditions, often fall prey to unforeseen cold snaps. In the UK, many gardens are witnessing Magnolia trees flowering earlier, resulting in blooms being damaged by cold before reaching full maturity. However, later flowering varieties, like the grandiflora, show greater resistance to drought, offering a bit of hope amidst changing climates.  

Such is the character of a Magnolia, embodying strength, and frailty, at once, yet this duality takes nothing away from the magnificence of this ancient species of tree. And isn’t the real beauty of nature found, precisely, in such imperfections and contradictions? Or perhaps, at least, in our acceptance and our appreciation of them, for reminding us that change is an inevitable part of life's creative force. 

That is, after all, what the season of spring is really about.
 

12 March

by Gardener Liv

At last March has arrived, bringing with it a tangible sense of hope. February, despite being the shortest month, more often feels like the longest. This past February has also been one of the wettest seen in years, with levels of rainfall shattering records nationwide. In the southeast alone, rain levels surged by an astonishing 64% compared to the long-term average logged between 1961 and 1990. Every week, our news feeds have been inundated with images of flooded roads, fields, and streets. And while this winter has been wetter, it has also been notably milder, with frosty mornings becoming a rarity. Instead, the sky has unleashed multiple storms, even occasionally spat hail, onto the earth below— perhaps, I dare say, in a show of discontent about the way humans are currently handling the environmental issues of our planet.

At Sheffield Park and Garden, the sight of branches strewn across lawns and paths has become commonplace. The gentle autumn breeze only lightly stripped trees of their fading leaves, while harsh winter winds have arrived to clear away any remnants, clutching at leftovers and tearing down any weaker branches. During such heavy showers, Flint Road and Big Tree Walk quickly morph into earth-colored streams of rainwater trickling slowly around stony edges. Bright buds resembling roses float magically in puddles, their colours dancing under the shadow of a stormy sky above. One glance upward reveals the owner of these buds is none other than an elegant Camellia shrub, also sometimes aptly named the ‘rose of winter’.

Since their introduction to Europe in the 18th century, Camellias have been cherished in British gardens and parks for adding colour during the duller months, with many varieties flowering in winter or early spring. Initially deemed tender plants and confined to hothouses, it was later discovered that Camellias are quite hardy, requiring protection only from hard frosts and snow, which can damage buds and flowers. Aside from disliking subzero temperatures, Camellias also struggle with prolonged summer droughts and high winds like those we've recently experienced, making a sheltered spot in the garden preferable.

Native to Asia, Camellias' natural distribution extends from Japan in the northeast to Indonesia in the southwest. Like many of our garden belles, the history of how this evergreen shrub arrived in Great Britain and began to be cultivated is closely intertwined with imperialism and the expansion of British influence across Asia from the late 17th century onward. Specifically, the presence of Camellias in our gardens is linked to the historical production, exportation, and consumption of what is now considered a quintessentially British beverage: black tea. An everyday commodity most of us take for granted, tea comes from the leaves of Camellia sinensis, which has been enjoyed as an infusion in China for thousands of years—all the way back to 200 BC—before reaching our shores.

Today, Britons consume a staggering 100 million cups of tea daily, and the UK remains the largest importer of this culinary commodity globally. While Camellia sinensis is still grown extensively in China, most of our tea now comes from Kenya and India, where concerns about the effects of climate change on crop cultivation, including tea plants, are mounting. Extreme temperatures or erratic weather patterns, such as those we've been experiencing in the UK, pose a threat to drought intolerant species like Camellia sinensis, grown in large quantities for trade, prompting considerable efforts from plant scientists into developing more resilient plants.

The effects of our unpredictable weather are naturally visible in our national plant collections as well, including Sheffield Park and Garden, where we care for a large collection of purely ornamental Camellia species. The early flowering of trees, such as Camellias and Magnolias, may have become somewhat of a norm, but the ripple effects are considerable. Irregular blooming times have consequences for insects, birds, and other fauna that rely on certain plants for nourishment or shelter. Nevertheless, this doesn’t detract from appreciating the winter beauty of these flowering trees, exemplified by the wondrous Camellia japonica Contessa Lavinia, of which there is a wonderful example along Queen's Walk that admirers often liken to a strawberry swirl because of its white and pink striped petals.

