Author: Marion

As we prepared to move to Shropshire, I drew up plans for the garden. A key part of that plan was for the area behind the house – the site for the orchard and vegetable plot.  The fruit trees were planted in our first winter – in a rectangular grid – the beginnings of our orchard. This left the ground nearest the house, which swept round the outbuildings, to await its transformation into a kitchen garden. But this transformation was postponed whilst my attention turned to planting trees, planting shrubs, creating herbaceous beds, erecting fences and building walls. And so, it wasn’t until late May 2020 that we started on our kitchen garden.

When we arrived, along the fences on the south and east side of this part of the garden, were piled many huge logs and slices of tree trunks. Some of these we have manged to split and use in the log burner; those too hard to split have been used as informal seats or features around the garden; and their bark has been used for paths amongst the shrubs. But there remained many which were too soft to burn. These logs needed to be cleared to give more space for produce and also to give access for my planned steps up the bank from the back of the house (more of that later). So, over a number of days – and in fact we still haven’t completely finished – we set about shattering these soft logs, collecting the fragments in a large builder’s bag to be used later as mulch to improve our clayey soil.

We could now turn our attention to the layout of the kitchen garden. Although it is behind the house, the ground here is higher, in line with the roof. This means it gets sunshine as soon as the sun is above the hills and is in full sun until sunset. Also, being higher it so not as waterlogged as lower down in the garden. I hope its position will encourage it to be productive.  Being up behind the house, tucked round the corner at the top of the orchard, means it is not in direct view from the main part of the garden, so should it ever look unkempt it will be out of view. But equally it is quite close to the back door – at least as the crow flies; initially it was quite a walk around the from the back of the house, around the new wall, past the pergola and up through the orchard – hence my plans for some steps (details coming soon).

After much debate, we settled on three raised beds to start with, and the process of digging up and burying the turf started – a laborious and tiring process of which I was now only too familiar. In this top corner we had during our time here, added to a large pile of grass cuttings, and I had also made a pile of grass turves which I had not buried in new beds elsewhere. These turves had, I was pleased to discover, composted down, so now this home‑made compost along with compost dug from the grass clipping pile was used to fill our new raised beds. I was of course aware that I was importing innumerable weed seeds – but what could be done?  The vegetable growing season was well advanced by the time we were able to plant up our first bed – but nevertheless in went runner bean seedlings and a courgette plant, and seeds sown for radish, spring onion, lettuce, swiss chard, beetroot and carrot.  We fixed chicken wire around each bed to keep out the rabbits! Now we could sit back and wait for our bounty – could we not?

Well of course not. I wanted to be able go back and forth to the kitchen garden quickly.  There is a steep bank behind the house (the retaining wall has collapsed in many places – providing bricks with have been useful in many places, such as edging the lavender hedge). Ultimately, I’d like to make more of this bank: terraced vegetables? wildflowers? But that is a longer‑term project – my ideas for that are embryonic. However, steps up this bank to the kitchen garden were part of my initial plans, and now they were necessary. The bank is full of grasses and pernicious weeds, but I needed to do this quickly, so we removed a piece of the fence at the top of the bank and I roughly dug out a flight of wide, deep steps in the slope.

The soil was retained using tree stakes which were no longer in use and pallet wood, creating rustic steps, surfaced using gravel left over from when the drive was redone. The steps led down to the retaining wall – the shorter side which seems to be stable.  The wall at this point is almost a metre high, so more pallet wood and offcuts were used to construct three wide wooden steps up and over the wall.  A white butler sink and an old rusty wheelbarrow were positioned at the side of these wooden steps and planted up with herbs and succulents, to continue the rustic theme.

It was by now August, and two raised beds were fully productive – beetroot, spring onions, radish, carrots and lettuce were all excellent, and I was harvesting them regularly. The runner beans were doing well – until winds blew them right over – the plot has proved to be less sheltered than I had thought, so ways to provide windbreaks are being considered.  By sewing carrots late, we appear to have avoided carrot fly, and in fact I have been harvesting carrots and spring onions right through the winter – the last few are about to be harvested as I write in February!  Not bad for our first season.

Perhaps now we can sit back and relax?

