Balcony Stalwarts

Visit the balcony in the late summer and you'll always find a number of Rosy Periwinkles blooming away. They're invaluable. When other plants start succumbing to pests or diseases and dying off, leaving ugly gaps in the containers, I pop in a periwinkle. I nearly always have a few of the white varieties on hand for emergencies - that way they can go into any pot, regardless of the colour scheme without looking too out of place. Totally resistant to pests and diseases themselves, it doesn't matter if there are still spores or eggs left over in the soil - they won't be affected.

This year though I decided they deserved to be included in their own right, and I planted a container on my office balcony, just outside the window, using a pink variety mixed in with some white Impatiens. I'm not a great pink lover, and I'm still not sure if I like it. It's pretty - but too pretty somehow. Chocolate boxey.

The combination has been great in terms of flowering though. They've been blooming non-stop since I put them in. The Impatiens was a risk - I've never had much luck with it before. But it's been fine. Perhaps because this summer has been cooler than usual, or perhaps because the office balcony is in a slightly different position to the balconies at the flat.

Rosy periwinkle is native to Madagascar. It used to be called Vinca rosea, but the name has now been changed to Catharanthus roseus. It's a sun lover, but can also cope with semi-shade. It won't survive the winter though, dying off when temperatures drop below about 5°C. I've tried bringing it indoors, but have never had much luck.

I've also never had much success starting them off from seed. The seeds need temperatures of at least 22°C and a period of total darkness to germinate. I did once try starting them off under the bed, which worked, but there's still the problem that the seedlings take a long time to reach the flowering stage. If you want to grow them as annuals you really need a heated greenhouse, or the summer is over before you see any results. They can also be propagated from cuttings, though I've never tried. A project for next year maybe.

They have no particularly fussy habits, and will grow in a variety of soils and under various conditions. I use all-purpose compost, water generously and feed about once a week with a liquid fertiliser. They seem to do fine.

Plumbago

Plumbago, or Cape Leadwort (Plumbago auriculata). It has to be one of my favourite flowers and there was never any doubt that it would pop up as one of my "Gardener's Bloom Day Flowers of the Month" some time this year. But it nearly didn't make it. Last year plumbago was in full bloom in June here. This year, with the cold wet spring we had it was late. June came and went, but there was no sign. And then in July I started noticing it blooming on other people's balconies.

But not on mine. Only in the last week or so have a few blooms come out, and nothing like the show I'd been expecting. The plant is green and healthy, so I'm putting it down to a change in position. Up to now I've always had it trailing over the balcony rail, whereas this year I decided to train it up the trellis backing on to the house. And I think it's just been in too much shade to bloom properly.

There's a lot of contradictory information about the plant on the web. You'll read it thrives in the heat and the sun. Or that it should be protected from too much direct sunlight. That it can't take temperatures under 7°C. And that it will survive frosts. That it does well in poor soil. That it likes a rich compost. The list goes on.

In my experience it's a tough little plant that will grow under a range of conditions. I don't think there's any doubt that it likes the sun (it's native to South Africa after all). But I find that its also fairly hardy. I cover mine in winter but most of my neighbours don't and it seems to survive, despite the fact that temperatures may be well below zero at times.

I don't give mine any special treatment and, apart from the lack of blooms this year, have never had problems. It's grown in ordinary soil, and fed and watered much the same as any other plant. As the water here is very hard, plants which are really particular about acidic soil just don't make it under normal watering conditions, but I've never had problems on that front.

Another reason I may not be getting many blooms this year is because I didn't prune this spring. Plumbago blooms off the new wood, and can be cut back fairly enthusiastically to encourage new growth and keep it in check. In a garden it can reach three or four feet high, so in a container it needs a bit of restraint.

It's also one of the few plants I have which doesn't seem to suffer from red spider mite - or anything else for that matter. It's poisonous, and for those of you who have the problem, deer will avoid it. (That does come from the net - we don't get many on the balcony.) It does attract butterflies, though as I've never had caterpillar damage i presume it's just for the flowers.

For me, the powder blue colour of my plant is the "classic" plumbago colour, though I've seen some darker blue varieties which were also very striking. Personally, I'm less keen on white.

One last thing - if you're growing it for the first time, don't panic if nothing seems to be happening in spring. It's deciduous and the new leaves come through very late. When everything else is bursting into life it's still there, brown and dead looking. But it isn't. Stick with it.