Perhaps, considering its history, the Camellia, in all its delicate beauty, may inspire reflection on past and present patterns of global trade, the movement of people and goods across the world, culminating in the current impact of this trend on climate change. As an issue that concerns everyone, there remains hope, I believe, that it will bring humans from across the world together in unexpected ways to forge a new and bold path toward a more sustainable future.

22 February

by Gardener Liv

With the Spring Equinox just a month or so away, and the days lengthening once more, it feels like we're hurtling towards spring. Across Sheffield Park and Garden, the silvery green leaves of daffodils confidently adorn the lawn, while a pheasant treads cautiously among the still dormant giant rhubarb leaves, scurrying away across a puddle and disturbing its crisp reflection of a blue sky. Along Church Walk, soft clumps of lichen hang from the bare branches of an old Larch tree, like jade-colored clouds suspended in the air.

Call it fool’s spring or wishful thinking, but on the warmer days of February, it’s hard not to feel a sense of excitement for the blooms soon to burst into life. A Magnolia tree in bud, for instance, with its bold petals still cocooned in mossy sheaths, for me always signals the season’s arrival, when I spot it in a garden or park.

Sheffield Park and Garden, of course, boasts many flowering trees, including several Magnolias lining Grass Walk – the late spring flowering Magnolia Grandiflora, being one of them, and currently adorned with its velvety seed pods. But beyond the Grandiflora, there is another resident of the arboretum, which rivals any Camellia or Magnolia tree: I'm referring to the Pinus Montezuma, with its striking mass of frothy, blue-green foliage, at once robust and delicate.

As a young tree, the Montezuma starts with a rather unremarkable conic shape, but with age, it develops its distinctive cloud-like crown. This regal conifer is allegedly named after the Emperor Moctezuma, evoking his feather headdress, due to the fan-like arrangement of the needles and its fluffy texture.

Native to Mexico and Guatemala, where it is known as Ocote, the Montezuma pine’s resin is highly flammable. For this reason, it is common in Mexico to use Ocote wood as a torch or fire starter, so timber is harvested on a large scale both in the wild and in cultivation. When burned, it emits a strong aroma and black smoke and has been used for hundreds of years in local ceremonies or rituals.. It is also used in traditional medicine.

While not threatened, Montezuma pines are rare in the UK, due to their size – they simply need a very large space to accommodate them! A Montezuma pine can grow up to about 35 m high and 80 cm in diameter. Our specimen at Sheffield Park – one of our Champion trees – stands over 18m tall and is recorded as one of the widest in the UK, along with two other specimens located in Devon and Dorset.

To reach our Montezuma pine, follow South Garden Walk along First Lake, then turn left up Grass Walk towards Flint Path. Visitors will notice that garden hoops are placed around the area. This is to protect the roots of this magnificent tree from too much compaction and preserve it better for future visitors to admire.

7 February

By Gardener Liv

February is upon us, bringing an unmistakeable sense of optimism as the first signs of new growth tentatively emerge from the ground, announcing the nearing of spring.

Delicate snowdrops seem to appear beneath trees out of nowhere, while the brightly coloured buds of winter flowering Camelias bloom early amongst the evergreens. Rows of trees dance, their leaves lacking, but laden instead with birds chattering busily amongst the branches.

The days are often wet and grey, but on a still morning, the air carries the peppery smell of decaying leaves, moss, and damp earth. At home, the sound of drizzle showering the windowpanes accompanies the tangy scent of homemade marmalade boiling on a stove.

Engaging our senses is crucial for our overall wellbeing because we are highly sentient creatures. Green spaces – gardens, parks, or wild areas – are vital for escaping the clutter and worry of everyday life and returning to the essence of what it means to walk and breathe on this earth. It is no surprise then that the practice of Forest bathing, for instance, has gained popularity in recent years for its ability to restore physical and psychological health by engaging the five senses through exposure to a forest environment.

While vision is often the most relied upon sense for perceiving the world around us, there is so much to discover beyond the visual. Recent research, for instance, has demonstrated how scents can more readily trigger specific memories, because of the way emotions and odour connect in the brain’s anatomy. Many plants have incredible scents, but none is more distinctive than the smell of a conifer tree.

Though conifers aren’t perhaps the most glamorous of trees – in truth, we often get a little tired of them once Christmas is over and other more colourful plants begin to flourish - they are a fantastic example of the incredible scents encountered when out walking in a forest or arboretum, in both winter and warmer months. Have you ever walked through a forest of pine trees on a balmy day and noticed a sweet, almost raspberry like scent? That is the smell of pine resin. In colder months, conifers emit a sharper, more citrussy odour that is uniquely refreshing and can instantly impact our wellbeing.

