Artichoke Architecture

It arrived over the fence—a twisted-looking root ball wrapped in plastic packaging. My neighbour called it a Cardoon, though to me it could have been anything. I hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t planned a place, but there it was. A quick Google search revealed its mystery: a cousin of the thistle and a relative of the artichoke, albeit grander and more sculptural.

I planted it in a large pot I’d been using to store garden soil, mixing in some fresh compost and a scattering of chicken manure pellets. It didn’t do much for a week or so, then a small leaf unfurled in a somewhat laboured fashion. Week by week, it reached out further. By summer, it was more a presence than a plant—leaves like outstretched mythical tentacles, stem as thick as a wrist, and spiky, grenade-looking flower buds that promise either an explosive bloom or an injury, depending on your approach.

With Mediterranean origins, Cardoons are an interesting plant. It is edible with some preparation, though they’re mostly grown for their striking appearance. To me, it’s the quintessential triffid—towering up to eight feet tall with large thistle-esque flowers. An imposing, prehistoric-looking plant that bees adore.

Incidentally, while training a new colleague at work recently, we got talking. I shared some photos of my garden, including one of the Cardoon. It turns out Cardoons are native to Portugal, where my colleague is originally from—they grow everywhere! We had a good laugh about how a weed in one country can be an exotic treasure to gardeners elsewhere.

Once winter arrives, the dried seed heads should continue to provide some visual interest. For birds, they offer both a source of food and a fluffy material sometimes used for nesting in spring. Plants that appeal to wildlife are welcome in our garden.

It’s a pleasure to have neighbours as crazy about gardening and plants as I am. Their garden has been both an inspiration and an insight into the potential of ours since it shares essentially the same footprint. I shouldn’t mention the fact that I send my neighbour videos of my Cardoon—because it’s growing twice as fast as his. Hahaha!

Anyway, fancy a touch of the absurd next year? Grow a Cardoon. 
Better yet—buy three, plant two, and surprise your neighbour with the third. 
Because gardens are better when they’re a little wild—and a little shared.