Winter fragrance

I cut this winter heliotrope Petasites pyrenaicum (syn. L. fragrans) flower from the garden just before the snow arrived. Despite being native to the Mediterranean region it is very hardy in Britain, where it's widely naturalised, and produces new foliage and flowers in winter. The flowers have a delightful scent of vanilla, or maybe marzipan, depending on your sense of smell. Only female plants have ever been introduced so it never sets seed, but the creeping rhizomes can be very invasive so its root growth needs to be confined. Its widespread occurrence on road verges is most likely the result of fly-tipping of garden waste, by people who planted it in open ground and wish they hadn't.

Winter honeysuckle Lonicera fragrantissima is native to China and has a wonderfully intense fragrance during the day, unlike our native honeysuckle whose scent only develops at dusk, to attract crepuscular pollinators like hawk moths. This particular specimen is planted in a front garden in Durham city and scents the air for passers-by.

Winter fragrance

In these cold, grey days after Christmas, in the depths of winter, any flower is welcome, although I do have some reservations about this one - winter heliotrope Petasites fragrans

 I planted a small cutting  in our front garden many years ago for nostalgic reasons, because it grew on a roadside near my home in Sussex when I was a child. Its creeping underground rhizomes have spread relentlessly outwards, defying attempts to dig it out because it regenerates rapidly from small rhizome fragments left behind. Fortunately, it's confined by two walls and a concrete path, which limits its opportunities from further escape, but I can see why people warn against introducing it into cultivated soil. 

It has become naturalised in many places throughout Britain, moved around in dumped garden soil, around waste tips or where it as been fly-tipped on roadsides.

On the plus side, winter heliotrope has a delightful fragrance, variously described as resembling vanilla, almonds or marzipan, so when it flowers in January I always keep a few inflorescences on the window ledge in a vase. 

It originates from the central Mediterranean region and North Africa and was  introduced into gardens here in 1806, then first recorded in the wild in Middlesex in 1835. My favourite naturalised population is on the edge of the sea cliffs near Noses Point at Seaham on the Durham coast where, on a bright winter's day, it looks wonderful with the North Sea as a backdrop.

Winter heliotrope

Wonderful display of winter heliotrope Petasites fragrans on the cliffs at Dawdon on the Durham coast today. The fragrans species epithet refers to it scent, which to me is reminiscent of marzipan but is sometimes described by others as vanilla. 

This plant was first introduced into Britain from the Mediterranean region of North Africa in 1806  but by 1835  it had established itself in the wild. It has spread widely ever since, with increasing rapidity after being thrown out in garden waste. All British plants are male so it never sets seed, spreading instead via a rapidly creeping underground rhizome. Gardeners soon discover that this is a very invasive species in cultivated soil and is very difficult to eradicate. Every fragment of the rhizome regenerates into a new plant. 

In a location like this it's pretty harmless, bordered on one side by a wide tarmac footpath and on the other by the cliff precipice, although its leaves shade out most other vegetation. It can be a problem plant in nature reserves, though. 

Traveller's Joy .... Ecologists' Despair

When people move around they often take plants with them to remind them of their origins. This kind of sentimental attachment to plants has produced some disastrous consequences in various parts of the world. South Western Australia is infested with sweet briar  Rosa rubiginosa, taken there by early settlers as a fragrant reminder of the hedgerows of the 'old country' that they left behind. Similarly, settlers took purple loosestrife Lythrum salicaria to North America, where it has since run riot through wetlands, doing enormous ecological damage. It's commonly the case that European plants that are perfectly benign in their native habitat become botanical hooligans when they're shipped overseas.

This plant, traveller's joy or old man's beard Clematis vitalba is another example of a British botanical export that has run amok in its new surroundings. Traveller's joy was taken to New Zealand in the early years of the 20th. century and is now one of that country's worst weeds, climbing to the tops of trees and smothering native vegetation.
It's not a native species up here in North East England but it is in Sussex, where I grew up, and there it decorates hedgerows with its fluffy seed heads, so when we moved up here thirty five years ago I asked my family to send up some seeds, as a reminder of home. The two plants in our hedge produce plenty of these seed heads that look beautiful amongst the dying leaves, especially when they are back-lit by the low winter sun, and so far there are no signs of the plant spreading in its new surroundings. It really only thrives in limey soils, like those of the chalk downs of Sussex, and our soil here isn't alkaline enough, so I don't think I'll be responsible for a local invasion by this plant any time soon.

I brought this plant up here with me from Sussex too, although it's actually native to North Africa. It's winter heliotrope Petasites fragrans and, true to its name, it blooms from November to February. There are separate male and female plants but only males are known in Britain so there's no chance of it spreading via seeds. It is invasive though. I introduced just one small plant into my garden but it has creeping underground rhizomes and now the clone covers about four square metres, so I'll need to bring it to heel soon. It's not the world's most attractive plant but I grow it for sentimental reasons, because it grew on the roadside leading to our house in Sussex and because it has one distinctive feature that reminds me of childhood. The flowers have a wonderful fragrance of marzipan (though some think it smells of vanilla) and it reminds me of the smell in the kitchen at home at this time of year, when my mother was icing the Christmas cake.