This smell results from various chemicals in the plants, with the main one being pinene, part of a larger family of organic compounds known as terpenes. These compounds, commonly produced by plants, are responsible for the blue haze sometimes visible over pine covered mountains, caused by aerosols that the terpenes form in the atmosphere, which scatter the sunlight. Though the most abundant, pinene is not the only terpene amongst the volatile compounds given off by conifer trees. There are also other minor constituents, such as one called limonene, also present in the peel of citrus fruits.

In the grounds at Sheffield Park and Garden, numerous conifer trees possess incredible scents, including Abies Grandis, the Grand Fir. The leaves release a strong smell reminiscent of grapefruit or, to some noses, marmalade.

Native to the lowland coastal areas of the Pacific Northwest and the northern Rocky Mountains, Abies Grandis was first introduced in Britain in the 19th century. In its native habitat, it can reach up to one hundred meters in height and is mostly grown for timber. It plays an important role in forest diversification in Britain, because of its being a fast-growing species overall resilient to drought.

There are a couple of Abies Grandis in the grounds of Sheffield Park and Garden, the easiest one to access grows to the left of Grass Walk, on the way up from South Garden Walk towards Flint Road. On the way there, why not take a moment or two to pause and become curious about other scents encountered around the arboretum.

Whether in the warmth of our own homes or the serenity of a forest, our diverse sensory experiences offer more than mere enjoyment—they provide a means to reconnect with ourselves and sense our surroundings in a deeper, more enriching way.

For additional information on where to experience Forest bathing, there is a helpful guide on the National Trust website that conveniently lists various locations across the UK – many are free to visit - where visitors can engage in this beneficial practice

29 January

By Gardener Liv

On cold days like those we've witnessed in recent weeks, there's nothing more heartening than working outdoors and hearing the familiar call of a Robin perched in a nearby tree. As smoky frost glides silently across the lakes in lazy clouds of ice, and our rhododendrons don a glittering layer on their leaves, shivering sunlight pours through bare branches and across the crunchy grass of a meadow.

One challenging aspect of climate change is the potential loss of some of our beloved fauna and flora due to the drastic changes in weather conditions we increasingly experience. The gradual disappearance of certain animal or plant species, driven by factors such as loss of habitat, food sources, and other environmental incompatibilities, not only disrupts the delicate balance of our ecosystems but also affects living organisms, big or small, that rely on these resources for survival.

Beyond the ecological repercussions, there's an emotional dimension to climate change as well, exemplified by the simple joy of hearing the sound of a familiar bird on a cold, silent morning. We derive meaning from our surroundings and, since the dawn of humanity, have shaped our identities, even some of our beliefs, through our interactions with the outside world. Nature, in its myriad forms, is a source of comfort and connection. Caring for the environment transcends self-interest; it is an essential responsibility. What would we be without the diverse array of flora, fauna, and landscapes that surround us? How can we correctly interpret seasonal weather patterns if they no longer have any consistency

The impact of climate change on Sheffield Park and Garden’s tree collection varies from one species to another and reflects a broader challenge faced by scientists worldwide: how do we predict the ways individual plants may respond and adapt to environmental changes in the future? Many uncertainties in this area are still being unravelled. Our native Silver Birch, Betula pendula, exemplifies this. Despite being sensitive to drought in arid regions and therefore vulnerable to climate change, birches are still frequently used to restore forests, as their seed propagation is incredibly efficient. Birches are known as ‘pioneer’ species, due to their high capacity for establishing new woodlands, for example, after forest fires. Referred to as ‘nurse trees,’ they also provide shelter for slower-growing species like Oaks, which benefit from the presence of the deep root systems of the birch that help condition the soil.

Like the Robin, the Silver Birch is a familiar sight in our forests throughout the UK, with its distinctive white bark, black markings, and wispy branches. The Celts, keenly connected to nature, saw the Birch tree as a symbol of purification and renewal, and even today, it is still used to craft brooms or embellish wreaths. Sheffield Park boasts a variety of Birch species growing around the grounds, adding their unique charm to the landscape. In winter, stripped of all their leaves, many birches showcase an incredible array of unexpected patterns and colours in the bark, for example, Betula Ermanii in Birch Grove. Another species, Betula pendula Youngii, on South Garden Walk, has beautiful hanging branches that trail to the ground. And there is, of course, the Silver Birch, in pride of place near the Main Entrance.

