Fast changing into winter mode when there is just a leaf or two clinging for dear life on to the bare branches.
​​Like the regular grape vine it does grow rampantly, which means I need to capture and train it along my verandah, keeping it  clipped over summer, as it sends out great long tendrils everywhere! 
Also in winter it has to be pruned mercilessly to keep it contained to the verandah so  it doesn't spread all over the roof of the house which I know it would love to do!
  It is a visual treat rather than an edible treat, as although it does produce bunches of little grape-like fruits, they look so hard and inedible that I have never been tempted to taste one.
Everyone takes it as an edible grape vine throughout summer when it is green, as it certainly can easily be mistaken as that, and  I am often asked if the fruit is sweet? good? 
But when I tell people it doesn't produce edible grapes they begin to look  disinterested, and I can see them wondering why on earth I would bother to grow it? 
​That ever practical Kiwi streak comes out again and again - if you can't eat it or use it in some way - why bother?  They find it difficult to believe that I would want to grow it just for it's beauty and autumn colour??  What use is that??



​​I don't bother to explain that to me, colour and beauty is as important as food or drink!   

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 I don't have to go far to see the branches are already bare reflecting in the cold water of the Avon River. 
There is already a glimmer of orange or pink in that water which means that even though it is just around the corner, the pink sunsets of winter are almost here and in spite of those bare trees, winter is not entirely devoid of colour, despite golden leaves long dropped from the trees.

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G00DBYE  AUTUMN - HELLO WINTER

The sunflower has flopped which means winter is early this year, so I spoke to winter saying "I wish you had waited a little longer before you made your appearance".  Of course it took no notice, because although there is no snow here yet, it has already made an appearance up there on those mountains to the west of us!
YOU CAN FEEL IT
Sometimes we have a balmy May and we wonder if winter might even pass us by - but not this year!   Br-rr-rr.  There are people already skiing on those mountains which we can see so dramatically  from our city on a clear day - snowy white mountains!!

Dying back in such splendour, the Hosta almost looks more stunning than when it's in its green prime.

When this fresh pretty blue plant starts to flower very late in the season, we know it's nearly all over.   Commonly known as Bog Sage, it's unflattering name does not do it justice.  It is a perennial which appears so lushly just when most other perennials are looking tired and dying back.  But it's botanical name Salvia uglinosa does it no favours either.  There is nothing ugly about it, as it's terrible botanical name 'uglinosa' suggests.  

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​Although much more modest than the Red Hot Poker, I was delighted to come across this planting of a variegated ground Ivy with primroses in Cambridge Terrace in a street garden close to the city centre in Christchurch.  Even though any sort of Ivy is often classified as a weed, this variegated version looks O.K. as part of a lively winter combination in July. It shows some imagination amongst our city landscape planners and hope that they are not always p.c.  It doesn't have to be all flaxes and hardy natives in high traffic areas in the middle of our city.  Even the shyest little primrose can be a winner in the most modest of ways    



​Subtlety can prevail!
and maybe the meek will inherit the earth!

It happens every year - that brilliance of the dying season - and every year I think how can this autumnal season pull me in yet again, but  it does.    I seem to need to photograph it - talk about it - write about it sigh about it  - and try to clear those messy leaves up yet again, even when I know they will keep falling 
ad infinitum!
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How could anyone ever think this golden carpet of fallen leaves - messy.   They are a gift!
As are the less spectacular brown leaves!  Although in this picture it's more about mists and atmosphere - the romance of the lone figure in the distance -  walking on into the dark unknown, towards the misty depths of winter.

The intricate twining of the  stems and branches fascinates - even though I know a lot of this twining intricacy will be pruned away during the winter prune and tidy up time.  The trunks will no longer be covered up by softer foliage and will be bare and subject to scrutiny. 
​Once the softness of the foliage of the ornamental grape is gone, it's amazing how noticeable  the forms of the trunks of the pair of native Lancewoods Pseudopanax ferox become.  Planted in front of the climbing ornmental grape, the ridges and lines etched by nature into the trunks of the pair of native Lancewoods become much more apparent as the P. ferox changes from it's juvenile state to it's more mature state.  A long time ago, I planted two of them - one either side the steps leading to my verandah and front door.  And they are both double stemmed from the base of each plant.  Often called the toothed Lancewood, P. ferox is distinguished by it's etched trunks and leathery narrow dark evergreen leaves.   