Four O'Clock Follow Up

On Gardeners Bloom Day last month, I wrote about mirabilis jalapa, the Four O'Clock plant. I said that the plants I'd grown from tubers were blooming, but that all they'd given me were either red or pink flowers - a bit disappointing given that the plant can have a variety of colours, the flowers can be bi-coloured, and that sometimes you'll even get two different colours on the same plant.

But I also had some others coming on which I'd started from seed, and they're now blooming. And lo and behold one of them is producing a mix of yellow and pink flowers, some of them with rather natty stripey sections.

As I was moving them around last week I clumsily broke off a large chunk of one of them. It was full of buds, so I thought I'd stick it in a jar of water to see if the flowers would open anyway. I then forgot about it till yesterday, only to find that within the week it had put out roots. This has to be the easiest plant in the world to propagate ...

You still think I'm exaggerating?

I left them for three days. Just three days. They'd not been doing well. Every time I lifted the leaves hordes of whiteflies would swarm around. They're not a pest that I've ever had before, but then I've never tried growing vegetables either. I didn't want to spray things that I was going to be eating, and found out too late that planting marigolds or nasturtiums with the plants would have helped. But they were bearing up, and I hoped that they might last long enough to give me at least a few courgettes.

And then for three days I couldn't get to my office, where I have my vegetable balcony. The containers are tucked out of sight of the clients. From the office window all you see is some pretty flowers trailing over the balcony railings. but stick your head around the French doors and there they are. Or were.

Just three days. And they hit. Maybe they'd been there before and I'd not noticed, but I went away leaving two relatively healthy looking plants and came back to this.

No, it wasn't just the whitefly, though they clearly weakened the plant. The webbing gives it away.

Red spider mite.

OK, OK we all know I'm obsessed by them. But looking at this, do you really think I'm exaggerating?

Wild Weather

The worst is almost over ... or at least, it should be. July is usually the hottest and stickiest month here in Milan, with combined temperatures and humidity regularly giving a perceived temperature of over 38°C (100°F) - sometimes well over. All day you're clammy and dehydrated, and at night it becomes impossible to sleep. Despite three or four tepid showers a day, you feel devoid of energy and irritable, can't work, can't think and want do do nothing but lie in front of a fan on full blast.

Well, that's me anyway - and most of the plants on the balcony. Some people, like my husband, revel in it. I flake, my plants droop pathetically, and he decides to spring clean the house. No accounting for tastes. Perhaps I should suggest he takes on the dead-heading and the staking and the 101 other jobs that I can't find the energy for.

In comparison with other years though, this July was better than usual. Air temperatures didn't ever go above about 36°(97°F), and the humidity was only a real problem for about ten days. In between hot spells, temperatures dropped to an almost pleasant 30°C (86°C) and the hottest, most humid days usually finished with a storm which brought the nighttime temperatures down.

But what storms. The north of Italy made the national news constantly during July as hailstorms, wind and torrential rain brought down trees and scaffolding, and flooded roads, houses and railway lines. The hail was sometimes as big as small icecubes. It hit the balcony plants hard , particularly those trailing over the balcony rails like the ivy-leaved pelargoniums and surfinia, whose flowers were ripped to pieces. And several times a crash in the night announced that yet another large pot had been blown over by a wind that here is called a tromba d'aria. The literal translation is blast of air, but it's usually translated as a tornado. However, I think a more accurate term is a downburst. It's a wind which arrives suddenly with no warning, and lasts for no more than about ten minutes, but in that time reaches gale-force strengths. We have them regularly and they can do a lot of damage. One arrived last night as we were sitting watching TV (OK, OK I admit it - Brothers and Sisters. In this heat that's about the maximum my intellect can manage) and within thirty seconds half the balcony had blown into the living room through the french doors. Ten minutes later there wasn't a whiff of breeze, but for the next half hour there was a thunderstorm and torrential rain. We found out this morning that the storm had brought down six large trees around the city, injuring two people, and again causing widespread flooding..

Clean shaven caterpillars?

The boys are back. And I was wondering where they'd got to. Whereas by this time of year the caterpillarium is usually fully inhabited, this year I've not even had to think about it. Until last week that is.