From their graceful branches, unique patterns, and colours to their presence in our cultural heritage, birches contribute in their way to weaving the very fabric of our landscapes and our lives. As we take the time to appreciate the enduring beauty of these trees, we are also reminded of the challenges posed to scientists, gardeners, and nature conservationists alike, who are constantly working to strike a balance between preserving our landscapes for the future, adapting to changing conditions, and anticipating them.

9 January

by Gardener Liv

December has gone by as swiftly as it arrived and we now find ourselves in January. Our heads and hearts are filled with memories of glimmering candlelight and twinkling trees, of sparklers illuminating the night, etching names or shapes across the dark sky on New Year's Eve. As we take our first tentative steps into 2024, many of us look forward to beginning a fresh new year and wonder what it will bring. It is human nature to appreciate novelty, to yearn for change, meanwhile we are still creatures of habit—two seemingly contradictory traits that nevertheless coexist.

In the garden, too, our tastes can be fickle and we so often long for novelty and change, especially with the thought of Spring around the corner. As with anything else, plants are subject to our temporal notions of beauty, fashion, and modernity. Our preferences for Parks and Gardens evolve accordingly. Yet, in our pursuit of the new, a sideways glance sometimes allows us to rediscover what might be seen as commonplace plants, with a fresh perspective.

Enter the Mahonia. For my part, I never paid much attention to this shrub until I saw it arranged as a cut flower. Without any other foliage in the display, it appeared spectacular—a holly-like bush transformed into an elaborate sculpture. Similar to Acanthus, Mahonias are relatively easy to grow and often used as filler in neglected garden areas. You might spot Mahonias in car park borders or along roadsides, but they usually aren’t taking up centre stage. Nonetheless, they possess a unique beauty. From a distance, thick, lanky branches twirl like vines, tiered with sharp, dark leaves forming a collar around the stem. Above the foliage, conical clusters of minuscule lemon-yellow flowers emit a scent reminiscent of Lily of the Valley.

Mahonias are commonly known as the Oregon Grape, which likely refers to the dusty blue grape-like berries appearing later in the year, around autumn, depending on the species. It is native to Northern and Central America, the Himalayas, and Eastern Asia. The plant was first introduced into the UK in the 19th century. Aside from their lovely scent, the delicate clusters of yellow flowers provide an extra source of pollen and nectar for insects in the colder months, so Mahonias are also a wonderful plant to have in a garden for this reason.

Visitors can take a moment to reconsider this unique plant by walking up from the Shant and turning right onto Flint Road, where three tall Mahonias - Mahonia 'Charity' - grace a clearing. Remarkably delicate yet robust, this winter plant may evoke images of an Elizabethan ruff or the tail end of a firework. Either way, the New Year invites us to reassess how we perceive the most ordinary plants in our surroundings and perhaps take the time to consider them in a new light.

20 December

By Gardener Liv

December. Cold temperatures prickle on exposed skin. Thick layers of coats, scarves and jumpers hinder our movements. During endless days of heavy rainfall, our feet drag slowly through the mud, heavy and cumbersome. Winter, by its very nature, compels the world to slow down, forcing even the swiftest of us, to take a step back surrender to one of the fallow periods of the year. We mourn the loss of colour in our plants. We are saddened by the absence of kaleidoscopic blooms, fervent green leaves and the sweet perfume of budding flowers filling the air.

Everything seems to fade back into greys, blacks and browns. Until at last, a day of sunlight comes along, revealing droplets of icy water clinging to mossy branches, glinting in the morning sunlight like tiny aqueous baubles.

As with everything in life, we tend to find what we seek. There is colour in winter, too, along with a kind of detailed beauty. It merely requires us to slow down a little and observe more patiently, at a measured pace. The season almost grants us permission to that within ourselves.  

It is when we adopt this approach that we start to notice and appreciate the unique patterns in the bark of a birch tree once its leaves are gone, the unexpected scarlet tint of a wild rosehip during a woodland stroll or the perfect intricacy of a pink Euonymous berry, with its shiny interior, pithy and orange as a clementine.

