Gardening is an act of faith. Most of what you are doing is going to take a while to come to fruition. Whether it is sowing seeds, planting bulbs, taking a cutting, even pruning…you have to have faith that your actions are going to lead to something good.
I find February an excruciating month. We are so close to spring, but it is often getting colder rather than warmer. Bulbs have broken the surface of the soil, but their growth is glacial. I feel like each time I visit the garden I am willing it on, but it is like a painfully shy child. The more pressure it feels to perform, the more it hides its head and keeps schtum.
Every time I see these Fuchsia and Salvia cuttings, I feel a little warm glow inside, because human beings are generous, and like to share their blessings.
There are so many signs of spring, but we can’t quite shake off winter. It’s like we have a fifth season, spr-inter. Its colours are minty-fresh, but with a hint of honey…
If you are in company and you face-plant, everyone can enjoy it. If you are on your own and you face-plant, you have to spring up quickly, as if you meant to do that, as if it was just part of your normal skipping pattern.
My guide to rose-pruning, relaxed style.
How is it, when all the others are much bigger, much stronger, more colourful, more showy… how is it that the humble little snowdrop is the bravest of all?
The sun is just lifting free of the horizon. I move towards the light…
Mist simultaneously closes in, and creates distance. It disorientates, and makes the landscape appear what it is not. Islands appear in a sea of mist, and birds start out of nowhere.
It is at the interface between living thing and the outside world where the magic happens.
We are in the inbetween-time, waiting for signs of life…
My favourite winter job in the garden is MULCHING. Just the word is delightful. Like squelching, but warmer and snugglier.