ÿþ<html> <head> <title> Jearrard's Herbal </title> </head> <body bgcolor="#bdb76b"> <center> <table border="1"> <tr> <td><a href="../../index.html">Home </a></td> <td><a href="../../list.html">Index</a></td> <td><a href="../../webstuff.html">Web Stuff</a></td> <td><a href="../../copyright.html">Copyright</a></td> <td><a href="../../links.html">Links</a></td> <td><a href="../../me.html">Me</a></td> <td><a href="../../archive/archive.html">Archive </a></td> </tr> </center> </table> <b><h2><center><font color="black">JEARRARD'S HERBAL</font color="black"></center></h2></b> <br> <p> </p> </center> <font size="4"></center> <p> <img src="garden1.jpg" align="left" width="30%" title=" Magnolia x loebneri 'Merrill'"> <h3>1st April 2018 </h3> <a href="../../plants/ma/magnoliaxloebnerimerrill/species.html"><i><b>Magnolia x loebneri </i> 'Merrill' .</b> </a><br> Summer has arrived like a relative on a crowded train. You know they're on there somewhere but you can't quite see them yet. Was that a glimpse of a familiar face through a window, a familiar voice through the clatter? I sat out in the sun for a moment last week. Just long enough to finish a cup of tea and then the cloud blew in and the wind picked up. As I walked up into the garden on Friday I turned back and the first flowers of <i>Magnolia x loebneri</i> 'Merrill' shone out from the greyish twigs crackling through the blue sky. It was one of those moments when I realised summer had arrived, it was simply obscured by the noise and commotion of the winter preparing to depart.<br> I spent the afternoon in the <i>Agave</i> house clearing out the dead things. They have been lying in state for a couple of weeks while I mourn, but decay has set in and it is time to get over it. It is remarkable how many large bushy tender plants I had managed to cram into a succulent house. They will be missed but not replaced.<br> The magnolia will look better in a week or so, the branches crowded with white flowers. I have spent years in envy of the large trees of <i>M. campbellii</i> in the established local gardens. I haven't envied them quite so much this year as the early spectacle turned to mush. My big white blob will have its day! <br clear="left"> <br clear="left"></p><br> <p> <img src="garden2.jpg" align="left" width="30%" title="Freesia sparrmanii "> <h3>1st April 2018 </h3> <a href="../../plants/fr/freesiasparrmanii/species.html"><i><b>Freesia sparrmanii </i> .</b> </a><br> I have a greenhouse where the <i>Nerine</i> have grown, slowly but surely, from minor players to the whole story. Back in the days when things began (as they do) I grew a few bulbs in an old greenhouse along the all the paraphernalia of horticultural adolescence. Among them was a <i>Nerine</i> acquired on a whim from a catalogue as one did in the days when bulbs were cheap and the lies told in catalogues were blatant. Nowadays you will pay a great deal more for a subtle disappointment.<br> It was my first contact with <i>N. sarniensis</i> in the unexpected form of 'Inchmery Kate'. She didn't last long, I hadn't appreciated quite how much <i>Nerine</i> detested being dried off and assumed that if I potted the bulb and added water, all would be well. No matter, the world is full of new bulbs to try.<br> I still rely on a collection of bulbs to provide astonishment through the occasional garden hiatus though the <i>Nerine</i> are constantly edging them out. 'Inchmery Kate' made a welcome return and she brought all her friends with her (perhaps not all, but enough for a busy party in a large country house).<br> This year I missed <i>Freesia viridis</i> and its unlikely dab of green flowers in January. It just decided not to. Of the confused species, only <i>F. sparmannii</i> has produced buds so far and it has waited until the winter garden has cracked under the strain of summer flowers. I saw a <i>Dahlia</i> in bloom last week - it's true it was sheltering in a greenhouse, but then so was I.<br> The <i>Freesia</i> was named after a Swedish naturalist Anders Sparrman, (and I must correct my spelling through the site when I get a moment) who collected it in 1775. I haven't had it that long, but long enough to enjoy it. I would be sad if those bullying <i>Nerine</i> pushed it out! <br clear="left"> <br clear="left"></p><br> <p> <img src="garden3.jpg" align="left" width="30%" title=" Pleione Eiger" > <h3>1st April 2018 </h3> <a href="../../plants/pleione/pleioneeiger/species.html"><i><b>Pleione </i> Eiger .</b> </a><br> Cold weather arrived just as the <i>Pleione</i> started to move. The first roots were venturing into new compost and the first flower buds were showing at the base of the pseudobulbs. Cold weather put a stop to all than nonsense and although it only lasted a few days in all, it has set the plants back by a fortnight or more.<br> Among early flowering species I would like to grow <i>P. humilis</i> from the Eastern Himalayas. It was another of those bulbs available cheaply in my youth. I have purchased it a number of times and killed it with equal frequency. It has a range including Nepal, Bhutan, Myanmar and India and although it is said to reach altitudes of 3,500m I have a feeling that imported plants originated at lower levels in India. They weren't very hardy.<br> Fortunately the trade in <i>Pleione</i> bulbs from India has ended or I would still be killing them annually.<br> The closest that I can get is Eiger, the first generation cross with <i>P. formosana</i>. It put up with being frozen solid for a few days in March and still produced the first flowers. It may have inherited some hardiness from <i>P. formosana</i> but the influence of <i>P. humilis</i> can still be seen in the droopy flowers which hang over the side of the pot with less brio than a marathon runner crossing the line. <br clear="left"> <br clear="left"></p><br> <p> <img src="garden4.jpg" align="left" width="30%" title=" Tulipa sylvestris" > <h3>1st April 2018 </h3> <a href="../../plants/tu/tulipasylvestris/species.html"><i><b>Tulipa sylvestris </i> .</b> </a><br> After the engaging preoccupation of the snowdrop season the arrival of spring can seem a little tame. I have tried a number of things to stir the passion as the garden stutters forward and they all provide a soft landing after the snowdrop crash. <i>Hepatica</i> and <i>Erythronium</i> provide some solace, <i>Trillium</i> and <i>Paeonia</i> are under consideration, <i>Pleione</i> provide big pink orchids and together they are genera of salvation, but the most joy comes from tulips. Ideally they should be large and loud and red. The names don't seem to matter, I have no desire to collect them all, it isn't the detail that matters, it is the impact.<br> Unfortunately they are short lived here. I think they are probably short lived everywhere, or to be more precise, after flowering they split into bulbs too small to flower the following year. You have to lift them, line them out and wait for a couple of years until they are large enough again. Fortunately there is an escape from that drudgery, although it is yellow at a time of <i>Narcissus</i>. Nobody's perfect.<br> <i>Tulipa sylvestris</i> is a very widespread species that grows in a band from the western reaches of the Mediterranean (both sides) through to western China. It has also naturalised in places, one of which is the UK. For me it has been both perennial and reliable. I get flowers every year and I seem to get more leaves with every passing growing season. I could hope for a red one but I am happy with yellow. There is an opulence about it that the daffodils have put aside.<br> I am thinking about planting a hundred into the meadow where their twisting necks can obscure the drooping daffodils. Just thinking at present, I have a month or two to mull it over.<br> By then the ground might be dry enough to plant them. <br clear="left"> <br clear="left"></p><br> </p><p> </p> </body> </html>