Climbing Hydrangea

If you have a north-facing wall and you've given up on it, climbing hydrangea is the answer. Hydrangea petiolaris does something almost no other flowering climber will do — it thrives in full shade, clinging to the wall with aerial roots and covering it in a tapestry of fresh green leaves that turn butter-yellow in autumn. And in June, it produces those gorgeous, lacecap flower heads — flat clusters of tiny fertile flowers surrounded by a ring of larger, white, sterile florets.

The flowers have a delicacy that mophead hydrangeas lack. They sit flat against the wall like white doilies, dozens of them scattered across the green foliage, and the effect is restrained and beautiful — lace on green velvet. The scent is subtle but real — a mild, honeyed sweetness that attracts hoverflies and bees to a wall that usually has nothing for them.

It's slow to establish. Painfully slow, in the first couple of years — the old saying is 'first year sleep, second year creep, third year leap,' and that's about right. Mine did nothing visible for two full years, and I nearly gave up on it. Then in year three it began to move, and by year five it was covering six feet of wall and flowering generously. Patience is required. The gardener's hardest skill.

In winter, the bare stems create an intricate lattice of coppery-brown bark that's beautiful in its own right, especially when frosted. The dried flower heads persist too, adding texture. It's a four-season plant on a surface that most people write off. That's the kind of problem-solving I admire in a plant.