A planting philosophy for the cloistered summit of the Great North Border: structure, shadow, and the poetry of repetition.

There is a hush at the top of the Great North Border.

Down below, roses rise and shout, clematis jostles for grandeur, and paths wind between drama and delight. But up here—up here—something older stirs. The light is green. The ground is dark. And everything is listening.

Before the Summit of Shadows was named, it was nothing more than a slope.
Grass. Weeds. Couch and creeping buttercup. The sort of inherited wildness that mocks structure and resists intervention.
It was not untended — it was forgotten. A back wall of scrub and sighing, where the mower dared not linger and intention never took hold.

But even then, something waited.
The curve of the wall. The tilt of the light. The sense that, if we cleared away the noise, something more deliberate could be made.

So we began.

📹 Below is a short video from before the digging began — a glimpse into the garden’s “before” life.
A reminder that every cloister has its wilderness. Every structure, its prelude.Here lies the Summit of Shadows, the final act in this long northern border. It is not the climax but the cloister: a place of stillness, of gathering breath. It is not yet the end, but the reckoning before it.

We laid it beneath a 5-metre back wall, following the rise of the land. Its aspect is north by north-east. No sun reaches it directly; only sideways light filters through the high canopy of neighbouring beech trees. We knew from the beginning: this would not be a border for blousy colour or riotous bloom. It would be a study in tone, in structure, in patience. It would be a listening garden.

We let the Fargesia lean softly in the breeze, a sentinel at the gate of this shaded court. We placed Ostrich ferns like heraldic devices, uncurling with the solemnity of cathedral doors. And we allowed Clematis montana var. grandiflora, borrowed from a neighbouring property, to vault the wall like a rogue archbishop offering absolution through borrowed branches.

We did not rush to plant Hosta ‘Empress Wu’—she waits still, in her pot, surveying her future realm. But already, the stumps have arrived: the charred lilac, ceremonially burned and washed, and the River Ness driftwood, pale and unburnt. One dark as memory. The other light as forgetting. Together, they anchor the growing stumpery, a reliquary of bark and bone.

This is not a planting, but a processional.
The Hosta migration has begun. We shall move ‘T-Rex’, ‘Jurassic Park’, and ‘Sagae’ up to their rightful place in the shade. Already the ‘Fire and Ice’ hostas hold the rear line — sacrificial lettuces, yes, but also our scouts, watching for the advance of slugs with the quiet bravery of doomed heroes.

We scattered Rodgersia ‘Bronze Peacock’ like antique coin across the soil — not as ornament, but as tribute. And we gave Geranium ‘Patricia’ a reprieve. Three will travel to My Name is Red: Act II. The others must wait, their fate undecided.

And at the front — always at the front — Alchemilla mollis. We asked her to hem the border, and she did. Frothy, chartreuse, and dew-bearing. She catches light and softens meaning. She is no star, but without her, the play begins too sharply. She whispers: here begins the hush.

And soon, there will be Muriel.
Muriel is a Rheum ‘Ace of Hearts’, chosen to one day take the place of the Camassias — still flowering now, still holding their ground a little longer. But their days in this position are numbered.

When the time comes, we will not simply plant her — we will install her.
The plan is to dig deep into the slope and line a trench with old pond liner, deliberately stabbed to allow slow drainage, and then fill it with aged manure — creating a subsurface aquifer, a private reservoir for her vast thirst.

Muriel will not tolerate drought. But she will not be mollycoddled. She will be given her own infrastructure — not a bog, but a regulated sump, a calculated dampness engineered into the very bones of the border.

She will not bloom. She will hold court.
And when she is installed, she will stand at the centre of the Summit with a presence that declares:
“This ground answers to me now.”

This border does not ask for attention. It expects contemplation.
We shaped it in rhythm, not in bloom. In repetition, not confusion. It does not speak — it listens. And if it answers, it does so in hosta leaves and the velvet silence of ferns.

The soil is acidic. The shade is deep. The slugs are watched by our frog-born sentries. This is a place for ghosts and green things. A stumpery, yes — but also a sanctuary.

Not a riot of colour, but a meditation in moss and bone.

The Summit is still becoming. But it already knows what it is:
A cloister. A memory. A quiet breath before the storm.

PLANTING SCHEME: THE SUMMIT OF SHADOWS

Structural & Architectural

• Fargesia (Bamboo) – topmost section; shade-tolerant, non-invasive
• Ostrich Ferns (Matteuccia struthiopteris) – repeated throughout; bold, architectural form
• Clematis montana var. grandiflora – borrowed scenery; climbs the wall from a neighbouring garden
• Rheum ‘Ace of Hearts’ (Muriel) – ordered; will replace Camassias after flowering. A trench will be dug and lined with stabbed pond liner and aged manure to create a bespoke aquifer for her needs.

Stumpery Anchors

• Charred Lilac Stump – relic from a three-year-old removal, ceremonially blackened and washed
• River Ness Stump – pale, unburnt driftwood; rescued by hand, now installed as contrast
• Additional driftwood and found wood – to be added over time for monochrome effect

Hero Hostas (to be planted spring 2026)

• Hosta ‘Empress Wu’ – currently in pot; eventual focal point
• Hosta ‘T-Rex’ ×2 – moving up from mid-border
• Hosta ‘Jurassic Park’ – part of the migration
• Hosta ‘Sagae’ – large, variegated cultivar to balance dark-leaved forms

Guardians & Sacrifices

• Hosta ‘Fire and Ice’ – planted at rear as slug lure and litmus test
• Rodgersia ‘Bronze Peacock’ – dotted along back wall; rich foliage texture and bronze tones

Ground Layer & Transition

Alchemilla mollis – planted at the front to soften the edge and catch the light

Geranium ‘Patricia’ ×6 – three to remain pending redesign; three to move to My Name is Red: Act II