The Well Bed is circular, about 5m in diameter, edged with the local stone, in the centre of the courtyard at the front of the house. The bed had established conifers and lots of heathers – several varieties which flowered at different times of the year. Not being a huge fan of heathers, I have come to appreciate them, especially the one which spread out on the southern side of the bed facing the road, with purple flowers from December through to May – a plant in the right position to earn its keep. But it was the side facing the house, which we looked out at daily, which was disappointing. A large blue‑green prostrate conifer spread out, with a vigorous dark green heather pushing up amongst its branches, creating a dark and unattractive sight.   I had tinkered with this bed, planting annuals, bulbs and perennials around the juniper – but my efforts of improvement were thwarted!

Yes, rabbits.  I had been aware of what appeared to be rabbit holes in the Well bed when we arrived – I dug them over and placed stones over them. I enjoyed watching the occasional garden visitor but in 2020 it got out of hand.  In January four young baby rabbits were seen regularly emerging from underneath the juniper – the shoots from the bulbs, the heucheras and cinerarias I had so carefully planted gave them plenty of sustenance. They gradually got braver venturing to other beds, making short shrift of the small hebe plants I had carefully nurtured from self-sown seedlings.  After four weeks or so they were seen less often, and fewer of them – perhaps predated or at least left the garden?  I disturbed the holes I could reach, threw rubble under the juniper. Done. Oh no. Towards the end of February another litter emerged, this time at least five were seen. Again, the damage they did, this time to primroses and geranium shoots, was exasperating. The trouble with rabbits is that they breed – like rabbits! By the time the third litter appeared I’d had enough. The juniper and the rabbit warren underneath had to go.

The juniper was fully mature. I set about cutting the branches back, hard work – the branches were thick and gnarled – and painful from the vicious spines amongst the needles.  Gradually it was removed, and the chainsaw used to get as much of the root out as we could; it was piled up to dry before making a bonfire much later in the year.   As we worked, we finally uncovered the rabbit holes – several of them. 

Fearful that I might be burying the next generation – but hoping that the mother would have been scared off by our work – I dug them over, checking for other entrances elsewhere in the bed. My intention was to retain some of the heather, I cleared the bed, dug it over, spread some compost. On the day we finished clearing it, we were amused to see, just as the light was failing, a youngish rabbit, looking about himself in a rather bemused fashion: ‘I’m sure home was here somewhere…?’.  The following morning a much larger rabbit – the mother I assume – came and sat on top of the earth. Surely, this was no longer a safe place for her to raise another litter? She looked about under the other conifers and heathers before lolloping off. Over the coming weeks I checked carefully for signs of burrows in the bed – and elsewhere around the courtyard, as presumably, I’ve just moved them on.

We then had to abandon the Well bed – hopefully no longer a rabbit nursery – while our attention turned to building the dry-stone wall. So, it was late May, early June when I planted up the space vacated by the rabbit warren and juniper.  The heathers I’d tried to retain had died, so I had a blank bed to fill.  Two small skimmias, a small pernettya, and several silver‑leafed cinerarias, all of which had been in pots over winter were planted out; a small yellow leaved fuchsia which I’d planted two years previously, but which had struggled beside the juniper now had some space. The heucheras despite the rabbit damage had recovered as had the primroses. I planted my usual perennial stalwarts: verbena bonariensis, red valerian, hypericin tutsan, sedum spectabile, lady’s mantle, creeping diasca. Plus cornflowers and annuals cosmos and salvia (again care of my daughter-in-law). Then from long willow prunings, I constructed a wigwam, which provided a somewhat feeble support for some equally feeble (late‑sown) sweet peas. And of course I couldn’t resist including little paths: to the side of the well, and also to an improvised bench.

Nature again did what it does best: the plants thrived in this open, sunny – and rabbit‑free – space and within a few weeks it was crowded with flowering plants, including nasturtiums, self‑sown from those which had been devoured by caterpillars in previous years. And, of course, I succumbed to the temptation of another rose – when ordering the climbing roses for the pergola, I added The Lady’s Blush, a gentle, free‑flowering pink English Rose.  At one point, we suddenly saw a rabbit hole in the middle of the bed – enough to prompt the purchase of a live rabbit trap; it was placed in situ but nothing was caught and we convinced ourselves this was just an exploratory attempt, and it has not, as yet reappeared.  Of course, there is still plenty of evidence and indeed sightings of rabbits in the wider garden, but at least they are no longer living right in front of the house.

