JEARRARD'S HERBAL
13th July 2025
Hemerocallis 'Chicago Apache' .
A hot dry week is testing the garden. July is always a strange month for gardeners. It is too hot to do much out there, and there isn't a lot happening.
Spring has shot its bolt and the floral excess of high summer is still budding in the starting blocks. The hydrangeas have been making a good show,
tolerating the dry weather so far. There have been moments of limpness but some short showers revived the plants. They will continue courageously
and if the dry weather continues to cause problems, they will continue to recover rapidly when it rains.
Hemerocallis have been particularly good this year. The newer cultivars have been bred for the heat of the southern USA
and they prosper as the temperatures soar. Low water levels in the soil mean that when they finally finish the foliage will yellow almost immediately
and the plants will shed their summer growth in a rather untidy fashion, however the new growth in autumn will remain attractive through the winter.
'Chicago Apache' has not made a good clump here, but the individual flowers are very remarkable.
13th July 2025
Nerium oleander .
Heat has also helped the oleander to flower. It grew originally in the Agave house but it was a magnet for red spider mite, the sick looking cobwebbed foliage
never raised itself beyond ugly and the flower spikes never raised themselves at all. I threw it out and left it leaning against the south wall of the greenhouse,
assuming that the frost would make short work of it. Events have shown it to be tougher than expected although it hasn't flowered reliably.
A hot start to summer has pushed things along. I think there are better clones available for British gardens but this one has endeared itself to me
by its dogged determination (though I might fall for a frilly pink one if it came my way).
I frequently think of places in the garden where this might prosper better and then I do nothing about it. That encapsulates the horticultural dynamism of July.
The first bulb catalogue landed on the door-mat this week. It's a very exciting thing, I'm sure that it will be full of promise and inspiration.
It's arrival was greeted with a groan. I haven't opened it yet. Perhaps I will sit out on a cool evening and find the energy to face its bubbling enthusiasm.
13th July 2025
Rosa 'Dorothy Perkins' .
My garden is shaded and dark, in a county renowned for its poor climate for roses. I don't grow very many roses, those that I have are not in the usual run of things,
'freaks and oddities' would sum them up well. They aren't happy here and there seems little point in struggling with them for the sake of obstinacy
(don't mention Primula allionii at this point, I know I should just let it go).
I have my finger on the pulse of modern culture, hot and cold running internet and I speak fluent Cappuccino. In that context my relationship with roses could
be summed up by Gru's mother ('Despicable Me').
'Eh'.
However from time to time my rosaceous indolence will be pricked by a good plant. 'Dorothy Perkins' did it to me, her flailing thorny arms embracing a friends summer-house.
When she flowers she is spectacular. The flowering period is mercifully brief (can you imagine three months with that pink), and she is strong and disease free.
I'm not a great lover of roses but a good plant is a good plant, and this is that.
13th July 2025
Carmichaelia stevensonii .
Gardening straddles the chasm of time. I am a middle child, straddling the gulf between one opinion and another comes naturally to me. I have a perfect build for gardening.
Obstinate enough to want results and lazy enough to accept what happens.
Gardening is about the here and now, no point in worrying about what might have been if the tree hadn't died and Godzilla (culture again) hadn't eaten the lupins.
There's a space, put something in it, the future is uncertain.
Across the eons I can remember myself buying a seedling of Carmichaelia stevensonii from Graham Hutchins. He had a timeless twinkle in his eyes,
I wonder what will happen to that one he was thinking. Well, it has flowered. It has taken forty years, but I have straddled the chasm. These dull white flowers
mean more to me today than anything else in the garden. I would love it to set seed, although I don't think it is very likely.
I would like to hand on a seedling, with a friendly smile.