JEARRARD'S HERBAL
17th March 2024
Prunus spinosa 'Purpurea'
Spring has been doing its glorious overcast thing all week. Sometime, maybe soon, who can tell, the skies will clear and the sun will shine without
the shadow of doubt. There are peony buds about to burst in the greenhouse (just red shoots outside). The glory of spring is right there,
like a tracked parcel that is 'out for delivery', it could arrive at any moment.
I don't have peonies yet, and I don't have cherry blossom. Cherries don't really prosper in the wet climate here. I have killed enough to be confident
of that. In the hedgerows, Prunus spinosa gives a good account of itself, though it's a bit short and a bit grubby to deliver cherry blossom in the classic style.
If only there were a hybrid, more tree-like and brighter that could deliver some flower-power. The hedgerows of Cornwall could glow like a Japanese cherry festival.
There may be. Just outside Taunton, there is a field hedge of tall, pink flowered scrubby cherries. The best of them grow into small trees.
I drove past them on Thursday and I wish I knew what it was.
In the meantime I grow Prunus spinosa 'Purpurea'. I have had it for a very ling time. It produces an occasional flower and it isn't pink. It flowers and my head fills with wonder.
Mostly I wonder why I still grow it. I can only offer a pathetic answer. I am very fond of the ugly spiny monster.
17th March 2024
Nerine undulata 'Fish River Pass'
Down in the greenhouse, Nerine udulata 'Fish River Pass' has outlived its season. The nerine collection is an undulating sea of flaccid green leaves,
enlivened solely by the idea that they are building strength for a new season. It's March, the first flowers will appear in July, there's not long to wait
and I have the best parts of spring and summer to distract me. In the middle of it all, the flowers of 'Fish River Pass' appear.
This year I lost a few of the flower spikes to cold weather at the end of January, but a couple have survived to flower. Another year has passed and I still haven't managed
to raise any hybrids from it. I mean to store some pollen in the fridge from an autumn nerine, so that I will be ready. Somehow the appropriate
autumn moment never seems to arrive. This year, for almost certain, I will do it.
Nerine flowers are alright in the spring, even if they seem all wrong.
17th March 2024
Scilla bithynica
My garden tends to deliver just what I had hoped for and it does it with an enthusiasm that makes me wonder if I am going to regret it.
I have a small cluster of trees planted at the top of the garden. They were put there to deflect the hilltop wind and after a few years
they had grown dense enough to control the invading brambles. I cleared the ground, cut off the lower branches, and had a lovely woodland
dell to plant with precious things. Most significantly, precious things that could look after themselves under deciduous trees.
I collected some seed from the neighbours bluebells and sowed it onto the bare ground. As I did so, I knew that it was an action I would not be able to undo.
The bluebells are lovely, they fill May with colour and allow a few other things to prosper. I don't regret it, though the possibility of regret
still hands like a mist between the trees.
Four or five years ago I noticed that there was very little flowering among them in April. I added three pots of Scilla bithynica from the garden centre.
It is beautiful, small and has a reputation for invasiveness. It has fulfilled its promise in full. The three pots have spread into three large patches.
It is wonderful, it fills a seasonal gap, and I couldn't remove it if I wanted to. It is doing just what I had hoped and it turns out that it is also what I wanted.
17th March 2024
Corydalis solida
Beneath the same trees, Corydalis solida was planted with similar innocent hope. I had seen Corydalis cava covering the ground at Warley Place
and wanted the same from my little woodland. I had previously known the genus only from precious pots in Alpine Garden Society shows. The idea that they could
prosper outside was a delightful revelation. I did a small trial with a single tuber of Corydalis solida in a tub and it was a triumph of un-deadness.
I planted four purple flowered forms under the trees and when they had survived for several years, I planted fifty tubers of red flowered ones ('George Baker').
The red ones are negotiating the terms of their survival with the other bulbs in the area. Experience has shown that it takes a few years for them to really settle in.
I hear stories of people who have gardens where they naturalise but I had no great hopes.
Suddenly this year I have been filled with lilac-purple joy. I planted four and now I have eight distinct clumps. They have seeded. I can hope that they will
eventually make a bountiful impact. I would prefer a carpet of red but I see the proliferation of lilac-purple as a promissory note, a sort of red-in-waiting.