JEARRARD'S HERBAL
6th June 2021
Paeonia wittmanniana .
The difficulties of summer have lurked in the shadows. I worked outside without a hat for a couple of hours at the start of the week and came in quite light-headed.
The following day the afternoon heat drove me out of the greenhouse while I waited for the relative cool of the evening before starting some potting. On occasion a cool breeze
has obscured the intensity of the sunshine and as well as a hat, I need a bottle of water with me if I go outside.
Cornwall is too wet for peonies, the temperatures in summer are too low. I made a conscious decision not to plant any in the garden. Every time I find one in flower, and it seems to be happening with increasing frequency,
I am both delighted and surprised. I don't grow peonies but fortunately the peonies I have planted have take no notice of me.
Paeonia wittmanniana flowered in a single spectacular flourish last year in May. This year the dozen or so flowers have opened singly at the start of June, lasted for a day and then wilted under the summer sun.
The bright light that makes the flowers glow also hastens petal fall. After a number of failed attempts to get a worthwhile picture, I finally captured the last flower
in good condition. The following morning it fell apart.
6th June 2021
Dendrobium moniliforme 'Tsukimaru' .
I don't grow Dendrobium either. A decade ago I could have told you that with an intensity and conviction that might have appeared almost hostile.
I'm not hostile of course, I would love to grow dendrobiums however a decade ago the feeling was not mutual.
For better or worse, things change.
Growing Pleione led me to a better understanding of plants from summer-monsoon regions. Dendrobium kingianum led me to the idea of cold tolerant dendrobiums.
Inevitably I arrived at Dendrobium moniliforme and the cultivated plants of Japan. If kept warm and wet in summer, they will stand considerable frost in winter.
Fourteen simple words, it has taken me a decade to learn them, I have killed a number of plants along the way and now the opening of buds at the end of spring is like the unfolding of wisdom.
It leads me to the conclusion that the most important tool in gardening is a seat; the most important attribute of a gardener the courage to use it.
6th June 2021
Ixia viridiflora .
Gardens are full of surprises. Ixia viridiflora came up unnoticed a couple of months ago. By the time I realised it was in growth the leaves had started to yellow.
I looked at the bundle of straw in petulant frustration. I want to raise more plants and for that I need seed. To get seed I need flowers and the plants have been so dry they have
shrivelled before flowering. It is my own fault, I grow them in the Nerine house where watering almost stops once the Nerine die down. I am petulant and frustrated with myself.
I recognised the problem several years ago but still haven't changed things. One reason is the lack of anywhere obvious to move them to. I have a number of summer growing bulbs and they all suffer
in the same way. I need a greenhouse for summer growing bulbs.
I have moved all of the Tulbaghia to a bench much closer to the tap. Little details like that make a difference. If the Tulbaghia prosper (and the signs are good so far)
then I might move the Ixia as well.
While I was being petulant and frustrated, Ixia viridiflora flowered. The blooms have a delicate shading of eau de nil that my camera looks at and decides it is white.
That frustration started to appear again but fortunately my 'phone came to my rescue. The colour isn't quite right yet, but it is almost there.
6th June 2021
Tulipa sprengeri .
The first week of summer has delivered surprise and satisfaction that I hadn't anticipated. Spring hits a mighty crescendo with the flowering of the evergreen azaleas and then summer arrives, the flowers
turn brown and papery. The garden slows to a pace more suited to a tired gardener walking up a hill. As things slow down the garden fills with satisfaction. Things look achievable again
once the dizzying rush of early growth abates.
A few years ago I was given a pot of Tulipa sprengeri seedlings. Cornwall is too wet for tulips, the summer temperatures are too low. Still, there are a few I would like to try
and T. sprengeri heads the list. But what to do with the seedlings? I pricked them out into half a dozen pots and grew them in the alpine house for a year. The following spring they were attacked by
hungry aphids so when they finished growing I planted the pots out under the trees. It was a hopeful, wishful, yearning action propelled by a combination of desire and ignorance.
The following summer I was given a handful of fresh seed and spread it on the ground where I wanted tulips to appear. I am used to the idea of plump bulbs in autumn-brown paper bags.
Strewing seed felt like foolishness but I did it anyway, closed down hope and walked away.
On Wednesday evening I took a tired stroll up through the garden to see the bluebells under the trees as they shimmered in the late sunshine. Surprise, delight, incredulity.
A dozen scarlet flowers scattered through the bluebells. I didn't feel like crying, but I felt like I wanted to feel like crying. Gardens are complicated.
Thank you Simon and Jo.