Few plants divide British gardeners quite like ivy. To some it is a thug that swallows fences and smothers brickwork; to others it is the quiet backbone of a wildlife-friendly garden. The truth, as so often, sits somewhere in the middle. Common ivy (Hedera helix) is one of the most valuable plants you can grow for urban creatures, and much of its value comes from a habit we spend the rest of the year trying to control: it simply keeps growing.
In cities and towns, where mature trees are scarce and green corridors are broken up by roads and rooftops, ivy fills a gap that few other plants can. It clothes walls, sheds, fence panels and tree trunks in dense, dark evergreen cover, and it does so in conditions that would defeat most climbers — deep shade, poor soil, polluted air. If you have an awkward north-facing wall or a bare boundary that nothing else will green, ivy is your friend.
The first gift ivy gives is shelter, and it gives it generously. Its layered, overlapping leaves create a microclimate that is noticeably warmer and drier than the open air, which matters enormously to small creatures through the winter. Look closely at a mature patch on a mild January evening and you may find it is quietly humming with life.
Birds use it as a dormitory. Wrens, dunnocks, robins and sparrows will tuck themselves into the thickest tangles to roost, often several together for warmth. During the breeding season the same dense growth becomes a secure nest site: blackbirds, song thrushes and robins nest in ivy on walls and tree trunks, while spotted flycatchers and wrens favour it too. Because the cover is evergreen, nests are hidden from the moment they are built.
It is not only birds that benefit. Ivy is a favourite daytime refuge for bats, and a hibernation site for them and for hedgehogs, frogs and insects in colder months. The shelter it offers makes a real difference to how many creatures survive a hard frost.
Here is where ivy earns its place in a pollinator garden. Mature ivy does not flower until it reaches its arboreal form — that is, when it stops producing the familiar lobed juvenile leaves and starts making oval adult leaves and upright, bushy growth. At that point, usually on older plants that have been left alone for some years, it produces rounded umbels of small greenish flowers.
Those flowers open in September and October, precisely when most garden plants have finished. They are a lifeline for late-flying insects: ivy bees, hoverflies, wasps, red admiral and comma butterflies, and countless others. Ivy honey is a well-known late-season crop for beekeepers, and the buzzing around a flowering wall on a warm autumn day is one of the great small spectacles of the garden year.
To get flowers you need to let some ivy grow up and mature. That is the compromise at the heart of wildlife-friendly ivy management: keep the low, spreading stuff in check, but allow a generous patch to climb and flourish.
After the flowers come the berries. They ripen through winter and into early spring, and they are rich in fat — exactly what hungry birds need when the ground is frozen and other food is scarce. Thrushes, blackbirds, redwings and fieldfares will work through a berry-laden ivy, and wood pigeons and robins will join in.
Ivy berries are a particular favourite of blackcaps, some of which now overwinter in Britain rather than migrating south, and a good berry crop can keep them going through the lean months. It is worth noting that the berries are mildly toxic to humans, so leave them for the birds.
Autumn leaf litter is another quiet bonus. The fallen leaves of ivy break down quickly and feed the soil, and the deep, dry drifts that gather beneath a mature climbing plant are ideal hibernation quarters for hedgehogs, toads and queen bumblebees.
None of this means letting ivy take over every surface. It can damage mortar and loose brickwork, and it will happily bury a small tree or shrub if left unchecked. The trick is thoughtful management rather than wholesale removal.
Ivy is unfashionable, invasive-looking and stubborn — and it is also one of the most useful plants a British garden can have. It offers roosting sites in winter, nesting cover in spring, nectar in autumn and berries in the depths of the cold. In urban gardens, where wildlife habitat is squeezed into small spaces, that year-round dependability is gold.
You do not need a large plot to make the most of it. A single wall, a sturdy fence panel or a mature tree trunk left to do its thing will provide for a surprising range of creatures. Keep it tidy where you must, but let a decent portion grow up and grow old. Your local wrens, blackcaps and bees will thank you for it.
A bog garden suits wet corners and supports damp-loving plants. It offers shelter for amphibians, dragonflies and many invertebrates through summer.
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
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I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
Reply
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
Reply
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
Reply
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