This is of course the Well bed – the stone well from which it takes its name, sits on the western side of the circular bed, protected by a timber and tiled roof. The ‘well’ however, is just a garden feature – disguising a manhole cover – not an ancient water source for farmyard animals; to some it might appear a bit twee, a bit of a cliché, but to my mind it is attractive. An established clematis grew on its western side when we arrived, which I was nervous about pruning; so far, the clematis had been disappointing, rather small dark red flowers, barely noticeable against the well roof tiles. I did some research and early in the year I made the bold decision to cut the old shoots right back down – it grew from beneath one of the more attractive golden heathers. I had expected to have killed it off – but no, new healthy shoots sprung up, and by August the well roof was clothed with a mass of good‑sized ruby-red flowers – even the colour appeared to be reinvigorated. I was delighted.

What was a rather unattractive bed prominently visible from all the rooms of the house has been transformed into a bed with a mix of small shrubs and perennials with plenty of room for colourful annuals to put on a summer display. Objective achieved. 

A couple of weeks of rest after completing the drystone wall, then we set about constructing a pergola between the end of the outbuilding and the raised bed – the fun bit for my other half. An ivy was removed from the end wall, which was cleaned, cracks filled and then painted brilliant white.

Three uprights were concreted into place within the raised bed, and the main horizontal struts fixed securely – and horizontally – to the outbuilding. The rafters – ten of them – were shaped at both ends, notches cut and then precisely positioned across the rafters. The end of the outbuilding faces west and gets a lot of sun, so we chose wide rafters which we hoped would provide some slated shade. Once erected a bright sunny afternoon showed that it did indeed give some shade.

Now for the fun bit for me – planting up the raised bed on the two sides of the seating area. I dug over the clayey soil and included some compost from the huge heap in the south‑west corner of the garden – hopefully lots of nutrients but also, I knew, countless weed seeds.  In mid‑summer retail premises were allowed to re‑open, so we visited our favourite nursery and returned with: ten small euonymus ‘Silver Queen’ to provide low hedging by the grass; a choisya Aztec Pearl an evergreen to screen off the rear of the outbuilding; lavatera and berberis shrubs to give some height; and penstemon Southgate Gem, Salvia Hot lips, and a schyzostylis Red Cape lily for bright colour. 

Then came the deliberation about what to get to climb over the pergola. Something with lots of flower, quick growing but not too vigorous. I considered a range of climbers, but inevitably I settled on roses – they grow so well in this garden, and they flower for so long. I made a careful selection and ordered them online – a pale pink climbing rose The Generous Gardener for the front upright and the white climber Iceberg for the rear, both have relatively few thorns, which hopefully will make training them up and across the pergola easier. From our local garden centre, a pink clematis, Empress was selected for the middle upright, with the low growing escallonia Red Dream to shade the roots of the clematis.

Over the next few weeks, I added various plants from elsewhere in the garden – the floriferous creeping diascia, flag iris rescued from beneath overhanging shrubs, a lavender also crowded out in the terrace, red lobelia Queen Victoria much loved of the rabbits, and the ubiquitous verbena bonariensis plus red valerian, aquilegia, wild marjoram and montbretia. And then plants raised from cuttings, division or seeds: perennial wallflower, salmon coloured heuchera, stipa Mexican feather grass, perennial monarda and annuals pink cosmos and godetia. The planting looked sparse and new.

It always astounds me how quickly plants grow in the summer. In just a couple of weeks the bed looked full and we were able to enjoy our new seating area surrounded by different coloured flowers, an abundance of foliage and the pleasure of watching the pollinating insects.

A sun-sail hung beneath the rafters gives more shade when needed, and is easily removed. Sharing it with family and friends has been very limited, as the pandemic restrictions continued.  But oh, how fortunate are we to have such a peaceful place in which to stay safe and look out at what we have achieved so far: three years ago there was nothing in this part of the garden other than grass, now there are borders, walls, steps, hedges, shrubs and trees, all nestled within the surrounding hills. Bliss.

