What I No Longer Grow — And Why
There comes a point in every garden when enthusiasm must yield to discernment. In my early gardening days, I sowed anything that would sprout — driven by insatiable curiosity and a fear of missing out on hidden gems. But as seasons passed, I discovered that the garden itself starts to express preferences, shaping its own identity.
Mine certainly does.
As Oasis Cottage has matured, so have my choices. Space, energy, and attention are finite. The longer you garden, the clearer it becomes: not every plant justifies its spot — no matter how stunning the catalogue photo or how glowing the recommendation from a gardening hero.
This isn’t about fashion or failure. It’s about understanding what truly earns its keep.
When Reputation Isn’t Enough
One of the hardest decisions involved a David Austin rose called Ausblush. Lured by Paul Bangay’s glowing praise in his Guide to Plants, I planted nine in the Princess Garden. Their blooms were exquisite — soft, restrained, and perfectly matched to the garden’s romantic mood.
Unfortunately, the plants themselves never settled in. Despite regular spraying and attentive care, blackspot became a relentless adversary. For five years, I adjusted their feeding and pruning, coaxing them along, always hoping for a breakthrough. It never came.
This winter, I finally removed them and replanted the bed with another David Austin rose, Olivia Rose Austin, a variety reputed to be healthier. So far, in its first season, it has proved far more resilient — and I haven’t even reached for the spray bottle yet.
It was a useful reminder that even well-regarded plants, recommended by people I greatly admire, don’t always earn their place in every garden.
When Beauty Isn’t Enough: Growing Stock for Cutting
Stock (Matthiola incana) is a plant I desperately wanted to love. It’s easy to grow from seed, flourishes in the Cutting Garden, boasts beautiful colours, and its fragrance is truly intoxicating.
And yet — it’s a one-cut wonder.
Once the main flower head is harvested, the show is over. In a garden devoted to cut flowers, that fleeting triumph simply can’t justify the real estate. I’ve grown stock for three seasons, hoping my heart would change. It hasn’t.
Next year, it won’t be making a return appearance.
In its place, I prefer plants that keep on giving. Snapdragons may lack fragrance, but once the main stem is cut, they reliably produce shorter side stems that can also be harvested. From a floristry perspective, they earn their keep far more convincingly.
When Scale Works Against You: Dinner Plate Dahlias
Dinner plate dahlias are undeniably dramatic. They can reach over 20cm across, making them one of the largest dahlia types grown in home gardens. When they work, they steal the spotlight. But more often than not, their extravagance clashes with both the garden’s balance and my floral work.
Their enormous flower heads are easily toppled by wind, prone to theatrical flopping, and nearly impossible to support without visible props. In bouquets, they’re awkward — too large, too dominant, and almost never at ease with their floral companions.
I’ll keep the ones I already have, but I won’t be buying any more. Over time, I’ve come to favour dahlias with better proportions — varieties that are easier to handle, more reliable in the garden, and far more useful once cut.
Letting the Garden Lead
Perhaps the most valuable lesson gardening has taught me is this: the garden will always tell you what belongs. Some plants thrive effortlessly, year after year, as if they’ve always been meant to be there. Others struggle, no matter how much encouragement they’re given.
These days, I listen more closely.
Choosing less isn’t about deprivation. It’s about clarity. By letting go of what no longer works, the whole garden feels calmer, more coherent, and far more enjoyable to tend.
In the end, knowing what not to grow is just as valuable as knowing what to plant.