A radical haircut for the santolinas

I have no idea if this will work. I have about a dozen very large santolina shrubs growing on both sides of the barn garden beds.  Most of them are four or five years old and they have been stalwarts of the planting scheme.

Three were a first ever gift from Andrew and they were the inspiration (and the cuttings) for the whole shape of this barn garden.

There were a few close calls when I forgot that if you let the lovely shrubs flower they flop over alarmingly and were only just saved from an aesthetic disaster.

So I do something that many would not approve. I cut the flowers off just as they appear. I love the rounded shape of the shrub and can do without the pale yellow button flowers.

But this autumn I seemed to have a mass die back.  Fussing about the flowers were the least of my worries.

So many of the santolinas looked half dead, while the rest of the plants were doing their normal winter thing.

I have waited for the worst of the cold weather to be over and today it was secateur time.

And boy do they look butchered.  There is new growth much lower down on the plant. So I have tried to cut back as far as I dared.  And taken out the dead bits.

I will be stunned if I can revive them to their former glory, but I am keeping my fingers crossed.

And to take a bit of aesthetic solace from all this nasty work, I have retreated to my new look potting shed.

I had a bit of paint left (Citrine) from a previous job and I decided to fun up the very end of the potting shed wall.  It was white. And there were some hideous shelves from the 2010 construction of my favourite building.

Now it is green and there are two apple crates drilled into the walls as a sort of rustic shelving.  I can guess who might fit onto the lower one.  It’s a perfect height for him.

But he has taken to the most outrageous indulgence of late: in front of the fire here at home.  It looks like the potting shed isn’t good enough for him anymore.

But with this wonderful warming weather, even he might eschew the soft fleece, the blazing log fire, the peace and quiet and actually go back to the potting shed.