It is always a wonder how much and how quickly the garden changes through April to May; wandering past the abundance of new growth on a sunny spring day really does lift one’s spirit. The bank outside our gate seemed suddenly to be awash with a profusion of forget‑me‑nots and red campion taking over from the primroses and snowdrops, with tall stiff spikes of cow parsley and the beginnings of diverse attractive grasses, all set against the old stone wall. I love this bank, and as we are rarely leaving home this spring, I have been more aware of it changing.  Although it is a natural bank, in which I do no planting, it does need managing.  Brambles and stinging nettles would both too readily take over; we have already had one session cutting them back – early in March – and this will have to be repeated often – but after the wildflowers have set seed.

Another of the joys of spring is the long shadows cast as the days lengthen. As we have developed the garden, I have been delighted with the different views we have created, and the almost magical effects created by the sunlight streaming through.  Looking back across the fence which separates our small ‘Woodland Walk’ from the shady garden is one of my favourites – creating such a calming and satisfying feeling in my soul.

But joy can also be found in the details. We are fortunate to have inherited an old wall which would once have surrounded a farmyard, and a well‑weathered gate, which has far too much character to be sanded and re‑painted.  The freshness of foliage contrasting to the textures of the wall and gate is one of those small details which, by staying home this spring, we have been able to fully appreciate.

The winter pansies in the pots on the steps leading to the front door, are still flowering profusely, which has stopped me from being tempted to plant out my over‑wintered geraniums – as we have recently had a few hard frosts, that could have spelt disaster. The geraniums can wait a couple more weeks, giving more time to enjoy the pansies. The spring flowering shrubs, like weigela, are full of flower and I am gratified and relieved that the pink climbing rose is full of buds. I am always nervous about pruning this rose, as it was flowering so spectacularly on the day we moved in. I try to follow the pruning guidelines but am never sure I have done the right thing. Only a few weeks ago I was examining it, convincing myself I had got it wrong and there’d be no flowers this year at all. But no worries, a gush of spring growth has produced rose buds in abundance.

I have no worries, however, when it comes to pruning clematis montana. We have two, mature, large rambling montanas, on trellis on the main building in the courtyard. The growth they put on each year is phenomenal – but pruning is just a matter of hacking it back to keep it under control (and out of the gutters) then the next spring they are again smothered in blooms. Last year we put up some trellis for the pink montana to cover in order to screen our cars from the lane – the trellis is currently covered in pink flowers complemented by the ruby tinged foliage. Another spring delight.

In my potting shed and cold frame, I have a larger selection of seeds and cuttings growing than I usually manage. I had limited compost, so mixed in some of the grit and earth sieved when doing the wall. This gave good drainage and consequently plenty of germination – in fact a worryingly large amount of germination. I was puzzled at first, with such a range of seedlings in each seed tray – until the truth dawned – the grit was full of weed seeds! I spent some time peering at the small seedlings trying to determine which were the ones I was trying to cultivate and which were the weeds; I think I identified the weeds, and pulled them out.

I had divided a heuchera last summer and the young plants are now growing well and looking splendid on my new plant stand. But they and the summer flowering seedlings will have to wait a little longer before I plant them out – partly due to the late frosts, but more particularly because the garden this year is proving to be of special interest to the local rabbit population. I couldn’t bear for my five home grown heucheras to be devoured. I am trying to protect small plants in various ways and we are attempting to rabbit proof our boundary – not an easy task. This week we spotted a healthy‑looking fox, wandering across the field opposite – hopefully he is doing his bit to assist us. 

April was a lovely sunny month, ideal wall building weather. But before more stones could be laid, we had to move a large builder’s sack of gravel, grit and earth which had been scraped off the drive when it was resurfaced a year ago and dumped here, out‑of‑the‑way. Now it was in the way of our current project, our new sunny seating area. Over a couple of days, the entire heap was sifted and sorted, resulting in a pile of gravel to be used later, plus the large builder’s sack now full of grit and earth, placed in a different, and currently out‑of‑the‑way spot.