Apart from the dreaded geranium bronze butterfly (cacyreus marshalli) we only really get two types of caterpillar on the balcony, which I suspect are cabbage white larvae. One is the one in the photo above. What is it? The colours are right for the large cabbage white, but it lacks the bristles that all the photos on the net seem to show. We do have a lot of white butterflies around, definitely of the Pieridae family, but the marking isn't quite that of the ones that I've seen illustrated. The other type of caterpillar is green with yellow markings, but doesn't seem to have been around this year at all. Again, it would appear to be very similar to the small Cabbage White, but without the bristles.

Butterflies do, however, exhibit regional variations so I suspect my identifications are correct and its just that Italian caterpillars are clean shaven. Italian men don't go much for beards either, so its obviously a cultural factor.

Anyway, I found the lad in the first photo, plus seven of his brothers and sisters, happily chomping away at an antirrhinum plant. Six are visible in the photo above - can you spot them? In comparison with last year's invasion, when they just about decimated the balcony, this lot are no problem. The plant had finished flowering and I can afford to lose it, so I've left them where they are.

The Geranium Bronze butterfly caterpillar is another matter however. These are definitely not clean shaven but short, squat and bristly. And a sort of odd lozenge shape. But by the time you see them it's too late. The young larva starts life by burrowing into the stems and eating the plant from the inside - see the tell-tale hole?

By the time it emerges as a full grown caterpillar the damage is done. The whole stem has been destroyed.

They're native to South Africa but arrived in Europe twenty years ago and are now widespread over southern Europe, while northern Europe is trying desperately to keep them out. The colder climates in the north may help to stop them spreading, but here they're a plague. I haven't got a plant that's not affected this year. There was an article in the paper the other day saying that geranium sales are down dramatically this year. The article was trying to put it down to the economic recession, but rather contradicted itself by saying that petunias and other annuals are holding their own. I wonder if it isn't just that people are changing away from geraniums because they just get too damaged and tatty. The butterflies are pretty little things, but give me the cabbage whites any day.

Explore some more ...

Cacyreus Marshalli, from the UK Department for the Environment, Food, and Rural Affairs

Gardener's Bloom Day : Mirabilis Jalapa

This month's GBD post (a bit late - sorry) focuses on a plant I've grown for the last three years, and which has become a firm favourite - Mirabilis Jalapa. Originally from South America, it's been known in Europe for the last five hundred years. It's a plant which has a thousand and one common names - you probably know it as the Four o'clock plant, but it's also commonly called Beauty of the night or Marvel of Peru amongst other things in English, while the Chinese apparently call it the Rice Boiling Plant or Shower Flower, and in Hong Kong it's Purple Jasmine.

It's a sun loving plant which can't take cold temperatures, and is therefore often grown as an annual. However, although it will die down in the autumn, the tubers can be lifted and stored, much like dahlias, or if it's not too cold just left where they are. This year I grew some plants from last year's tubers and others from seed, starting both off at about the same time. The tubers have come on far faster and are now in flower, while the others are still fairly small. If you do plant from seed, try soaking the seeds for a day or so before you put them in. They germinate far faster.

The plants grow to about 3ft, and don't seem to have any particular requirements as far as soil is concerned, though one site I found suggested they like slightly alkaline conditions. That would explain why they do so well for me, as the water here is very hard, and I have problems with lime-hating plants. They need a lot of water, and wilt immediately if they get dry. However, despite looking very dramatic, they do pick up again well once they've had a good soak.

The plants put out copious quantities of flowers, which can have a wide range of colours and are sometimes variegated. They're set off well by the bright green leaves which are half the attraction of the plant. The flowers are well known for the fact that they don't open till the evening - hence many of their names - but the other intriguing thing about them is that they will often put out different coloured flowers on the same plant. It hasn't happened yet this year, but here's a photo of one I had two years ago.

The flowers only last a day, but are replaced by others immediately. Large seeds then form, at first greeny yellow but maturing to black, again providing an attractive contrast with the foliage.

In a garden the plant will happily self seed, but if you don't want it to it's easy to collect the seeds for storage (if time consuming because of the quantities). If you have small children around, however, beware. The seeds, which look temptingly like little sweets, are poisonous - as are other parts of the plant.

Being poisonous hasn't stopped it having a long history as a medicinal plant however, as it also has antifungal and antiviral properties (don't try this at home). Various chemical compounds extracted from the plant are now used commercially as the basis of products combatting viruses in crops such as corn and potatoes.