The Euonymous – commonly known as a Spindle tree - is a rather understated inhabitant of our forests and gardens. The species native to the UK – Euonymous europeaus – bears fruit in late autumn and winter. From a distance, it may not appear very remarkable. Up close, however, one can revel in the complex shape of its brightly coloured, popcorn shaped berries. The seeds are consumed by frugivorous birds and dispersed in their droppings, but all parts of the plants are poisonous to humans if ingested. Small, indeed, but powerful. It is quite fitting, then, that the Euonymous tree shares its name with one of the children of Gaia, the personification of Earth in Greek mythology. Coincidentally, ‘Euonymous’ also happens to mean ‘good name’ in Greek.

Euonymous is a genus of plants native to Europe, Asia and North America. At Sheffield Park and Garden, we showcase a beautiful example native to Japan and East and Central China – the Euonymous kiautschovicus – nestled just around the corner from point 7 on the visitor’s map, where Woodland Walk curves away from Middle Lake towards Big Tree Walk. This variety of Euonymous has either light pink or white berries, which encase its distinctive bright orange seeds. These fruits may not be as noticeable as the bright pink ones of the Euonymous europeaus, but it is worth pausing for a moment or two to admire the graceful droplet like berries hanging off this tree.

Slowing down is all it takes to foster more connection with our surroundings. Even in the quiet of winter, nature is full of gifts. All we need to do is open our senses to discover the treasures hidden amongst our landscapes and gardens, silently awaiting our appreciation.

23 November

by Gardener Liv

We are now more than half way through November and a month away from the Winter Solstice - the shortest day and longest night of the year. In the Northern Hemisphere, the transition from autumn into winter signals the beginning of withdrawal and hibernation. The months leading up to our Solstice have given us time to prepare, slow down and take shelter as grumbling storms rage. Soon, the cold will tighten its clasp on nature and the daylight hours will fold even earlier into the night.

Despite the gloomy clouds that often characterise the month of November, there have been days of reprieve where some truly spectacular autumn colour has been on display. First and foremost in our beloved trees - as illustrated by our incredible collection at Sheffield Park and Garden - but also in our skylines. Indeed, there is nothing more perfect than the sight of amber coloured light spilling across our landscapes at sunset, engulfing every blade of grass and carving out the shadows of oak trees like crisp papercut shapes skimming the horizon. Autumn and winter may be the bearers of darker days, but they certainly deliver as many breathtaking sunsets as the warmer seasons do. 

This characteristic vibrancy of colour during colder seasons, is caused, in part, by the angle of the sun, which varies over the course of the year and determines seasonal variations. In summer, the sun hits the earth from a higher angle. As we get closer to our Winter Solstice, however, the sun rises and sets at a shallower angle. This means that the light from the sun has further distance to travel before it reaches us, which influences our perception of its overall colour. In a nutshell, what we observe are the colours with the longest wavelengths in the light spectrum—specifically reds and oranges. On the other hand, colours with shorter wavelengths, such as blues, yellows, and greens, are scattered and deflected by particles in the atmosphere before reaching our eyes.

Of course, the phenomenon of red skies occurs all year round - shepherds can be delighted and warned in spring and summer, too. However, there is another factor that contributes to intensifying the vividness of sunset colours in the colder months — the humidity levels. In late autumn or winter, when the air is cold and holds less moisture, especially after storms and rainfall, clear days provide ideal conditions for a radiant display of red and orange hues in the sky. Furthermore, because of the way the sun is angled, the length of a sunset is stretched, which means we can enjoy them for a longer amount of time, too.

There is no better place to admire the beautiful seasonal sunlight than on a clear day across the Parkland at Sheffield Park and Garden. It is the perfect end to a visit to the gardens, where there are still a few splashes of autumn colour left to be enjoyed.

11 November

by Gardener Liv

As the last embers from bonfire night rest on the ground in grey puddles of ash, November rain and wind increasingly pepper our gardens with leaves. While some trees have lost a good part of their foliage, autumn isn’t over just yet. Shades of orange, amber and deep red continue to warm the landscape at Sheffield Park and Garden.

Luminous yellow gingko leaves brush against bark darkened by rain, while many of our maples, such as the Acer palmatum 'Suminagashi', are still clothed in their distinctive red mantle, contrasting beautifully with the lichen covered branches of some of the older trees in our collection. Near Cascade Bridge, the tips of Cornus alba spring from the ground, creating their own firework like display of burgundy clusters.

With the colour orange in mind, I’d like to focus my attention this week on a particular tree that regularly captures the attention of passers-by, due to its surprising colour: the dawn redwood, Metasequoia glyptostroboides. There’s no need for extensive searching to find this tree; it is unmissable, standing proudly along first lake, its reflection a copper coloured mass contrasting blue skies on sunnier days.