The waterbutt was re-positioned from the front corner of the outbuilding to be out of sight at the rear. We could now tackle the bank. Grass, dandelions, ivy, nettles, dock, giant hogweed – all growing in a deep slope of solid clay. Gradually, I removed all the vegetation and as much of the tenacious roots as I could – an arduous and tiring task – to uncover the unyielding clay. How far to cut it back? Just a gentle curve or further back to create a rectangle? Still weary from the weeding, I was tempted to stop earlier but was persuaded – and helped – to ‘do it properly’. Thus the clay was sliced back to create a sharp right‑angled corner.

Actual wall building could now begin. We had started with three tons of walling, and a lot had already been used in the first part of the wall, but I had kept back a number of larger stones and smaller flatter stones, crucial for the bottom and top of the wall. The walling, we had been told, was sourced from a limestone quarry not far away, just across the Welsh border.  The stones were random sizes and shapes and varied in their density – some being surprisingly heavier than others of similar size. Of course, their uneven shapes added to the challenge of wall building. I began the bottom row. 

As I selected and placed the large stones, I became aware of a buzzing. A continuous and persistent buzzing. I sat and watched awhile. Small bees were going in and out of holes in the wall of clay. Back and forth. I did some research and was reassured to discover that miner bees – for such they were -very rarely sting, and if they do, it isn’t very severe. The bees accompanied me incessantly as I constructed the wall; even after the stones were put in place, they persevered to find their tunnel homes behind the wall.

Under a hot early spring sun, I juggled with the stones, starting with the corner and gradually incorporating a couple of extra rows, to make the wall slightly taller at the far end. The process involved numerous rearrangements to make pleasing – or at least acceptably pleasing – rows. With a quickly reducing pile of stones from which to choose, the 3D jigsaw got trickier, though when there are few stones left, the options are inevitably reduced. 

Three tons had been a very rough estimate of how much we would need, and I was prepared to reduce my walling plans if the supply of stones ran out. It was only at the end, that I could I see that there was enough – though only just enough – to curve the wall towards the rear of the outbuilding, bringing it to a satisfying termination. The wall was finished.

The excavated clay was dug over to create a large new raised bed, and the sifted gravel spread back over the ground, ready for our new seating area. The next part of the plan is to construct a pergola between the outbuilding and the new raised bed to provide shade over this lovely suntrap.  Planting will have to wait until the pergola is in situ, though I have planted a few small things – some of which have been pushed up by the mole, others dug up by the rabbit! In the meantime, we have a lovely place to sit, admire our handiwork and enjoy the view across our Shropshire garden.

Quiet. Still. Colours subdued yet sparkling in the slanting light. Silhouettes of bare trees against the pale winter sky. Wrapped in vibrant colours of autumn before going to sleep, branches dripping with brilliant berries – gradually devoured by birds themselves preparing for winter.

This winter was wet, very, very wet. And there were only a few days when it was very cold, cold enough for the frost to pick out the details of the garden.

Fallen leaves on the grass. Rosettes of small sedums and the first primroses of spring.

The wet months of February and March passed, and suddenly it was sunshine, warmth and the garden burst into life. The walls clothed with the purple of aubretia ready to welcome visitors which were prohibited to visit.

Reliable clumps of daffodils, which we had inherited, flowered yet again reliably, in the shelter against the old farmyard wall …

… and under the mature ash tree with grape hyacinths amongst the carpet of ubiquitous, gloriously sunny celandines. 

And beneath the low branches of shrubs dances clusters of pale forget‑me‑nots. The garden has awoken.

But not everything has been asleep through the winter. The garden isn’t really ours; we are just temporary residents. The real residents – the moles, the voles and the rabbits – continue to thrive, their presence throughout the winter only too apparent. They were here long before us, and I am trying to accept that I only share my garden with them.

The grass along the western side of the house just spread untidily onto the gravel path – it was an area that I had immediately wanted to improve and back in the hot summer of 2018 I had planted a lavender hedge along the southern part. But by the back door the grass sloped down to the path and as soon as we arrived, I envisaged building a drystone wall with steps up to the garden.

 

Over the past couple of years, as I removed grass to create flower beds, I would lay upturned turfs along this grass/gravel boundary to build up the raised bed which would be retained by the future wall. This made the area look even messier. A wall was certainly needed.