The shadows are longer and the mists are mistier.  And the red leaves are getting more sparse.  But the sparser they get the more like jewels they become.

The N.Z. native evergreen P. ferox is quite the opposite to the scarlet leafed vine - Vitus amurensis, which clambers through it in my garden.  Commonly called the Ornamental Grape, it is deciduous, with exotic beginnings as it is indigenous to the Amur River - a major waterway which defines the border between North Eastern China and the Russian Far East.

Towards the end of summer choice weeds  start to take over from the choice plants in my garden.   
And I like them just as much if not better than  garden plants because they are so confident!
They just arrive with no fuss - no bother.  I don't have to work out or agonise if I should put it this spot or that, or whether it might fit in better over there?   And I don't have to get out my trowel or spade They just simply plant themselves and take over with no effort - as weeds do! 

The Botanical name for Red Orach is Atriplex hortensis rubra - what a mouthful for a mere weed, otherwise known as Red Garden Orach or Mountain Spinach - and yes it is grown as a popular vegetable in Europe, cooked like spinach when the leaves are young and tender. But it is much more than that in my garden - it is one of my most striking plants!  Forming colourful seed-heads it adds contrast and is so worthy of a place in my summer garden.  It's rich crimson foliage and seedheads are too striking to be classed simply as 'weeds', and it's dark crimson foliage adds such contrast, especially now in late Autumn as it goes to seed!!  But just the mere fact that it is going to seed means it is the end of the season and soon it will dwindle and disappear.  
 So in my garden I have given it the status of 'plant' not 'weed'!

​But is it really all over??  

I don't think so - because look what is appearing in my garden looking as fresh as spring!
It's the autumn flowering Sasanqua Camellia -
'Apple Blossom' 
And the autumn flowering white Nerine - given to me as bulbs so many years ago by a friend, that I can't remember where or when.
Just  a practical note here - it does sulk!
So if you ever acquire Nerine  bulbs,  expect no flowers for a year or 2. 

So which is the gaudiest pink of these 2 roses?
And does it matter?
This cerise pink single flowered climber - 'Nancy Hayward' is always a favourite with it's seven perfect petals clustered around the stamens.
On the other hand if you are into ruffled muddly and multiple double blooms of a very pinkish hue, you might prefer this  sweet smelling David Austin favourite pictured above.  If only I could remember it's name!

 Then later on, during the early 20th Century Souvenir de St. Anne's, was discovered by the head gardener as a sport alongside Souvenir de Malmaison in the garden of St. Anne's, Clontarf in Ireland. ​

-It took three decades of breeding using Rosa persica to produce a rose with a fixed contrasting colour spot at the base of each petal, giving it the appearance of an ‘eye’ reminiscent of poppies and peonies. 
Jack Harkness in the UK began experimenting in 1974 to combine the eye of Rosa persica into modern roses to create a new style of rose. Unfortunately, the “persica” seedlings were weak, prone to disease, but fear not - the rose breeding world persisted and continued to investigate that most exotic of species - Rosa persica and in recent years have come up with the 'Eyes' series.  Looking back to recent additions to the rose repertoire such as  'Eye of the Tiger', 'For Your Eyes Only' and 'Eyes for You', we can see that they have all been bred from Rosa persica.  They take the same simple form consisting of 5 or 7 petals and many such as 'For Your Eyes Only' feature that distinctive coloured blotch at the centre of the bloom. 

​Here, you can see the way 'Temples Favourite' stands up above the grasses and complements them - especially the bronze native grass - 'Carex buchannii'.  And also in a different sort of way with our native Astelia chathamica 'Silver Spear'!  I was lucky enough to see Astelia chathamica growing in the wild in the Chatham Islands when I went there in  February this year.  We were too late to see the Chatham Island Forget-me-not blooming, but we did see plenty of natives, around the islands, some of them similar to the native flora you would find in New Zealand, but the fascinating thing was that they were often larger versions of the same species i.e. Kowhai which the islanders told us is spectacular when flowering. Sadly we were too late to see those flowering as well, but the other fascinating botanical treat were the groves of the Chatham Island Nikau Palm with their bright clusters of red fruits hanging just below the fronds of palm foliage.  This trip to the Chatham Islands was a general trip which I enjoyed, but if there was ever a botanical trip to the Chathams offered, I would be there like a shot! 