The foliage of the dawn redwood is a distinctive feature that sets this species of sequoia apart from others. Not only is it of a remarkable colour, but unlike its relatives - the giant sequoia, Sequoiadendron giganteum, and the coast redwood, Sequoia sempervivens - the dawn redwood is also deciduous. This means that rather than remaining evergreen, it sheds its leaves in the autumn and welcomes new shoots in spring. It is also smaller than the other two redwood and, until its rediscovery by a forester in China in 1944, was thought to be extinct. Until that point, the dawn redwood was only known from fossil evidence dating back 100 million years, hence its being described as a “living fossil” among horticulturists.

To see the dawn redwood before it sheds all its leaves for the winter, visitors should turn left from Main Entrance around a curved path that leads downward towards Ten Foot Pond. The path joins South Garden Walk, past a big patch of giant rhubarb (Gunnera tinctora) and a large blue cedar (Cedrus atlantica glauca) both on the right-hand side near the water edge. The area around the dawn redwood is decorated with large quantities of its delicate copper needles that have already collected on the floor.

6 November 2023

by Gardener Liv

November has arrived, swept in by strong winds that toss and turn our trees and hasten the transformational process of Fall. For those of us living in the Northern Hemisphere, we now find ourselves in the last segment of our journey through this colourful season. November brings with it a marked sense of retreat. The clocks go back and we too, sense a distinctive need to slow down, while nature continues to unravel itself and crawl into hibernation.

While the Autumn hues continue to burn brightly, the heavier rainfall and wind has begun to tear larger quantities of leaves from their branches. The fallen foliage of Nyssas, birches and maples, collects in colourful clusters around the waterlilies in our ponds, undulating on the wind rippled surfaces of the water. Thick carpets of feathery leaves weave their way over the grass, each one adorned with unique details resembling the plumage of a pretty bird.

This brings me to one of our much cherished trees at Sheffield Park and Garden - the Parrotia persica, also known as the Persian Ironwood. Clothed in fairly unremarkable green foliage in spring and summer, it is in autumn that Parrotia comes into its own, as the leaves burst into an ornate sequence of reds, oranges and yellows, each motif as unique as the feathers of a bird. The name ‘Parrotia’, however, does not actually come from the word ‘parrot’, but from the name of a German Naturalist, Friedrich Parrot, who was the first European to reach the summit of Mount Ararat, in eastern Turkey.

The Parrotia persica itself originates from the forests south of the Caspian Sea, specifically from the region of the Alborz mountains in Iran and Azerbaijan. Though it is not currently endangered, there are concerns around the conservation of the tree, due to the deforestation and industry that encroach onto its habitat. It is also a member of the Hamamelidaceae family, the witch hazel, of which visitors will find several other examples at Sheffield Park and Garden. 

To catch a glimpse of a Parrotia (before it spreads its wings and flies away!) visitors can head to the Coach House Café, where they will find a stunning example growing in the yard. Other locations to spot the tree include half way down Church Walk and on the right hand side when walking from 1st Bridge to 2nd Bridge. 

27 October

By Gardener Liv

It is always intriguing how, while the sun sets earlier each day and the darkness creeps in, nature simultaneously puts on its most fiery display, as if to offer warmth amid cooling temperatures. The transformation of leaves changing colour is, of course, all down to science (see previous blog post on October 14) and how our eyes perceive colour. Nevertheless, I prefer to think of nature as a clever storyteller, mirroring our own lives and the changes we experience as winter approaches.
 

The brilliance of golden and yellow colours in the trees, illuminating our forests and gardens from dawn to dusk, is particularly captivating for this reason. Even on the rainiest of autumn days, like those we have witnessed over the past week, these bold golden and yellow shades serve as a torch on the darker, gloomier days.

It was on one of these soggy autumn afternoons that a rather beautiful species of birch tree, ablaze with yellow leaves the colour of the sun, caught my attention. Commonly known as the Virginia round-leaf birch, Betula uber is a rare species of birch and an endangered species of tree in North America. Though it is not located in a particularly obvious location in Sheffield Park and Garden – slightly away from the main path – it is unmissable, framed by the deep purple leaves of an Acer palmatum of the Amoenum group, surrounded by a carpet of golden leaves.

