Hosta specialist softens loss of Hampton Court show

I should have been at the Hampton Court Flower Show this week. My venerable annual tradition always starts with a leisurely catch up over a champagne breakfast with my friends Alex and Philippa before we wander across the road to the world’s largest flower show, drink in the new trends and shop ‘til we drop. Then we rest, fortify with a restorative jug of Pimms, and keep shopping.

Not this year. Yet another annual milestone fell to the pandemic axe as 2020 moves towards being the year that never happened. We shared breakfast over a Zoom call, but it’s not quite the same.

Lockdown has been steadily loosening, however, and garden centres were some of the earliest businesses released from shackles. So this year I still took my flower show day off, but rather than visiting all the specialist vendors in one place I picked one of my favourite suppliers and went to them.

New Forest Hostas specialise in a plant that claims a soft spot in my heart. Also known as the plantain lily, these shade-loving, broad-leafed plants are native to northeast Asia, but the centre of modern hybridisation is the United States. They were common sights in the woodland gardens of the American Midwest, including my childhood home. One variety ... its name lost in time and its simple appearance dating from an age before showy hybrids ... has moved with my family through every house we’ve owned since my grandfather planted it in the early ‘50s. Taking divisions of the plants was the last thing I did before leaving my childhood home to its new owners. For 40 years there, my mother had fought an ongoing, usually unsuccessful, battle with the deer who would emerge from the trees behind our house to feast on the tender leaves. She was trying to mimic beneath her own oaks the winding, multi-variety beds that snaked through the Missouri botanical garden.

In England, my wars are with slugs and snails. Gardeners seeking an easy life often avoid hostas, given their popularity with multiple predators, but that would be a mistake. They grow in shady spots many other plants refuse. They come in a beguiling variety of leaf colours and patterns, in sizes from miniatures to single plants that demand several square meters.

Some hosta miniatures by my smaller pond

Though foliage is the main point of hostas, they do send up spikes of white, blue or purple blooms in late July and August. They’re great value for money, with the typical plant doubling in size every three to four years, allowing you to separate and plant out (or give away) the spares. While predators may leave the leaves holed or gnaw them to the ground, hostas are amongst the toughest of garden plants and difficult to kill. They flourish in the ground or in pots. A well-planned hosta bed can be a soothing study in green, from deepest blue-greens to pale yellowish shades, sparked with the occasional white. Every year breeders come up with new varieties to tempt gardeners like me.

My main hosta bed

My only criticism? They die back over the winter, leaving bare earth on view for several months. And, of course, the endless battles with the predators. My garden in England is walled, so I don’t have to worry about Bambi and friends. (Though to this day I still feel the victory of revenge whenever I eat venison.) Most people used to control slugs and snails with poisonous pellets, until we got smart to the fact that the frogs and birds who eat the pests were getting poisoned, too. Now gardeners debate their favourite organic defences, from rings of copper, stones or crushed egg shells around plants to garlic concentrate spray to beer traps to a regular dose of nematodes, a microscopic organism that likes to eat slug and snail eggs. Encouraging frogs, hedgehogs and birds into your garden helps. In my experience, growing hostas in pots produces the best results, but that hasn’t kept me from trying beds as well.

Hosta alley; my potted collection

New Forest Hostas is one of a handful of English hosta experts who show up at the big flower shows. Your average garden centre might have five or ten varieties, while these specialists will have more than 100, along with vast knowledge of what grows well where, disease resistance, legacy and speed-to-division. New Forest is a young contender compared to Suffolk’s Mickfield Hostas, who hold the national collection and have been in the specialist game for more than 20 years. But New Forest hails from my current home county of Hampshire and I’ve had a soft spot for them ever since I met one of the owners at a local plant fair and she talked me into what’s become my favourite hosta in my garden: Cathedral Window. (Top photo.)

New Forest Hostas impressive collection

They’re only open to the public on certain days and the shopping area is just one shaded poly tunnel with three aisles. But that’s more than enough for an addict. The first aisle is dedicated to their show plants ... champion specimens in pots ... and the other two a tidy supermarket-style array of plants for purchase arranged by name.  All in a Covid-safe one-way system with plenty of hand gel on offer, of course. I spent at least an hour pottering about in deep contentment. Without Alex and Philippa to restrain me (their usual role at Hampton Court when we get to the hosta stands) I had to police myself. I was there to try to identify two of my plants for which I’d lost the name and buy no more than three additions to my “hosta alley”. 

Mission almost accomplished. One of my missing IDs was “Geisha”, the other probably came from Mickfield and remains anonymous. I emerged with “Georgia Sweetheart”, an unusual yellow hue I don’t have anywhere in my collection, “Coloured Hulk”, a deep blue that’s likewise under-represented, and “Sting”, a white centre with multi-coloured green edges I couldn’t resist. I also learned that hosta like constrained roots, and I’ve probably been retarding their growth by putting them in pots that are too big for their current size. A flurry of re-planting followed my trip as I sunk pots within pots to create some squeeze.

Along the Lymington

New Forest Hostas is a little over an hour from my house and provided an excellent excuse to drive down to that eponymous area of ancient woodland. One excellent effect of the pandemic’s social limitations has been to remind me of what’s on my doorstep. Between the annual round of events and holidays that always start with a passport check, I’ve fallen out of the habit of sightseeing in my general area. The forest that was “new” in the 11th century when William II enclosed it as a hunting ground is now a charming hybrid of national park peppered with private properties, charming villages and hotels. It’s a popular place for picnics and walks. I didn’t pack my lunch but I did enjoy a spectacular walk in the woodland next to the Lymington River, a stretch so picturesque in its mossy, sun-dappled solitude you’d think Disney’s early animation artists had visited to sketch their backdrops for Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. (Any of the National Park car parks on the B3055 just to the east of The Pig restaurant and hotel will put you next to this path. Just park and walk into the woods with your back to the road.)

I miss normal life, but my garden and my local knowledge are improving with life’s current limitations.