I SPENT HALF OF my childhood by the sea in Ireland, and the other half as far away from the sea as one could get - in the American midwest, writes Jane Powers
At night in Minnesota, I would listen to the wind whispering in the pine trees, and imagine I was hearing the waves back in Ireland. Yes, I know, that sounds horribly affected, but anyone who has lived within sight and earshot of the sea knows the spell that this great body of water exerts over a person's psyche. Like all other lovers of the seashore, I have a deep-seated reaction to anything maritime: just show me a couple of seashells, or a bit of driftwood, and I'm a heap of sentimentality.
Such was the case when I saw the seaside planting in Mark Grehan's show garden,
Inisoirr
at the recent Bloom festival in the Phoenix Park, and the coastal vegetation that featured in Gerard Mullen's
Sandscape
, at the same event. The little scatterings of sea pinks, the prickly-all-over sea hollies, the swollen-leaved succulents, and the other salt-resistant species formed realistic colonies in these spaces. There were many fine gardens at Bloom, and others with equally evocative planting, but these two salutes to the coast brought a smile to my face - and to those of plenty of others at the show.
My own garden is about half a kilometre from the sea, so I feel entitled to cast the odd periwinkle or scallop onto the gravel, and to use cockles and mussels as mulch on top of pots. But really, I'm just playing at being at the seaside, because we have none of the serious challenges of a shoreline plot.
Gardens that are close to the sea are under constant assault from the elements. For a start, the wind is stronger than elsewhere, and as any gardener knows, not only does this shred plants, but it dries them out. Add salt to the wind, and it is doubly desiccating, as it sucks any available moisture out of plant cells. Then add to the equation coastal soil - usually sandy, free-draining, and not particularly fertile - and you end up with some pretty harsh conditions. And let's not forget that the light is usually more intense, as there is little shade, and sunlight is reflected back from the sea. Only the leanest and meanest plants are able to survive here: those that can withstand bright light, wind, thirst and food scarcity, and a sandy, unstable foundation.
Suitable plants are likely to have foliage that is adapted to conserve moisture, by a variety of means. For instance, grey, silvery or bluish leaves reflect light (as in the jolly yellow daisy bush,
Brachyglottis
'sunshine'); downy or furry ones insulate the plant tissues (lamb's ears,
Stachys byzantina
) waxy, shiny or leathery surfaces repel sea spray (
escallonia
); and hairy or sticky foliage holds salt away from the plant flesh (
osteospermum
). Other plants, such as succulents (
sedums
) keep reserves of water in their leaves, while still others have fine or strappy foliage that offers little resistance to the wind (fennel, phormium).
The underground parts of coast-worthy species are also specialised, and are likely to be deep and taprooted (sea holly), or vast and spreading (lyme grass). Both formats help to stabilise plants in light soil, and are able to seek out moisture, either by drilling down, or questing far and wide.
Many of the plants that grow well in coastal gardens are natives of the Mediterranean (such as cistus and most hard-leaved herbs), and of arid regions of the world (agaves, for instance). South Africa also gives us numerous plants that are perfectly happy near the sea, provided that they get enough moisture at their feet. Red hot poker, angel's fishing rod and watsonia are just three species worth mentioning. New Zealand, likewise, is a fertile hunting ground for shoreline stalwarts, and offers us cordyline, phormium, astelia, and all the lovely brown Carex grasses.
True maritime species, such as sea kale (Crambe), sea holly (
Eryngium),
and of course, the little pin-cushiony sea pink (
Armeria
) are tailor-made for life on the beach, and should be included in all seaside gardens. In Ireland, we have native species of all the above. My favourite is sea kale, which is exciting from the minute its fleshy shoots nudge out of the ground in March or April until it finishes flowering at
the end of the summer. The small, white, cruciform flowers are sweetly-scented, and are held by the hundreds in great spray-like inflorescences. This is one of the few plants I bother growing that needs staking: the heavy stems tend to loll about on the ground if not firmly supported.
But any maritime gardener will tell you, the most important (and first) thing to do if you garden by the sea is to plant a shelter belt of trees and shrubs. Hardy candidates include alder, hawthorn, elder, gorse, pine, olearia, tamarisk, sea buckthorn (keep an eye on it, as it can be invasive), and Cupressus macrocarpa.
The shiny and crinkle-leaved rose, R. rugosa, is also surprisingly sea-proof. This beauty, which has silky flowers of pink or white, and terracotta-coloured hips (adored by birds) is one of the first plants to face the sea on the edge of the handsome garden at Kelly's Hotel in Rosslare, designed by Sandra Cosgrove.
If you're planting trees and shrubs in an exposed seaside garden, don't be tempted by the large specimens so popular in instant gardens. Smaller plants will establish far better, and acclimatise more readily than semi-mature ones raised in a nursery.
A final word on gardening by the sea. It may be windy, salty and sandy, but it's also milder than inland. Frost is rare, and never prolonged.
Coastal gardeners can grow tender plants that other folks have to grow in conservatories - and in the world of gardening one-upmanship, it's hard to go one up on that.