Countless species of smaller things live within Patthana's domain in Co Wicklow, writes Jane Powers
Say "wildlife garden" to some people and they immediately envisage an overgrown and weedy place, full of murky corners and dank, unlovely areas. Yet one of the most wildlife-friendly patches that I've seen recently is also one of the most chic, with strong structure, enviable plants, great attention to detail, buckets of sunlight and lots of space to do the whole outdoor-living thing.
Patthana, in the tiny village of Kiltegan, in Co Wicklow, is a tall and slim cut-granite house, built in the 19th century for estate workers at nearby Humewood Castle. When TJ Maher and Simon Kirby bought it, 10 years ago, they were mindful of the wild creatures that had been there before them. Swallows had nested in the roof space of both the house and the shed, and when the pair restored these buildings they left intentional gaps for the birds' aerobatic toings and froings.
The garden, no bigger than a sixth of an acre, is Maher's domain. Or, rather, he may be in charge of it, but it belongs just as much to the countless species of smaller things that fly, flutter, buzz, scurry, run, crawl, slither and swim within its boundaries.
This last mode of locomotion is used by the frogs, newts, water boatmen, diving beetles and innumerable other unnamed aquatic creatures that live in the pretty pond in a corner of the stone courtyard. Water lilies and irises provide shade and help to regulate the temperature, while waterweed keeps the oxygen levels up. Ferns, grasses and an elegantly drooping purple-leaved Japanese maple spill over the margins, while low-growing creeping jenny (Lysimachia nummularia) and bugle (Ajuga repens) clamber around the edges. The dense cover provided by these two plants makes a perfect hiding spot for baby frogs when they first venture from the pond as vulnerable, pea-sized individuals.
The water is backed by an old stone wall, once part of an outbuilding, but now its ancient masonry partially screens another, much newer section of the garden, where a sunken meditation area is overlooked by the plantsman's specials such as arisaema, aralia, Pseudopanax and Schefflera. The heat-retaining granite stones in the old wall provide a basking spot for butterflies, which must warm up to 30 to 35 degrees in order to fly. Indeed, on the evening I visit, a couple of lesser tortoiseshells are latched on to the rough granite, lazily angling their wings to catch the last of the sun.
The wall is crowned with pink tufts of red valerian - "the hummingbird hawkmoths love it," says Maher - while ivy, an often-maligned climber, makes a dignified and gothic dark-green mantle. "I love ivy. It is a beautiful plant. I have it everywhere. Starlings time their young for the ivy and the elder."
Ivy provides food and shelter for many birds, and for the caterpillars of the holly blue butterfly, which lays its second batch of eggs on it (the first are laid on its namesake plant, holly).
The tiny blue flutterer is just one of the abundant butterfly species that frequent this country garden. All are well catered for with an extensive menu of nectar plants (which suits the many resident and visiting bees also): verbena, sedum, aster (the New England or novae-angliae species are best, says Maher), allium, echinacea, eupatorium, scabious, Actaea simplex, catmint and all kinds of herbs, which are allowed to flower.
The best nectar plant of all is also here: the aptly named butterfly bush (Buddleja davidii), a leggy shrub producing long, banana-shaped inflorescences of orange-centred purple flowers. And a small but important wildflower is carefully minded: lady's smock (Cardamine pratensis). "I let it grow wherever it wants. Orange tip butterflies lay their eggs on the flower head, so that the caterpillars develop with the seed. They're tiny, very hard to see, and they pupate on the plants, so I never dig them up."
Most of these nectar-rich species grow on the upper level of the garden, which is reached by curious circular granite steps. This area - partly by design, and partly by serendipity - resembles the classic model for the wildlife garden: the woodland edge. The greatest biodiversity is always found where habitats merge, and here a small central lawn is bordered by perennials and shrubs, while around the perimeter is a mixed hedge and some fine, mature trees, the latter equipped with bird boxes.
The hedge, of hawthorn and ash, was here originally, but it was a bit sparse, so Maher and two gardening friends laid it (a traditional country way of bending over and weaving the branches), to increase its density, and interplanted it with spindle, blackthorn, honeysuckle, holly and more hawthorn - all excellent for bird and insect species.
Almost every plant in the garden is here because of its benefit to wildlife: there are berries in plenty, including juneberry (Amelanchier) and the hard-to-find chokeberry from eastern North America (Aronia melanocarpa), whose beady black fruits are adored by blackbirds. The yellow-berried Sorbus 'Joseph Rock' is a favourite with bullfinches, which are also partial to the seeds of forget-me-nots.
Maher lets everything go to seed, and "unless something rots away with the rain I leave it standing". Teasel, of course, which has long-lasting spiny seedheads, is here specifically for the goldfinches, which winkle out the seeds with their sharp little bills. Purple moor grass (Molinia caerulea) was a memorable hit the autumn before last, when around 25 redpolls alighted on the wispy seedheads and dangled there like tiny pink, feathered acrobats.
With the possibility of magical visitors like that, what gardener wouldn't put in a few plants for our fellow earthlings?