Even though you can buy many beautiful named Hellebores these days, I am just as happy with the simplicity of a pure white old-fashioned Hellebore!  Or mixed unnamed varieties, clustered around a pot in a damp and shady spot.

 The above Camellia, although ornamental is actually un-named.  I acquired it from a modest little roadside plant stall where I found it as a tiny unnamed seedling!!   It has now grown into a largeish shrub effortlessly producing  little single pink  flowers edged with white ​from early June through to September.  Although it's flowers look so delicate, it is actually a tough old thing!
It blends happily with tree-ferns and is the mainstay of my side garden through winter and early spring. ​

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Pure Dr. Zhivago isn't it?   Yuri might come galloping through those white birches at any minute in his eagerness to see Lara. 
Would the pure clean whiteness of northern winters lift our spirits more than this dreary greyness!  I think it might, because despite the inconveniences and difficulties of day to day life with snow, people say that they are 'geared to it' in northern countries - And know how to manage it.  Something I don't think we have ever accomplished here in NZ. ​ Probably because we have not really needed to.
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​​In between these bare branches, lime green Helleborus corsica shines  like a soft green light amongst the grey and brown.  And one which almost flaunts it's flowers, unlike the lower growing Helleborus orientalis, which hides it's beautiful little faces so modestly. 
This taller, more robust variety is said to originate on the island of Corsica, where Napoleon was born, so make any wonder it is 'out there'.
​It is also incredibly easy to grow, and could conquer other plants, just like Napoleon. It can seed and pop up in all sorts of places, as in the photo where it's intertwined with the roots of a deciduous shrub.

​Helleborus orientalis is the perfect antidote to those frosted brown flowerheads of Hydrangea macrophylla in winter mode.  You could be forgiven for thinking that the Hydrangea had died and gone to heaven. 
But no - it's just resting for winter, and actually takes quite a while to come back to life again, when green buds start to appear along it's branches later in the spring.
Originating in Greece the delicate flowers of Helleborus orientalis appearing in the middle of winter are part of the Buttercup family, but not in yellow.  H. orientalis appear in muted shades of pink white and burgundy, and appears just when we need it most, adding much needed colour.  Yet the colour is in accordance with winter - there is no flamboyance - just muted and quiet. Enough to add some life beneath the bare branches of brown Hydrangea bushes.   

​We don't always need flowers to give us colour in winter, as there is also some colourful foliage out there as well.
And one of the most colourful is amongst our native evergreens.
This is a medium sized shrub known by it's Maori name as Horopito.   It's much less attractive botanical name is Pseudowintera colorata, but it is often called the Pepper Bush, as the leaves are strongly aromatic and spicy when crushed.  Seldom reaching more than 1.5 metres in height with it's colourful evergreen foliage, it is wonderful plant for enlivening a shrub border in winter.

Although the little white bell shaped flower  holds it's head down demurely in a similar fashion with both the Snowdrop and Snowflake, they are quite different plants. Many people mistake the   the green leafy Snowflake Leucojum for the Snowdrop.  That is actually, a bit of a sham!  The reason  being that  the Snowflake is an unexceptional invasive plant - a common weed popping up in unwanted places and not nearly as gorgeous as the true lower growing Snowdrop. 
​The common Snowflake Leucojum is taller and is more about it's fleshy green leaves than the flower.  And it tends to pop up everywhere, like a weed with huge fleshy bulbs, which can take a lot of effort to dig out. 
Whereas the charming Snowdrop Galanthus comes up pure  white pushing it's way through brown leaves and carpeting the winter ground in pure white.  There is no hit and miss here as in the sparser flowering Snowflake, also there are many different strains and variations of the true Snowdrop Galanthus, which endlessly intrigues Snowdrop lovers. 
​So much so, that they have been given a name - Galanthophiles (besotted Snowdrop lovers).  Especially in the northern hemisphere and in England these strange creatures can be seen bottoms up, in english woodland, peering down into the ground in late winter, looking for different and unexpected strains of this treasured white jewel.  ​ There are even places in New Zealand where they grow au naturel in areas of exotic deciduous woodland, so there are some besotted people here too!  These areas are often privately owned, so there is not always access to them, and of course Snowdrops being strictly deciduous, do not come up in native bush!
Native bush and Woodland Snowdrops are like chalk and cheese!​