
Winter Jasmine
Nudiflorum
“Winter's most reliable cheerfulness. No scent, no fuss, just clear yellow flowers when you need them most.”
— ROSIE
Rosie's Take
I used to walk past winter jasmine without really seeing it — just another green shrub against a wall. And then one December, I actually stopped and looked, and there were all these tiny, bright yellow stars scattered along the bare stems, flowering in the cold like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Jasminum nudiflorum is nothing like its summer cousin. No scent, no twining habit, no tropical glamour. What it has instead is timing. It flowers from November right through to March, which means it's doing its thing through the darkest, most flower-starved months of the year. That counts for a lot.
The flowers are small — six-petalled, clear yellow, opening flat against dark green arching stems. They're modest individually, but en masse they create this effect of scattered sunshine on a grey wall. I train mine along a low fence by the front path and it's the first thing I see when I come home on dark evenings.
You can cut stems for the house and they'll open indoors in the warmth. A few bare branches studded with yellow flowers in a simple vase is one of my favourite winter arrangements — it has that Japanese quality of making something spare feel intentional and full of meaning.
✿ From the folklore cabinet
Winter jasmine arrived in Britain from China in 1844, brought by the plant hunter Robert Fortune. Unlike its sweetly scented summer relative, this one traded fragrance for fortitude — blooming through frosts that would flatten most flowers. I think there's something rather admirable about that particular bargain.







