Jearrard's Herbal

JEARRARD'S HERBAL


31st January 2019.	31st January 2019. Galanthus 'Brenda Troyle'.	2nd February 2019.
It isn't in any way a surprise when the weather takes control of events at this time of the year but it can be mesmerising. In the days when I was still young enough to have hair I decided to have it bleached pure white. It wasn't entirely successful, there was a distinct yellow tinge to it, but it had the desired effect. It was completely different. I wandered around for days getting blank looks from friends and I spent untold hours just looking at myself in the mirror. The snow descended on the garden. I kept opening the door to see what it looked like. The forecast for Thursday was wet. I stayed indoors and did some paperwork. Suddenly in the afternoon I realised that the road outside had gone quiet. The rain had changed to snow, the hill had become impassable. I snatched up the camera and headed out to the garden. There was a goose-down hush, even the Robin had stopped singing. The Camellia walk had a pristine, Narnian beauty and beneath the Camellias, Galanthus 'Brenda Troyle' had vanished into the snow. I have a lot of them and I thought the show might be over, but as soon as the snow melted they stood up again.


31st January 2019.	31st January 2019. Daphne bholua 'Jacqueline Posatill'.	2nd February 2019.
Daphne bholua 'Jacqueline Postill' was hit badly. She grows near the top of the garden on the exposed platform I dug out for the Agave house. Plenty of sunshine and good drainage, which should suit a Daphne well, but the wind forces through it like the tide up an estuary. The weight of snow had bent the main stems over in an alarming way. If I had any sense I would have shaken it off and allowed the the plant to stand up straight but I was mesmerised (or I don't have any sense). Flowers and buds were encased in snow and despite the forecasters promises, temperatures dropped below zero that night and they froze to ice. The next morning the temperature rose, the sun appeared briefly and by Saturday the garden was back to where it started. The Daphne petals were undamaged, the stems standing upright as though nothing had happened. All of which reinforces my view. If in doubt in the garden, take some pictures and leave it be. Alternatively, take some pictures and cut it all to the ground. Take a camera, toss a coin.


31st January 2019. Acer pseudoplatanus .	31st January 2019. Hamamelis x intermedia 'Arnold Promnise'.	2nd February 2019.
The snow does marvellous things. For one thing it hides all the cleverness. The garden is reduced to shapes and volumes, the things that really serve to create atmosphere and a sense of place. Snow tells you very clearly that this is where you are, right now. There is an authentic immediacy about it that isn't about art or artifice, it is about not falling on your bum. I didn't. I love all of the Hamamelis. It has crept up on me over the years like the slow migration of hair from the head to the nostrils. None of them is perfect and that makes their attributes sweeter. 'Arnold Promise' is too big, for example. It doesn't have a scent (Arnold lied), it is late into bloom and the colour is as understated as a yellow flowering shrub can manage in mid-winter. The compensations are very subtle. It branches with a delightful herringbone pattern, they trap the snow in unstable shelves like a tottering crystalline library. There is a gently exhaled hush surrounding it. The flower clusters don't dangle in the same way that Stachyurus flowers don't hang. They grow directly downwards with solid, unwavering determination, looking forward as the naked herrings plunge into the earth.


31st January 2019.	31st January 2019. Helleborus x hybridus .	2nd February 2019.
I have a lot of space devoted to Hellebores. They provide months of delight and it seemed worthwhile to have a large bed to make the most of them. I filled the spaces with double snowdrops and the two plants work well together, enjoying the same conditions and flowering at the same time. The snowfall flattened the developing display but I wasn't worried. I have seen the plants knocked flat by cold and snow repeatedly over the years. They stand up again the next morning if the sun comes out. I am feeling optimistic about the bed. It has survived the harsh management of last autumn and bounced back into flower. I haven't seen any signs of herbicide damage, all I need to do is give it a good feed in the next few weeks. I would like to mulch it, but that isn't realistic. I have driven the van up to the top of the garden in summer, but I doubt it would make it with a load of bark chippings on board. Once the snow had melted it was clear that it had affected the garden subtly. Daffoldils are opening, the Camellia buds are bursting, the starting gun for spring was fired in the white silence.