There is a callous forming on my hand above my ring on my left hand. After a weekend with some time in the garden there is also a small blister, adding to the hardness of my skin. At this point there is no chance of me ever being able to remove the ring and it is now part of me, a form of marking time. My hands ache from pulling ivy out of neglected bed. I am always amazed at how leaving a bed to just be one year means some serious work the next. For my labours I can see change, not just in the formation of a pile of garden waste waiting to be mulched or put in the green bin but also the newly discovered hellebore seedlings previously hidden under the growth of ivy. With the clearing comes the forming of ideas much like the small signs of growth I can see where I have cleared. The nubby stubs of Solomon seal. The wavy stems of daffodils. The small buds of lilac on the newly liberated tree.
For all my grumbles last week of missing flowers and endless darkness I feel for no reason at all that a small corner has been turned. On the days that are clear there is the ever so slight hint of spring or maybe that the is heavenly scent of winter sweet that is currently lingering in the house, a gift from a friend who we visited on Sunday. The smell is the memory of the first garden I knew as a child and upon reconnecting with it I am thinking of ways to add it to the garden. My friend suggests taking a cutting from the tree and the thought of adding a sample for her tree to my garden sends me off to research the how to.
After my gardening work there is always a stroll around the garden with my camera, just to see. I search out the small yellow crocus that always reminds me of a baby bird, mouth open searching for food. I squealed with delight (which I tend to do a lot of in the garden) when I first spied the small chipping mouths of a flower. Today they are closed an indication of the grey day. Further on my stroll are the snowdrops in a pot that I am sure weren’t there yesterday but I suspect this is not true and more of a reflection of my lack of awareness. I love the upright tight white heads that will soon open like an umbrella to reveal delicate flecks of green. Another sign of changing seasons. A little bit more hope of warmer days. Although I know it is way too soon to suggest spring is arriving I taking delight in what I am seeing.
Most of the beds are flat and small and low. The odd tall stalk of a former seed head remains and I think of how I will need to get more pea straw and that a second run around the garden of weeding and chopping back is required. I stand and look at all of this as I am visited by a new friend to a garden, a black fantail who calls by occasionally. They chatted away while I worked the garden. The tree dahlia still stands. Some of it is frosted but most is still tall and very green. The buds that have been forming for what feels like an age are finally opening and I find myself stretching up and trying to capture then with my camera. I fight the urge to clip and branch and take it inside. I shall wait a bit. As always with the garden it is about patience and time.
P.S what signs of spring (or changing seasons) are you starting to see?