But this was going to be a big job and there was planting to be done, so it wasn’t until the beginning of 2020 that we ordered three tons of walling stone from the local sand and gravel merchant. We moved it – slowly – round to the back of the house, sorting it into different sizes.  It sat there for a couple of months, but then the coronavirus lockdown started, so being consigned to home and with a remarkably dry April, there could be no more excuses and wall building began.

Thirty years ago, I had built a drystone wall at my previous garden, so I knew what was involved: constructing a 3D jigsaw without a final illustration and possibly with the wrong pieces. The first couple of rows went up quickly, until I squashed a finger which delayed wall building for a few days, whilst my husband set about cementing in wide shallow steps up to the grass.

Slowly over a few days, I continued the wall, with stone selection getting trickier as the stone pile shrunk. After building the wall to retain the raised bed on the south side of the steps, I dug back into the grass where it was getting lower and curved the wall to form a small seating area. I incorporated a broken pot and created small pockets in the top of the low part of the wall, in which I planted a few small alpine plants garnered from other areas of the garden. A bench with a small homemade table completed this area. 

Part One of the wall was complete – Part Two, the north side of the steps would have to wait until other spring garden jobs had been completed.

A postscript:  soon after this part of the wall was finished, it became apparent that a mole had taken up residence in the raised bed. The little creature busied himself pushing up the plants and throwing up mounds of crumbly earth all over the bed, along the edge of the wall by the grass, even in the plant pot. I am doing my best to disrupt his runs, to persuade him that this isn’t a good place to live, but so far, he is reluctant to move elsewhere.

The summer months have been lovely – and busy.  Far too lovely and busy, it appears, for me to spend time writing my blog!  So, what  new projects have I done this summer? 

In the courtyard, the grass swept down in front of the large shrub border to the entrance gate. We liked how it looked but wanted to make the courtyard feel a little more private. So, I created a small bed across the grass, backed with trellis, to separate the drive from the courtyard. A climbing rose (Malvern Hills) will hopefully scramble over the trellis in future years and evergreen clematis armandii, and ceanothus will create a screen.

At the end of the trellis there was a rather overgrown escallonia bush, full of ivy and a lot of old wood; not attractive. Behind it were hiding some of the shrub border’s ubiquitous herbaceous plants – geranium, red-hot pokers, perennial cornflowers, and more importantly the view of the hills beyond. I decided that the old escallonia needed to come out; easier said than done, but after a good deal of work we now have a sheltered place to sit and enjoy the view of the surrounding hills.

In the main garden I continue to develop my ideas: the area bordered by the rose hedge, copper beech and the fence, will – I think – be a paved area with central feature (raised bed? seat? statue? herbs? Not sure as yet, nor what to call it) but I had decided to square off the space by creating a triangular bed which, as it is in full sun all day, I planted up to be a ‘hot’ border: yellows, oranges and reds, mostly herbaceous but with a few shrubs. Early days but most have established well.

At the far north-west corner of the garden one of our first trees, acer pseudopatanus spaekhii, is healthy and growing, albeit slowly. This was an area of the garden where my initial plans for a swathe of coloured bark willow had not been successful and so I thought again. It has a lovely view looking back up the garden to the house and the end of the Wenlock Edge – it had to be a place to sit.  At a sale at our favourite nursery, we purchased a number of small but vigorous shrubs: mahonia Charity, cornus, weigela variegata, weigela Red Ruby, continus, virbumnum davidii, and splashed out on three more choice shrubs: azalea knaphill Jolie Madame (gloriously pink), rhododendron Nova Zembla (rich red) and physocarpus opulifolius Lady in Red. We planted these shrubs in an arch around the maple, to ultimately create a shrub backdrop to the seating area. As our soil is neutral, I shall have to top-dress the soil around the rhododendrons to help them thrive. So far the shrubs are growing, but this is planting for the long term and it will be a some time before the ‘maple grove’ of my imagination is formed.

The garden changes so quickly – and dramatically – in early spring. I should have posted this blog when the trees were festooned with catkins and blossom, but somehow the weeks have gone by and the garden has moved on. However, I have the photos I took in March, so here goes.

First a puzzle. On what plant are these curiously vivid pink flowers? I was quite amazed to see them very early in the year and in such profusion on one of the trees we had planted. But which one?  The blossom on the almond tree was much more as expected, pale pink flowers typical of a fruit‑tree; it too was one of the very first to bloom, perhaps brought on by the exceptionally warm weather in parts of February and March. Writing this in April, I can say that I can’t yet see any sign of the fruit (almonds) forming – were the flowers too early for its pollinators?

