JEARRARD'S HERBAL
22nd February 2026
Arisarum proboscideum .
I don't really understand the world of Pokemon. It is one of those crazes that passed my generation by and I'm not convinced that we missed anything thereby.
However, as I understand it, you had to catch them all. I was left wondering what happened if you didn't catch any. If you wandered around looking for imaginary Pokemon
without finding anything to validate the futility of the process?
It has been a dark week, clouds have enveloped the sky and leaked cold rain to dampen any sense of adventure. There were no Pokemon to be found,
nothing that would seem to make sense of the struggle through the dank.
The leaves of Arisarum proboscideum have been pushing through the ground far a few weeks. I pulled a few off to reveal the maturing flowers.
There is a sense of brown resignation to the scene.
22nd February 2026
Iris 'Katherines Gold' .
Further up in the garden the rounded brown flowers with white rumps were echoed by a couple of deer sheltering in the new herbaceous border.
They looked at me for a moment, considering skittering away. Then they looked at me slightly sternly. Couldn't you just -off and leave us alone.
Then they skittered.
The border is showing signs of stirring from winter sleep. The first peony shoots are up, the first Tulips sylvestris buds are visible.
Spring could be dancing around any corner, but when I looked there was just more mud.
Iris 'Katharine's Gold' lifted its head and lifted the spirits, like finding Pokemon spraint, the first whiff of spring.
Fortunatley when I woke up this morning the sun had come out, the world seems to have changed into something fresh and wonderful. I can't remember the last time I felt dazzled while walking down to the greenhouse.
I would have liked to revisit the Iris in the sunshine but it's a long way to go just to apologise for the gloom.
22nd February 2026
Narcissus obvallaris .
In the sunshine, Narcissus obvallaris has sprinkled the lower meadow with gold. All around are twigs and branches torn from the Liquidambar
but the Narcissus is untouched. The slugs haven't found it, the deer haven't chewed the buds. Perhaps it will complete its flowering season in pristine perfection.
In the sunshine the hope doesn't seem unreasonable.
The Narcissus doesn't set seed to spread across the ground with joyful abandon. Instead the glaucous leaves slowly build into large clumps, marking the place where I planted each bulb decades ago.
It would be nice if the clumps merged as little, perhaps softened the deliberate geometry of planting, but that isn't the way N.obvallaris works.
It makes clumps, very precise, very quaint.
A few years ago I decided to lift a few and spread them around. The bulbs go a lot deeper than I was expecting, so I left them alone. They make clumps, they're happy in clumps, I get it.
22nd February 2026
Arum creticum 'Marmaris White'
The weekdays were dreary and cold. This morning was warm and sparkling with the electric magic of spring tingling in the air. It is about time for something remarkable and at the top of the garden it is happening.
A few years ago I hatched a plan to establish Arum creticum among the spring bulbs under the trees. I was able to plant 'Karpathos' (the FCC form)
and then I got a plant of 'Marmaris White' to add diversity. Neither of them have made a great deal of leaf but the 'Marmaris White' has managed a flower.
It is as strange and unexpected as I was hoping, towering above the last of the snowdrops on a rigid stem that has (so far) resisted the whistling wind.
Perhaps, if it works, it will one day be remarkable. During the week, in the daily drizzle, I planted out a potful of seedlings in anticipation of wonders to come.
In the sunshine the ground is heaving with barely hidden buds and shoots have started to appear on the trees. I don't have Blackthorn flowers yet but I have Blackthorn bulges
on the twigs. The garden is stretching to throw off the crouching gloom of winter.
Who needs Pokemon!