You've always got to remember, when you read the praises of this or that shrub, tree or flower, that soil quality, weather, and especially unexpected weather changes - these and many other factors - go to make up the performance of any prize plant you may be induced to buy. Luck, too, if you like. Thus, is it worth waiting nearly 20 years for a shrub, which should grow into a tree, to perform? Gardeners are supposed to be patient, but there is a limit.
Thus, liquidambar was highly recommended in book and garden centre. Maple-like leaves, said the book, orange to crimson and purple in autumn. Some people put it about as having almost fairytale qualities of grace and tint: "You've never seen colour in a plant until you've seen liquidambar," sort of stuff. So you buy two. After 17 to 20 years, the taller is just about six feet. As to colour, the fine, star-shaped leaves, so far, have gone, in autumn, from a deepish green to surly purple-brown.
This year, odd in its twists and turns, some things early some late, has at last produced the miracle: pale yellow, peachy pink and yellow, sunset red, the red of the heart of a fire, then shading into a bright purple around the edges, with the veins in all cases staying a bright red. It's the brilliant mixture of pink, yellow, red, etc, that impresses overall. And many leaves still to turn. The second liquidambar sulks, green as can be. No wonder the uncultured tell us gardeners and tree folk: "I just don't have the patience."
A few oddities about this autumn, which means only that it's not the same as last year. It never is. So often the ash trees in this eastern part turn a lovely lemon yellow before falling. The ground on the ash wood is covered with the leaves green on their stems. Fierce wind and rain the cause? But what a carpet. The American oaks had little of the brilliance they show at their best. It may well be different in other parts of the country. But their huge, huge reddish-brown leaves litter the ground and remind you somehow of south-sea islands. The very young, two, three and four-year-olds in the nursery performed to the full.
Note: maple is a lovely tree. At the car park at St Enda's above Rathfarnham, one evening, the luminous yellow of half a hundred maples at a guess, mostly about 12 feet high, lit up our darkness. Overall, how wise those old geezers were with their round, brick-enclosed gardens: shelter, warmth, security.