There seems to be some internal natural clock that has chimed. The little white allium bulbs, round and squat, which remind me of tiny onions in the last week started to sprout. They have sat in little pots of soil for months and have become a metaphor in patience. As they sprout and grow in the weak winter sun, they move in my mind to different places in the garden. I daydream about the blooms that they shall become in the summer months. A treat for both myself and the various pollinators that call my garden home.
It is Saturday afternoon and I am standing shovel in hand emptying out the trough of soil that was moved from another part of the garden. Once emptied it will be moved again across the path to under the recently pruned rhododendrons and sit nestled in the newly cleared flower bed. I will fill it with different annuals, poppies, cornflowers, a wild mix of pollinator friendly plants to provide some light and colour in this space. The nature of the trough will change through the season offering different masses of colour as things grow, bloom and fade. I am looking forward to capturing all of this with my camera on warmer days. As I stand and dig I feel a presence standing near me. Long legs, a dark hoodie, I think - is it the other half checking in? He was suppose to be off fixing the fence. They say nothing and just stand. Waiting. I think this is odd and look again, realising that the legs are not those of my other half but those of a beloved out of town family member who is visiting for the day. I am surprised and promptly lose myself in a moment that involves much joy and probably too tight hugs.
My gardening plans for the day are now firmly abandoned. Tea is made and we find ourselves sitting around the garden table surrounded by the detritus of gardening - tools, pots, mud. We update each other on the bits and pieces of life. Children are growing, jobs are fine, everyone is well, plans are shared. This all feels good and somewhat a relief given the times we are living in. We’ve known each other over 20 years which seems like a long time but it feels like a minute. Added to the mix are stories shared of past adventures known or not. It is a simple gift of words that make the day seem very special. I am so grateful for it and for having the garden space to share it.
The garden around us is very much a showcase of the mess of winter, waiting to be cleared away. A fantail flits about while the song of the belle bird calls across the valley. Sun blasts and fades as clouds move across the sky. I notice my first bumble bee of the season and feel relieved that the Queen has made it through the winter and I will have their presence in the garden once more. She visit a lone standing white scabiosa. It adds to the smile of the day. I always think of sharing the garden in the summer, when it is at it’s height, filled with flowers and activity but it felt perfect to share it as it was today as it is. It all seems link, the visit, the garden and the emerging allium bulbs. Things in the garden happen at different times and are a continuing source of surprise and delight.
p.s. no newsletter next week as I am on holiday.