This probably explains why they are one of the few plants that I've never seen affected by pests and diseases. While all else is succumbing to the red spider mite or powdery mildew, the Four o'clocks plough on bright and healthy. Which for me guarantees their place on the balcony any year.

Explore some more ....

Raintree Nutrition

Rainyside Gardeners

Bill is no more ..

Bill is no more. He has copped it, kicked the flowerpot. He is, as Monthy Python would have it, an ex-marigold.

Those of you who were following the saga of Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men will know that the deceased was one of the plants taking part in my Crocks or no crocks? experiment. Which of two plants would do best, one in a pot with and the other without drainage material, all other things being equal?

Well, for about five weeks both of them were doing fine, though Ben (no crocks) definitely had the edge. June was cold and rainy, but they seemed to like it and were both increasing in size and blooming. And then July arrived and almost overnight we went from average temperatures of 16°C (61°F)to 35 (95).

We all just flaked - people and plants alike. Only the whitefly and the red spider mite could be heard yelling Yippee! and they moved in with a vengeance. I've spent the last ten days pulling off dying leaves, misting and spraying, but with mixed success.

And the other day I went out to find that both Bill and Ben were affected, and that Bill was succumbing fast. I treated them both, but for poor old Bill it was too late. He went downhill rapidly, and there was nothing I could do but try and keep him comfortable in his last days. Ben is also a bit the worse for wear, but seems to be fighting back valiantly.

So there we have it. No crocks seems to have won. Though Bill started out very slightly larger than Ben and with one bloom on the way, Ben soon took over on all counts : he grew more rapidly, gave more blooms, seemed more resistant to pests, and recovered better from their attacks.

Statistically completely non-significant of course, and who knows if the same would be true with a different shaped or sized pot which drained less easily. But good enough evidence that I will no longer panic when I'm potting up and find I've run out of drainage material.

Guerrilla Gardening in Milan

My favourite example of guerrilla gardening in Milan is along the tram lines just outside the centre of town. In Milan the trams mostly run along the roads -or rather don't, because the Milanese habit of double parking on bends usually means that at a certain point the trams find they can't pass. And if one tram gets stuck, the one behind does too. And the one behind that, and .... So you not infrequently find a little row of ten or so trams patiently waiting for the tow-away truck to turn up and remove the car whose bright spark of an owner decided to park it too close to the tram lines.

However, in the few instances where the roads are wide enough, the trams have their own lane down the middle of the road, with the tracks going in each direction usually divided by some scrubby, weedy grass and the odd tree.

And a few years ago, in one of these areas, some hollyhocks suddenly sprang up. There's no way they could have got there by chance - someone must have planted them intentionally. And every year since, they've multiplied, so that they now spread about 50 yards along the tram lines. Have they just self-seeded or does that same guerrilla gardener go back each year to collect the seeds and plant them again a bit further along? I suspect so, and if s/he goes on, in a few years they'll be stupendous. At that point the tramlines run for about a kilometer before they hit the road again, and a line of hollyhocks extending all the way along would be glorious.

My own hollyhocks on the balcony have done quite well this year, but the colours have been disappointing. They were supposed to be mixed, but the majority came up white, with just a couple of pinky ones and one beautiful deep red variety. The white ones would have been nice if they'd been mixed in with brighter colours, but whole containers of white were a bit boring. Nice for scanner photos though.

So despite my intention to grow them as perennials, I think I'll take most of them out at the end of the year and start again. They're full of seed heads though, and it would be a pity to waste them. Maybe I'll take a walk along the tram lines ....

Am I going colour blind?

One of my investments earlier this year was some Calla lilies (Zantedeschia). I've had one for four or five years now, but although each year it gives me a beautiful display of lush spotted leaves, I've never yet had a flower. It's one of the large varieties and the flower should be white if it ever arrives, but I also like the smaller, coloured ones. So this year I splashed out on a deep, deep red variety and a bright yellow one. And here they are. This is the deep red one .... Don't those colours grab you?

Unfortunately I must be going colour blind, because all I can make out is the very, very slightest red blush around the tips of the petal - it's probably embarassment.

OK, they're still lovely and have been one of the things I've enjoyed most over the last few weeks. But it still drives me mad that descriptions on packets are so often false.

Ah well, I suppose life would be boring if it weren't for the occasional little surprise ....