Explore a magical plant garden in Indre-et-Loire

When we talk of a garden being “magical”, we usually mean it is impossibly romantic or beautiful, but Dominique and Marie-Odile Birault had an idea to create a garden which
was home to “magical” plants. 

I was intrigued to know more. Le Jardin des Plantes Magiques (The Garden of Magical Plants) is located in Yzeures-sur-Creuse, and is home to around 37 species celebrated for their medicinal and folkloric properties. Dominique explained that there were magical plants in all our gardens, that everyone had them.

“There are different sorts of magic – there are plants for divination. People may be aware of dowsers, people who can find water sources. They need divination rods and those come from a hazelnut tree. Then there are what we call ‘maleficent magic plants’. Under that title comes the walnut tree. There are all sorts of tales to do with witches around the walnut tree,” he smiles. 

“An olive tree is a beneficent magic plant. It symbolises peace and victory. Also, we have what are called the hypocrites – those which can be good and bad. Like muguet (lily of the valley) – on one hand it is a porte-bonheur (given to wish happiness on May Day) and on the other it is poisonous if ingested.”

Dominique, who used to work in agriculture but is now retired, and Marie-Odile, who once worked in nearby La Roche-Posay’s eponymous laboratory, bought their house and garden in 1991.

“The house was old but it was the land with all its trees which really attracted us – so many trees! We added even more trees. We wanted the shade, especially for that period at the end of the afternoon – between four and five when the sun can be at its fiercest. 

“We use all the leaves to make leaf mould, to put on the beds. We have a large garden – 3,500 square metres – and of that, 2,000 square metres are flower beds. We installed an automatic goutte-à-goutte (drip) watering system from the new wells we dug.” 

Dominique remembers: “I didn’t really have much time for the garden in the beginning. Marie-Odile had a greenhouse and she did some propagating and planted some things. It wasn’t until 2016 that things really began to come together. We had met some British people, and we had decided we wanted a garden filled with flowers. If you say to a French person, ‘Come and visit this garden’, they’ll think they’re going to see a potager (ornamental kitchen garden),” he laughs. 

I ask whether they do grow vegetables. “Only summer ones for ratatouille, oh, and autumn squash for soup,” he grins.

“There’s only the two of us here. We don’t need much,” he adds. “When we had created this garden, we decided we would open it for a weekend a year for Open Gardens/Jardins Ouverts. That was nearly 10 years ago. We did a survey of the garden, of the plants already here, and we found 37 magical plants already. These magical plants, their properties have been handed down in oral histories. We know about them from our grandparents and great-grandparents. I have written down these stories so the visitors can read them. All about myrtle, which signifies hope and renewal; box, which stands for eternity; rosemary, which is the badge of pilgrims; and iris for wisdom.” 

I inadvertently snort and tell him our dog, Iris the Griffle, must be misnamed. 

“I put this on my parents’ and grandparents’ old garden tools – it was
a good way to honour them and tell their stories about the power of plants. Like lavender for peace and love. In Roman times, at celebrations, soldiers would take wine but their ladies would have lavender seeds.”

I say I like to make lavender shortbread and Dominique says, “It’s a good flavour but not too much.”

I agree, as too much tastes antiseptic. “I prefer lavender honey,” Dominique admits.

“This year, I have planted mandragore (mandrake),” he tells me.

“Mandrake was seen as especially magical – the root was supposed to look like a human figure. The wizard Dumbledore has it in Harry Potter, of course, but it was thought magical in pagan and Roman societies.” 

Mandrake is hallucinogenic and narcotic. It was used as an anaesthetic in ancient surgeries – it is not something to be messed with. Also around the ponds – and in them – are equisetum (horsetails), papyrus, big-leaved colocasias, iris, water lilies and vanille d’eau.

“Its flower looks like the vanilla plant,” explains Dominique.

“It’s white and very perfumed.” Intrigued, I look it up later and find it to be Aponogeton distachyos, and it immediately is added to my wishlist.

“We have lots of flowers, all the time, from March through to November,” Dominique asserts. I say I am sure he has things blooming in the winter, too.

“Oh, of course, there are hellebores, snowdrops, bulbs and grevillea (that flowers twice over the winter) but not masses like from March. You know, in December and January, I don’t really garden. I rest. I wander around looking at what is happening. We believe the garden should not be full-time work. We live in ours. We aren’t great travellers. We take pleasure in it. We have lots of places to sit, to look, to really observe. Marie-Odile takes photographs, of the flowers, of the plants, of the insects and the birds. To see, you have to really look,” he states.

“I have a rule,” Dominique says, “no yellow in the summer. Yellow in spring with bulbs and things – how can you avoid it? And yellow in autumn with golden rod and leaves, but not in summer. It is not authorised.”

He twinkles, “There is an exception though, evening primrose (Oenothera biennis). It’s so pale it’s almost cream-coloured.” 

I tell Dominique I have been writing about biennials for this month too and we swap notes on our favourites. I ask about other plants. Dominique reveals his passion for echinacea.

“I love them! We have so many different ones here, all sorts of different colours and forms,” he enthuses.

“I have noticed though that after five years or so some of them, like E. ‘Pretty Parasol’, do start to revert back towards the original form. I adore the salvias – we have a lot. And day lilies, delphiniums, persicaria, and a big collection of dahlias.” 

I ask where they source their plants. Dominique tells me he has recently found a local nursery but bemoans a general lack of variety in French garden centres. He uses promessedefleurs.com but is sad that Brexit has cut off easy access to British sources.

“I really liked that ‘Strulch’ [mulch] and now I can’t get it. We do ‘chop and drop’ and we mulch with our cuttings but that was a good product,” he says wistfully.

Dominique tells me they broke another rule for a 70th birthday.

“When we buy trees, we buy small and let them grow but we wanted an arbutus, a strawberry tree. We wanted to be able to taste the fruit. We bought a mature tree. It was a mistake.” He shrugs, “A 70th, you understand. Oh well.”

If you want to visit Dominique and Marie-Odile’s garden, Le Jardin des Plantes Magiques to find the magic for yourself, check the details on Open Gardens/Jardins Ouverts’ website. They will open privately by appointment.