AT LAST, A FLOWER, AFTER A 25-YEAR WAIT!

THERE'S SO MUCH instant gardening on the telly that many aspiring gardeners are missing out on one of the greatest joys of gardening – waiting. Waiting for the first signs that the seeds are germinating. Waiting for the first true leaves to develop. Waiting for the seedlings to grow large enough to plant out. Waiting to see the very first flower.

Perhaps I’m a bit of a gardening masochist, but for me, waiting’s half the fun. And with some of the plants in my garden, that means I’ve had an awful lot of fun. The longest we’ve waited for something to flower so far has been 25 years! Yes, I haven’t hit the wrong numerals on the keyboard – 25 years.

Back then, my better half and I visited InvereweGardens on the North West coast of Scotland on a beautifully-sunny day in May and the gardens were, as always, wonderful. Now, in those days, before ludicrous EU regulations came along, the gardeners at Inverewe used to collect seeds, packet them, and sell them in the shop. It all helped raise cash for the National Trust for Scotland to maintain the garden.

One of the packets of seed we bought was Rhododendron x falconeri. Now falconeri is one of those rhododendrons that has leaves a foot long, wonderfully felted on the underside, grows as big as a house, flowers early and luxuriates in the NW Scotland coastal climate warmed by the Gulf Stream. So what idiot would try to grow it in the North East of England? Well, me, for a start.

 "They came up like cress!"

So, never having previously grown a single rhododendron from seed, I sowed them in a tray, put them in an unheated propagator in a shady north-facing conservatory, and never expected anything to come up. How wrong I was. They came up like cress. I had a tray packed with rhododendron seedlings.

They were pricked out, potted on and sometimes neglected just a bit too much. So the many, many seedlings in that tray back in eventually grew into about a dozen plants. Of course, these plants are all x falconeri, so every one is different from the others. Some have small leaves, some have large. Some flower very early, some a little later. Some have white flowers, others are tinged with pink. And some are even scented.

The first of them flowered at about 10 years old. Its flower buds begin swelling in mid January or early February, according to the season, and it generally flowers in mid February or early March. Some years frosts come at the cruellest time, just before the buds burst, and wipe out the flowers before they can ever show. In other years we’ve had wonderful frost-free weeks in which to enjoy our uniquely special rhododendron.

The others came into flower in the years following, but with a garden not really big enough for large rhododendrons, some headed north to a friend’s marvellous Morayshire garden where we planted them with hope.

"The other enchanted in a different way, with its leaves."

 Back in our own garden, our plants went into a specially prepared bed carefully created to be just on the acid side of neutral. They thrived, with our first flowerer going on to enchant us each spring when the frosts allowed. The other enchanted in a different way – with its leaves. Unlike all the other plants, it has leaves similar to those of the parent plant from which the seed was gathered. Their top surface is a gorgeous deep, deep green, and underneath there’s wonderful rust-coloured felty indumentum. So we forgave it for its non flowering.

But as the end of each winter approached, we watched its buds to see if they would swell to bring us the flowers we so much craved. But instead of growing fat and bursting into flower, the buds burst into growth to bring us more russet-felted leaves. The growth was the strongest of our plants, so eventually the loppers were brought into play to curb its exuberance. But the effect was short-lived, and growth continued as lustily as ever.

A couple of years ago, on a visit to Howick Hall garden, which has rhododendrons with even bigger leaves, we talked to a gardener about our problem. “Don’t cut it back, it’ll make it grow even more,” he said. “Dig it up to give it a real fright to make it flower.”

 "If you don't flower, we'll dig you up and chop your roots!"

So we came home and gave our felted rhododendron a stiff talking to. “If you don’t flower, we’ll dig you up and chop your roots,” I told it, dreading all the hard work that would be involved. Reminders were issued at regular intervals and our rhododendron listened.

This spring, I noticed one of the buds was bulking-up. A flower at last! Closer inspection of the plant revealed just half-a-dozen fattening flower buds. What would it be like? Wonderful, or just a disappointment after all these years of waiting and watching?

Then, just as the bud was about to open the weather forecast was for frost – the first in weeks in this most frost-free of winters and springs. I had little faith in the covering of fleece I put over the plant that evening and, sure enough, Jack Frost simply ignored it and took that first bud before it could bloom. But the others were less well advanced and a couple of weeks later our 25-year wait was rewarded. The flowers were lovely. The buds opened to reveal white petals edged with a delicate pink and speckled with shades of red from light to deepest claret.

It was worth the wait. And now we’re looking forward to next spring – hopefully frost-free.
I'd love to know how long other people have waited for plants to flower. Do get in touch to let me know.