JEARRARD'S HERBAL
8th January 2023
Camellia 'Yuletide' .
The warm/wet weather has continued all week. There have been stimulating breaks when the sunshine has almost managed to pierce the drizzle, but they have been short.
Long may it continue. A savage cold snap before Christmas was quite enough. For a time it looked as though Santa might have to fight through the ice to get here. In
the event he arrived in a t-shirt and swimming trunks in the Australian style.
As the weather warmed at the end of December, I had a hope that Camellia 'Yuletide' might flower on cue for the first time since I bought it. Foolish hope,
I should know better. I have eaten the mince pies and eaten the Christmas cake. The turkey didn't even last to Boxing Day, but Camellia 'Yuletide' thinks it
can turn up in the middle of January to a rapturous welcome. Well, it can.
It's a wonderful plant making a small, compact shrub, studded sparingly with scarlet flowers. It is the closest thing to a pure red that I have seen in a camellia.
I look for it every year, shining brightly as the first signs of spring fight free from their cosy winter beds. It's a wonderful plant and an unfortunate name.
It was a wet Christmas. Santa will have got very grubby on his rounds. I will think of this as 'Santa's Washing'.
8th January 2023
Helleborus x hybridus 'Crimson Ruffles' .
A month ago Christmas seemed like a distant prospect. I got the mower out and rode over the hellebore bed with glee. It still has a thrilling frisson of naughtiness
about it. I look forward to it every autumn. Perhaps I just like riding the mower over things. Through the summer the hellebore bed gets covered in native meadow plants (in another time we would have called them weeds).
They make a show of sorts, but I delight in the autumn. The hellebore leaves have done their job, out comes the mower and I chop it all down to the ground.
It's a remarkable transformation. If I get the timing right, then the ground is only bare for a couple of weeks. In the last few days the hellebore flowers have started
to emerge, pushing up in discreet camouflage as though the ground itself had come to life.
There are a couple of flashes of colour. A pale pink hellebore has opened, and 'Crimson Ruffles' has joined it in the last few days. My earliest hellebore is a
fawn-pink hybrid. I don't think it has emerged this year. Perhaps it has and I haven't noticed. It is growing inconspicuously at the back of the bed and blends
perfectly into its environment. It is almost pointless, but not quite. It taught me a lesson. Stick to pale colours that I'll be able to see against the woodland floor.
Almost pointless but thrillingly early. The first signs of spring have to be hunted out, but they are rewarding, even when mud-coloured.
8th January 2023
Cyclamen coum .
I have a tub of Cyclamen coum growing by the side of the path. I haven't yet found anywhere in the garden that it is happy. My dreams swarm with of shrieking cerise flowers
buzzing over the ground, filled with bees and unruly joy. It hasn't worked out like that. I have a tub of restrained white elegance.
A week ago I weeded the tub. The first swan-necked buds had started to show and it seemed a good time to removed a few tufts of grass and the occasional dandelion.
I looked forward the buds finally opening and then looked down at my feet to discover that I was walking all over them. Ants have collected the seed and spread it into the path
all around. I can celebrate finding somewhere that the plant is happy. Anything that will flower in January is welcome. The sky is showing some chinks of brightness,
it is nice to see it being repeated from the ground. I still want it in shrieking cerise but I can work on that.
I have a new patch of garden under a pine tree to start with.
I cleared it two years ago and the Arisaema I planted have not yet become rowdy. They might be prepared to share the space with some cyclamen.
Nice bright pink cyclamen to trounce the apologetic minimalism of the month.
8th January 2023
Aspidistra attenuata .
I have started off on the wrong foot. Aspidistra do apologetic minimalism with a determined conviction that raises it to an art form.
All the aspidistras here went outside a decade ago. They needed more space than I could make for them in pots. They have done well, but a few have been moved back into the greenhouse
because they were struggling. A few have been moved back in because they are too good to overlook. Aspidistra attenuata is one of the latter. The pallid flowers
are a reliable feature of January, shining like ragged moonlight through the wispy leaves. Unfortunately January is not the month for crouching beside them in the garden,
paralysed with delight and dodgy knees. It is much easier to have it in a pot in the greenhouse.
It is an excellent pot-plant but not really a good one. The long rhizomes don't branch very freely, so over the course of a few years a tuft of leaves wanders around the edge of the pot.
When you're not looking it spills over the rim and you have a pot, a long rhizome and a tuft of leaves. A tuft of leaves and ragged moonlight flowers in January.
Like all great wonders, it is worth a little inconvenience.
I got up this morning and needed to light the fire immediately. Perhaps the cold is returning. The teeth of spring are chattering with nervous uncertainty in the garden.