Jearrard's Herbal

12th February 2023

The wind plays a large part in this garden, crashing into the windbreak, thrashing around in the branches and throwing them to the ground. It can be spectacular. I don't go into the garden when the wind is having a temper tantrum. I have seen the fallen branches where the wind has tossed them, sticking vertically out of the ground. I don't need to be out there when it happens. It isn't quite the same as finding your car in a tree after the tornado has passed, but if trees are going to fall then I don't want to be there at the time.
This week the wind has added a softer texture to the garden. Some days have been brisk, the wind at my heels, chilling the air and hurrying things along. Some mornings the air has been still, the garden almost silent. One of the robins has started to sing, but he isn't quite sure of himself. After every burst of lustful assertion there is a pause - if that's alright with you - is there anybody there - and then another burst. There is a precision about the garden that is unfamiliar. Time seems to have stopped, and with it the blur of expectation has been sharpened. This is what it is, right here, right now. It is very satisfying.
This path is a nothing space. It started out as part of the internal windbreak but I realised that I could put a long path straight through it. A scatter of trees were removed including three mature pines in the line of the path. The holes where their rootballs came out were levelled, but they have returned. The mower struggles to cope. One day I will fill them again. It will wait for a brisk day with the wind at my heels.
For now the garden is quiet, calm and content. Days like this are very precious.

Iris 'Katherine's Gold'

12th February 2023

Iris 'Katherine's Gold' .
Before the lunacy of spring takes hold, there is the dangling promise of pre-spring. A scattering of plants that leap from the ground before the garden has quite realised that the temperature is rising. They act as trailers for the main event. Iris 'Katherine's Gold' is the cheerleader for the new herbaceous border. I wanted to plant Iris 'Katherine Hodgkin' but they had sold out. I had to hope that 'Katherine's Gold' would be as good, and I think it has been.
The new herbaceous border is cut to the ground in November or December. Both if there is time, either if there isn't. I ride over it on the lawnmower, thinking of the colourful patchwork that will develop through the summer. It doesn't work out like that, naturally. It is nature that gets in the way. By the end of summer, most of the border will be weeds. Eventually I will get enough herbaceous planting done to crowd the weeds out, but the early years have concentrated on learning lessons. Most of the lessons have drawn attention to those plants that are unpalatable to both rabbits and deer. I'm making slow progress, there is no need to rush.
The Iris were put in to take advantage of the early spring, before the other growth had started. The initial planting was a test. Fifty went in, two have established. It is a good start, they have been there for three years now, and they have started to increase. I will put some more in and see if I can improve the establishment rate.

Primula allionii 'James'

12th February 2023

Primula allionii 'James' .
The genus Primula, for all its remarkable diversity, is fundamentally divided into two very distinct groups. The first group consists of those species that I can grow, the second (much larger) group is made up of species that I can't. I have spent half a century pandering to the whims of exotic Primula in order to get to that simple understanding and I am going to take it to heart.
Primula vulgaris romps around the garden with glee, filling corners with spring sunshine and grass paths with unmowable lumps. It grows with delight, and that is where I am going to leave it. Can I grow other colours, can I grow doubles or hose-in-hose? The answer is, no.
I thought that I could grow auriculas, but it was self delusion. I thought that I had found an answer, solved the riddle of their intolerance, but I was wrong. The heat of last summer hit them all very hard. As they expired, one by one, the scales of self-delusion fell from my eyes. This isn't the place for auriculas. I'm not going to pit my will and obstinacy against them any longer, the auriculas of the world are set free from my torture. Let them prosper where they will, it isn't here.
I can grow Primula allionii, along with some of its hybrids, and that is sufficient for me. I still kill the occasional plant, but it is accident and mischance, not genuside.
P. allionii 'James' has been the first of them to burst into flower and it kicks off a short but delightful season of alpines that will tolerate the clammy Cornish climate.

Cyclamen coum

12th February 2023

Cyclamen coum .
The fate of the Cyclamen still hangs in the balance. They are close relatives of Primula and have presented cultivation problems of their own, however I think I am making progress. In pots, I am starting to prevail against the rots and vine weevil that have beset them. I have a small collection of cyclamen, and it is growing slowly.
Outside in the garden, C. hederifolium is increasing under the old sycamores. I would like to plant more, but I think it is best to let them do it for themselves. Those seedlings that grow are well adapted to the environment. Eventually they will fill the available space.
Cyclamen coum was less successful initially. A few plants in the same conditions under the trees, limped along for many years. I think they have gone now. A small planting in a tub has done much better, filling the tub with tubers and scattering seedlings into the grass all around. It gave me the confidence to try again. I have just put in a dozen bright magenta flowered plants in the sun, among the snowdrops. If they establish then they will be thrilling and if not I will retreat to the greenhouse and make clucking-crooning noises over cyclamen in pots.
Another week has passed, the sensual stillness of the garden only ruffled by the idea that it won't last for long. There are daffodil buds all around, the tulips are showing, and woody stems have filled with swollen buds. I don't really have a word for it.
Cowabunga?