Each of the different types of willow we planted in our willow hedge (I realise I haven’t blogged about the hedging yet) had slender catkins, some very small, others a few centimetres long, most pale‑green but some with a reddish hue. The mature hazels in the established native hedging along our southern boundary had plenty of long catkins; I assume that last autumn they had had plenty of hazelnuts too, as the squirrels have been busy digging up those they had buried in the grass – lots of them (squirrels and nuts) – always discarding the empty shells next to the hole by way of explaining to us why the hole was necessary.

In the rather unkempt bank between the back of the house and the orchard, there is a self-set pussy‑willow which had lots of bushy catkins, beautifully soft and furry, equally delightful when caught by the sunlight or electric light indoors.

But what of the curious vivid pink flowers? Well they belong to the Japanese Larch. I now know that the pink flowers – and they were vivid pink – are the female flowers, the male flowers are the yellowy‑brown blobs hanging down from the branches. If the pink flowers have been pollinated (by insects of some sort?) I assume they will develop into cones. We shall wait and see.

Plants die back, shrubs close down and gardeners like me wander around looking at the skeleton of the garden but not doing much gardening – nor blogging. But not all the plants are asleep. Many berries brightened up the autumn and early winter days, gradually being devoured by birds – except for the small shiny scarlet berries of the red berberis in the sycamore border, obviously not as attractive to the birds as to me. Another favourite of mine are the three evergreen viburnum tinus shrubs; these I trimmed back in the summer and they have rewarded me with a mass of flowers, white tinged with pink all through the winter.

Similarly, the heathers in the central round bed of the courtyard have given a colourful display from early December, but for some reason I’m not a huge fan of them, they just seem a bit boring, but in this extraordinarily warm February the bees and even butterflies have awoken and they are feeding primarily on the heather, which has made me soften towards them.

Whether it is due to the long hot summer or the mild winter (or perhaps both), the winter flowering deciduous shrubs have been impressive this year. The creamy coloured flowers of the large lonicera fragrantissima have been more abundant than last winter but the highlight has been viburnum bodnantense at the back of the shrub border, splashes of bright pink high up on the stiff upright woody stems makes the whole shrub stand out, with its sweet fragrance wafting across the smaller shrubs, reminding me to look in its direction to enjoy the sight.  

I had always wanted a witch hazel, being fascinated by its unusual spidery flowers. The variety I bought last year, hamamelis intemedia Jelena, has coppery orangeflowers with burgundy centres. Its stems have been covered with flowers for several weeks which catches the slanting winter sunlight in the morning and late afternoon. I’m pleased with the subtle but eye-catching display it creates in the secluded garden.

The hellebores under the giant ash tree have continued to multiply, they just self-seed everywhere and most of the new seedlings have good flowers, many pink, some quite dark, the others shades of cream from pure white to almost yellow. I adore plants that produce new attractive plants so freely. Yes they can become a problem when they spread into and around more delicate plants, but I’m happy to dig some up, though I always will put them elsewhere, I can’t compost them. This winter I selected some small hellebores with particularly good flowers- and growing where I could dig them out without destroying neighbouring plants – and replanted them in along the avenue and also in the wide border by the secluded garden to give both some winter colour. Beautiful plants.

There are snowdrops all along the lanes around our Shropshire home and many clumps in the beds around the courtyard. Some are quite hidden behind large shrubs, so last March I dug up several clumps and replanted them in two small patches along the southern edge of the main garden, beneath the shade of the tall hedgerow trees.

As the winter progressed, I often spent time peering at the grass for signs of their growth and had started to think they had gone, but finally their pale green leaves emerged above the grass and it seemed quite suddenly that there were two patches of snowdrops – hardly enough to be called a ‘drift’ but patches, nevertheless. This February I have replanted lots more snowdrops to extend my patches – one day they may become a drift. There have been many, many gloriously sunny – and warm – days this February, which has made it delightful to enjoy the early flowers and watch buds swell and start to burst. Like the bees and butterflies, I have gone from place to place to relish it all.