With Helen Dillon, whether you read her books (the latest is called Down to Earth with Helen Dillon) or hear her speak you know right away that she only tells the absolute truth – particularly when she’s talking about her own garden. If you’re not already a fan, Helen Dillon is a gardener and garden writer from Dublin, Ireland (originally from Scotland). She reminded us that Ireland falls along the same latitude as New Foundland and although the climate is much milder, the sun is just as low. She mentioned taking Graham Stuart Thomas around her garden on an “ugly August day”. Thomas she said, was not a fan of strong yellows and it wasn’t until she met Christopher Lloyd that she realized there can be more than one opinion on the matter. Now she knows that “yellow is so luminous. It lights the place up.” But she’s “gone off” dark purple.

Aren’t we all fickle? Over her 70 years as a gardener (how can that be?), Helen has formed plenty of her own decided opinions. And is as unapologetic about changing her mind as we should all be. She has taken out swaths of lawn and replaced “80′s looking” gardens (bit of this, bit of that; one of everything) with a gravel mulch garden full of self-sowers in the front of the house, and a limestone (bluestone) surrounded pool between her famous borders. She planted a grove of birches in her front garden because, says Helen, “I never don’t love birches.” And she has added blues (among other colors) to the red border and reds to the blue border because they were becoming like overworked paintings. She lately wrapped a “smug” cherub sculpture in barbed wire before deciding to remove it altogether. There’s no reason to be overly sentimental about anything in our garden that we don’t still love like we used to.

Her advice on plants was just as much fun. Try arranging teasels after they’re dead – simply cut them down and replant the stalk in a deep hole. – Because why not create an allay of teasel for the winter wind to whisk through? Put sun loving plants like agapanthus, Casablanca lilies, and tall alstromeria – not the squiffy short ones -  in pots (she uses “dustbins” and big black plastic containers with handles) and move them in an out of the garden as they bloom and fade. She may have “gone off” boxwood balls but says that if you want to topiary a holly tree (hers is mushroom shaped) it’s very quick and “you could have a go this afternoon.” She only allows beautiful plants in her garden and considers Sisyrinchium striatum ‘Aunt May’ to be the ultimate of all plants not to grow because most of the time it looks neither alive nor dead. On the other hand, she’s keen on ubiquitous candytuft (Iberis sempervirens) because you only ever need to buy one packet of seeds and after blooming the green seedheads are just as pretty. I’m sold. But then anyone who thinks that the rudest thing to say about a garden is that it looks “manicured” has me at hello.

Have you met Helen Dillon yet in person or through her books and articles? Do you let yourself be as opinionated?

Garden Bloggers Bloom Day (hosted by Carol at May Dreams Gardens) is the best excuse I can think of to show off some of my favorite weirdos. I know my cup of tea isn’t to everyone’s taste. For one thing, I tend to gravitate towards anything with nearly invisible green flowers like crazy-cool petal-less Boltonia ‘Nallie’s Lime Dot’ (below). It comes into bloom-ish in early September and is supposed to be about 4′ tall. Ours grew taller and then probably because it was shaded by our new dawn redwood hedge, flopped right over to hang with an aster. It holds up really well in arrangements so I’ll probably vote to move to a sunnier spot in the cutting garden. I also adore little Nicotiana ‘Delaware Indian Sacred’ (right) obviously because it’s green but also because it seeds itself around and is in bloom in one place or another all season long.

And ’tis the season to love the seedheads. They may look gone-by to some but I prefer the black knobs of rudbeckia sans petals. And aren’t teasel and cardoon at any stage wildly wonderful?

There’s probably nothing weirder than Amaranthus ‘Dreadlocks’ full stop.

And every late-summer/fall I rediscover cuphea. (Who doesn’t?) Suddenly though I’m head-over-heels for a cuphea that probably nobody else here has noticed.  Cuphea ‘Ballistic’ is a tiny little plant with mouse faces that ended up tucked under a whole bunch of other stuff (mostly other cupheas) in the kid’s bed. I vow to put them somewhere front and center next year and took a bunch of cuttings yesterday for insurance.

Speaking of taking cuttings, the speed of the season took us by surprise. (How did it get to be mid-September already?!) We usually start taking cuttings in late August/early September but have only now begun in earnest. If the same thing happened to you and those beautiful cut-able tips that emerge in late summer have since grown and flowered, cut your plants back in a few places to encourage new growth and check again in a couple of weeks.

What’s weird or wonderful in your garden right now? When did you start taking cuttings?

Last week I had the great pleasure of speaking with the author/photographer of some of my all-time favorite garden books. Ken Druse, who wrote Planthropology and Making More Plants among about a bazillion others, called – while a raging river ran through his garden – to quiz me about Blithwold’s Rose Garden and he recorded our conversation for his podcast, Real Dirt. Those who know me, know that I am a reluctant (read terrified) public speaker: when I have something to say, I’d rather write it down. But Ken, who is effortlessly articulate in print and voice, put me at ease and our few minutes were up before I even knew it. I only wish I had said…

Most of you are already familiar with our Rose Garden, so feel free to pass by the rest of this post. But for anyone who might be visiting for the first time via Real Dirt, allow me to fill in some of my gaffs gaps.

Ken intended to ask about how we prepare the Rose Garden for winter and in case he calls back to get the scoop, I’ll hold off on those details for now. We got instantly sidetracked (my doing) by compost instead. The Rose Garden was compacted from years of tromping through it to deadhead and rake leaves so we turned about 3″ of compost in to the soil, which improved the drainage immensely. I also want to say that while I’m perversely pleased that I never mentioned the word “sustainable” I feel I should do so here. Roses, unless you plant your neighborhood’s natives, are inherently difficult. They are heavy feeders, need tons of water, and a lot of gardeners have gotten hooked on spraying regimes to keep them fungus and pest-free. By filling in the garden’s gaps with bulbs, annuals, perennials and shrubs, and refusing to spray, we not only encourage beneficial wildlife but the garden stays colorful even when the roses start to look terrible. Which incidentally, to bring it back around, they haven’t – ever since we amended the soil and installed irrigation. I like to say that our Rose Garden is as-sustainable-as-possible-under-the-circumstances.

I also didn’t mention “Knock-Out” roses among my list of favorites because they’re not on it (though we do have a few in and out of that garden.) To give them their due, Knock-Outs are tough-as-nails and need very little in the way of babying but they lack the grace and charm of the roses that are on my list. I mentioned Rosa ‘Champlain’ but forgot to say that I really love how its deep-green foliage turns burgundy/bronze towards winter. I tried again to take a picture of Rosa ‘Hot Cocoa’ and the color simply defies my lens. It is redder here (and maybe because of the cooler nights lately) than the coppery-brown it can be. And I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but little Rosa chinensis ‘Viridiflora’ is blooming its heart out right now. But then, I’ll take weird over knock-out any day.

I want to thank Ken again for his kindness to me and for speaking so generously about Blithewold – especially while his own garden was being savagely ravaged by both Irene and Lee. (I’d have been too distracted for any words at all…) And thank you for listening/reading. Have you filled the gaps between your roses too?