'Wedding-cake trees' and 'kiss-me-quick' plants . . .Jane Powers identifies some gifts for special occasions that'll really grow on their recipients
A Co Monaghan reader and her long-time partner are getting married next month. She'd like to mark the occasion with a permanent horticultural statement. "Maybe a pair of something," she writes, "or perhaps a feature." Their garden produces plenty of food for the family, but it's a bit wild and woolly, she claims. What's needed, I think, is a monument to their marriage that brings structure as well as beauty to their plot. Yew, for example, can be clipped into strong, architectural shapes: cubes, columns, pyramids, obelisks. And because our nearly-weds live in a round house, such bold geometrical forms would suit the profile of the dwelling, as well as making a dark and sturdy counterpoint to the wildness of the garden.
They could have, say, a pair of his-and-hers yews, tall and cylindrical, and, if they have children, smaller yews nearby, of a different shape, to denote the young folk. Of course, it would be some years before the plants took on their final forms. Yew, incidentally, has many folkloric meanings, and in this case "eternity" is particularly apt.
If their Monaghan soil is too damp for yew, then western red cedar (Thuja plicata 'Atrovirens') could be an alternative. This dark North American conifer withstands close clipping, and the leaves have a pleasant, fruity odour. Arbor vitae, as Thuja is also known, denotes "unchanging friendship" in the Victorian language of flowers.
If yew or Thuja are too sombre (or if the clipping seems too much work), then how about a gathering or two of bright-stemmed birches? Birch, says soon-to-be-married Kate, is one of the native trees of their area, so it could be nice to echo the greater landscape in the garden. Multistemmed birches are tremendously fashionable now, but they command a price. A clever, and cheaper, way of achieving the same effect is to plant three whips (infant trees) together, angled outwards, according to John Cushnie in his excellent book Trees for the Garden.
Birch has year-round interest: catkins in spring, delicate foliage in summer, buttery colours in autumn and light-reflecting bark in winter. It's a superb wildlife tree, supporting many insects, which attract birds in search of protein-rich snacks and food for their young. In Celtic myth it's a magic tree, protecting a house from fairies and acting as a symbol of love. It has other uses, too: according to Caleb Threlkeld in his 1726 flora, Synopsis Stirpium Hibernicarum, its twigs may be made into "Beesoms and Rods, the one for the cleanly Housewife to sweep down the Cobwebs, the other for the magisterial Paedagogue to drive the Colt out of the Man". Indeed.
Planting a tree (or two, or more) to mark an occasion is a fine gesture: the actual planting can be as ceremonial as you like, and, providing that the cows or deer don't eat it, or a football doesn't decapitate it, you'll have a living monument that will last for years.
Most trees have symbolic meanings or associations, so with a little research you can ensure that your green memorial is heavy with significance. In the language of flowers, for instance, our native strawberry tree (Arbutus unedo) indicates "Thee only do I love", while the spindle tree (Euonymus europaeus) says: "Your charms are engraven on my heart." Lime trees mean conjugal love, and ivy is for fidelity and marriage.
In Irish folklore, rowan (Sorbus aucuparia) protects against evil forces and has life-giving powers; oak is for strength, fertility and endurance; the apple is also for fertility; and willow is lucky and health-enhancing. Any of these would make auspicious candidates for a matrimonial tree.
Not so alder, however, for it is an unlucky species. When cut, its wood changes from white to blood red (I can't vouch for this personally), making it a tree of war - perhaps not the most suitable candidate to celebrate the start of a marriage.
Common names may provide inspiration for trees to commemorate the tying of the marital knot. The unwieldily titled Cornus controversa Variegata is also known as the wedding cake tree. It's a variegated dogwood, whose tiered branches, cream-edged leaves and white flowers give it the look of a giant multistorey wedding cake. A slow grower, it's happiest in a fertile, moist soil (and it's cheaper, longer-lasting and less fattening than its namesake confection).
A species with which to catch out your know-all horticultural friends is Cercis siliquastrum. It is well known as the Judas tree, because the disloyal apostle was supposed to have hanged himself from one of the branches (plant lore is full of such grisly facts). But it's also called the love tree. Could it be because of its heart-shaped leaves?
Plant breeders have not been slow to give newly-raised cultivars names that guarantee their desirability as gifts for special occasions. Look up "wedding" on the Royal Horticultural Society's online Plant Finder (www.rhs.org.uk), and you'll find a clatter of plants called 'Wedding Bells' and 'Wedding Day', among them chrysanthemum, clematis, fuchsia, penstemon and rose. And if the marriage is fertile, then 'New Baby' and 'Rockabye Baby' could come in handy. Later on, 'Silver Wedding', 'Pearl Wedding', 'Ruby Wedding' and, finally, 'Golden Wedding' might help to mark its major milestones.
But back to our Monaghan couple. Instead of planting a pair of plants, or a small group, they might consider an entire nuptial bed, where every plant has an association with love or marriage. The species with appropriate mythical connections are legion: crocus, daisy, evening primrose, forget-me-not, honeysuckle, lavender, lily, orchid, peony, rosemary (although in gardens where this thrives, it is said that the woman wears the trousers) and roses, of course.
You can say a lot with plants on a special occasion. Today, as it happens, is my husband's birthday. Sure, I could present him with an iris, pelargonium or rose, all entitled 'Happy Birthday'. But he's not really that pushed about plants. A better present, I'm sure, would be for me to pretend I'm a houseleek on the night when he celebrates with his mates. The plant, Sempervivum tectorum, is known in parts of England as "Welcome-home-husband-however-drunk-you-be".
PLANTS FOR THE NUPTIAL BED
Aconitum napellus (monkshood), aka cupid's cap, Venus's chariot drawn by two doves
Arum maculatum, aka lords and ladies
Aubreita deltoidea, aka blue kisses
Catananche caerula, aka cupid's dart, flower of love
Centranthus ruber (red valerian), aka kiss-me-quick
Cercis silaquastrum, aka love tree
Dierama pulcherrimum, aka wedding bells
Eragrostis curvula, aka African love grass
Euphorbia cyparissias, aka love-in-a-huddle
Filipendula ulmaria, aka bridewort, kiss-me-quick
Hedera helix (ivy), aka love united
Ipomoea quamoclit, aka cupid flower
Leucanthemum vulgare (ox-eye daisy), aka love-me
Monarda didyma (bergamot), aka lad's love
Myosotis scorpioides (forget-me-not), aka love-me
Nigella damascena, aka love-in-a-mist
Saxifraga umbrosa (London pride,
St Patrick's cabbage), aka kiss-me-quick, look-up-and-kiss-me
Sedum acre (stonecrop or wall pepper), aka love and tangle
Trillium erectum, aka true love
Viola tricolor (wild pansy), aka come-and-cuddle-me, cupid's flower, kiss-me-ere-I-rise