I pull back the curtains to see what the day will reveal. Yesterday the view out the window was one of heavy skies which looked like rain but when you walked in it, you only got damp, never wet. This mist, or mood clouded the day, encouraging a certain kind of nothingness that I seemed to sink in to, too easily. I wanted to garden and that had been the promised made mid week when the weather forecast suggested sun, or at least enough winter sun that would enable me to garden if I made the effort. Doing anything at this time of year, especially in the garden, requires effort which is why I find myself flagging a bit. Simply put I miss my flowers and they are a big motivator to do something. Passing the shortest day always feels like a giant achievement and despite my years I still magically think there will be some marvelous change to the light and warmth and things will move forward to a time when my garden is abundant with flowers again. This is simply not true and the opening of the curtains has confirmed that. I fight the urge to return to bed to my head under covers to hide.
Earlier in the week a seed catalogues arrived in the post. It feels like a bit of hope to shake off these winter blues. In my mind I have a date circled as to when I can start growing seeds. My planned date is later this month when the days will be a bit longer. In the meantime I can look and dream. In the room where things are put and forgotten, amongst the piles of read books is “Onward and Upward in the Garden’ by Katharine White, which I purchased years ago. I loved snippets of her writing I had come across on my reading travels however I ended up sheepishly retiring this to the room of forgotten things, unfinished. Her book was a collection of essays from here and there and when read together they told one single story, the simple joy of reading a seed catalogue. Holding my seed catalogue in my hand prompts me to find the book and pick up where I left off.
So it is with this echo of a forgotten book in my mind I find myself sitting with my pen and a seed catalogue looking at photos of plants and wondering about old catalogues of drawings and wistful plant notes so eloquently described by Katharine White. In this moment on a dark evening on the couch I start to think and dream about the days when the curtains are opened and a gentle breeze drifts in. I can almost smell the scents of the gardens and hear the nonchalant buzz of a bumblebee. In my mind I am warm and my feet are bare. A wet dog nose on my hand suddenly brings my mind back to present day and I return to circling things I want to add to the garden. Easy picks are that things that I grow every year, cosmos and cornflowers. I select a few sweet peas - my confidence in growing them has increased with my latest attempt still going strong. I seem drawn to pansies and violas for some reason so they are circled too. I spend time learning names and studying photos and thinking of places to put things when successfully grown, ignoring that I may actually be unsuccessful in growing everything. It is the time of dreams, so in my mind ever seed planted will become a magnificent plant. This simple sweet activity creates a small glow of a summer heart beat on a winters night.
Back to the weekend and the morning and opened curtains. The view that I see holds the promise of the day. The sky is clear, the birds are up and it is enough to encourage me out. It is Sunday and the green bin requires filling (it is my weekly challenge). I want to clean up the bed along the path and then work were the hellebore are starting to emerge. I want the space to be cleared and accessibly (there is so much ivy) so that ones these blooms are flowering I can be ready to admire them and take some photos and enjoy the delight of hanging out with my flowers again. My work takes most of the afternoon and I return inside as the afternoon sun begins to fade. Whilst enjoying my tea, I admire my trays of seedlings I started in Autumn and think how we are at the moment, both seeking sun and warmth and wishing to grow. Thinking this I realise that I am a bit like my seedlings, trying to grow in season of little sun and that maybe it is ok to just to be and not be growing.