JEARRARD'S HERBAL
6th November 2022
Fuchsia 'Tarra Valley' .
The autumn weather has slipped from brave cheerfulness to grim resignation during the week. There have been dry moments, there have been sunny moments,
but there has never been the feeling that the garden has been elevated beyond the clamminess of the season. As the afternoons slip into dark obscurity,
the meanness of Greenwich Mean Time has been exposed.
The sombre tones of Fuchsia 'Tarra Valley' do little to cheer the outlook, but they do raise the spirits. It flowers irregularly through the season,
a consequense of a confused parentage.
The typical South American fuchsias flower in an increasing crescendo through the summer. A small group of species from New Zealand flower in late winter
from the bare stems. Poor old 'Tarra Valley' is a hybrid between F. splendens and F. colensoi and falls between the two groups. It is flowering now
after a summer of enthusiastic growth. It will flower again in January and February in solidarity with its New Zealand heritage. Both seasons will be exquisitely half-hearted
like an effete aesthete reclining on a chaise-longue with a quiet brilliance that demands attention.
There is no question: the muted colours of 'Tarra Valley' will rise effortlessly above the aimless chatter of autumn fuchsias.
6th November 2022
Osmanthus heterophyllus 'Purpureus' .
This is the season of strangeness. Things are perfectly normal without really conforming to expectations. It is like one of those sci-fi films where the population of
a town is replaced by aliens,
identical in every way but somehow not quite right. The smiles are wrong. Someone is wearing their shoes on the wrong feet or the dustman is in an ill-fitting suit and tie.
Osmanthus heterophyllus 'Purpureus' would fit in perfectly. It has a strangeness that is difficult to pin down. It flowers in autumn,
generally without much enthusiasm, as though it were a secondary flush of flowers after the main spring display. Unfortunately, it isn't.
The lack-lustre autumn show is its entire contribution to the decoration of the garden. It wears its blooms like a back-to-front t-shirt. The head and the arms fit
into appropriate holes but the garment doesn't settle.
This year things are different. Perhaps the hot summer has stimulated it, perhaps it realised that it doesn't fit in. It has bloomed abundantly,
clusters of flowers strung along the snaking twigs. The harder it tries the more it looks like a Halloween ghost of it's spring flowering relatives.
Trick or treat? It's hard to tell.
6th November 2022
Vallea stipularis .
Vallea has followed the Osmanthus example and flowered. It doesn't seem to have a season; it produces flowers when the time is right
and it decides for itself when that is. I was expecting a scattering of soft pink flowers in May or June, but it couldn't be bothered.
It occupied itself with the production of some long, wispy shoots. They were welcome. During the winter the plant had suffered some die-back.
I suspect that a roe deer buck had been head-butting it in the name of amusement. Perhaps it was just regular die-back, it's difficult to know.
The pink flowers have managed to capture a shred of freshness from the decay of autumn and only the water dripping from it indicates the inclement season.
It is planted among stout evergreens that will slowly expand and crush it. It will sprawl between them as they expand, extruded in lengthening trails
that spill along the ground desperately seeking shrubbiness. I have rooted cuttings and will give it a try somewhere else.
6th November 2022
Iris unguicularis 'Walter Butt' .
In the front garden the bananas have lost their tropical aura. Strong winds in the week didn't help but they had already darkened,
the shadows within them increasing. They haven't been frosted but they have braced themselves for the possibility.
Beside the house, Iris unguicularis 'Walter Butt' has produced an early flower. Shadows have enveloped the bananas and spread through the garden.
Even on the south wall of the house the habitat has become slug-friendly. I was amazed that the Iris flower was undamaged. It has survived for two days now,
but Iris unguicularis is prime quality slug salad, it won't be there in the morning. Further up in the garden the flowers of Iris lazica
have been reduced to lace before they open properly.
It is a very welcome sign that spring is a possibility. It isn't here yet but it will happen. As the slug-filled shadows merge into early nights
I take comfort from the recklessness of the Iris and the sage nodding of the autumn snowdrops.