Nigella ‘Alba’

Nigella has always been the dreamer of the cutting patch, with those feathery, fennel-like leaves and flowers that look as though they’ve been sketched by a fairy with a very sharp pencil. Most folks know the classic sky-blue ‘Miss Jekyll’, but her pale sister, Nigella alba, is a quieter sort of magic. Her flowers are soft white, sometimes kissed with the faintest green or cream, and they float like little paper lanterns above that frothy foliage.

I love how they give a border a touch of lightness, as if someone has opened a window and let the air in. They’re perfect companions for stronger colours — calming down a loud bed of calendulas or adding a dash of purity among cornflowers and larkspur. And then, of course, there are the seed pods: fat, ballooning, architectural little wonders that dry beautifully and keep their charm right through winter.

In a jug, Nigella alba is pure enchantment. She plays the same trick in arrangements as a good white shirt does in your wardrobe — makes everything else look sharper, fresher, more deliberate. Sow her where she’s to flower (she’s not keen on being transplanted) and she’ll come up as willingly as cress, flower her heart out, and then leave you those sculptural pods as a parting gift.

If your garden sometimes feels a bit too solid, too heavy, Nigella alba is the breath of air that sets it all gently in motion. She’s easy, she’s generous, and she’s always welcome here.

300ish seeds per packet.

Hardy annual.