To get this remarkable tree from the main entrance, it is a short walk down Aucklandii Way, then a right turn onto Coke Road. The Betula uber is on the left hand bank of Coke Road, amongst our collection of conifer trees. On the way there, visitors will also catch sight of another golden splendour: the Carya cordiformis, or bitternut hickory tree, just opposite main entrance.

19 October

by Gardener Liv

As October meanders closer to November, we are starting to see more of a nuanced palette of yellows, oranges and reds weaving an intricate canvas of colour throughout the greenery at Sheffield Park and Garden.

Autumn’s hues, often described as a beautiful, almost magical phenomenon, stem from a particular scientific process, which is the degradation of chlorophyll in the leaves of trees. 

Chlorophyll is the chemical in leaves that helps them absorb energy from the sun and create their own food by photosynthesis. It is also what gives them their green colour, which is why when the levels of chlorophyll weaken, we are left with other pigments – yellows, reds, oranges – already in the leaves but masked during the warmer months.

Furthermore, the depth of the colours is influenced by the weather, so if the summer and autumn have been dry, we will see darker, deeper colours, particularly the reds which are due to a higher concentration in sugar (glucose) in the leaves. 

Nowhere is this latter idea more vividly illustrated than with the Cercidiphyllum japonicum, also known as the ‘Candy Floss’ tree, of which there is a small group located off Conifer Walk, near the intersection with Concrete Path and Nyssa Grove. Passers by may notice in this area a faint smell of burnt sugar or toffee apples as they walk by. This is particularly heightened on a damp day, or by picking up a handful of brown leaves from the floor and crunching them in one hand. The characteristic scent of the ‘Candy Floss’ tree is due to the release of another organic compound via the leaves of the as they begin to turn colour and the sugars in their leaves break down. This compound is called maltol and is also found in larch trees and pine needles.

It takes a short walk down Church Walk from first bridge, via a small grass path on the right across to Conifer Walk, to reach the ‘Candy Floss’ tree.

On the way, visitors will pass several varieties of maples already donning hues of bright and deep reds. Acer palmatum amoenum and Acer palmatum 'Dissectum Ornatum' - with its light feathery leaves now turning golden yellow - are two of my favourites. If it’s a rainy day, why not take a moment to pause in a nearby summer house on Conifer Walk, perhaps with a hot cocoa or a cup of tea in hand.

14 October

By Gardener Liv

Caught in between the end of summer and onset of winter, the autumn is a season that can sometimes carry with it a sense of sadness. Many of us dread the shortening of days, the night that creeps in earlier and earlier in the afternoon. Despite this, it is my favourite time of the year, because one of the remarkable features of the autumn is the change in the light. 

At this time of the year, the sun begins to travel through a lower path in the sky and so the quality of light is softer and has that golden quality to it that we associate with this time of the year.

In the garden, the longer shadows stretch across the paths in pretty patterns, etched from the leaves of the beech and maple trees. 

An early morning walk is the best time to enjoy this special autumn light, so I recommend you come along at 9am for our early openings. One of my favourite spots is Nyssa Grove, which visitors can reach by walking from the main entrance, down Aucklandii Walk and Conifer Walk. 

Nyssas are originally from North America and Sheffield Park and Garden holds the largest collection in the UK. Many were grown from seed by Arthur Soames, who liked them because of their variability in shape and size. The older tree is particularly notable for its appearance – the branches hang down low to the ground, like long graceful arms. It is easy to see why the tree was named ‘Nyssa’ which refers to a Greek water nymph. At this time of the year, there is also something quite magical about the way the light trickles through the leaf canopies of Nyssas. 

Nyssa Grove continues from here along the lake, winding through a grove of birches, then across Cascade Bridge, up towards the Cricket Pitch. Amongst a meadow laced with dewy spiderwebs, this is also a wonderful area to sit and take in the autumn morning and watch the sun making its slow ascent into the sky.
 

8 October 2023

by Assistant Head Gardener Chris

As we head in to early October, we are watching the garden carefully each day to see how autumn is progressing. 

We watch the forecast eagerly and await cold nights with anticipation as they bring the quickest change, by speeding up the process of colour change (more about the science of this in a later blog!)
 
We’ve just experienced the warmest September ever and October is still unseasonably warm, so this is slowing the transformation down but we can finally see the colours starting to emerge, with some early interest across the entire garden, particularly in our maples, nyssa and beech trees.

We are on the cusp of our autumn spectacle, so check back in for weekly updates.