Or is it?
February in Britain often teases, bringing us a sudden mild and sunny day, as it did last Saturday, followed by bone biting winds (today). Countryman poet, John Clare 1793-1864, wrote a poem about February fickleness. I probably mentioned this time last year. It’s worth a read.
So: we have crocus and snowdrops, and the odd daffodil. Also hellebores, both waning and waxing. On the garden steps the winter pansies still thrive, although all but blustered out of their pot.
We have only a small scatter of snowdrops in the Farrell domain, but everywhere else about the town, in gardens, under lane-side walls and hedges there are drifts and drifts. Reinforcements, then, needed at The Gables for next year.
At the top of the garden steps the dark hellebore has just begun to flower. Very striking when the sun catches it. Meanwhile, in the pot below, Hellebore Christmas Carol is winding down after a three month performance. Although having said that, this morning I noticed there are new buds forming beneath the gone-to-seed blooms.
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The clump of tiny crocus at the top of this post popped up this week by the front gate. Most welcoming of them. This particular variety also seems to be growing in every Bishop’s Castle garden. And of course there are the chunkier sorts too, a whole host in fact spotted in the grounds of the Wintles eco-houses:
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Outside the kitchen window (on the far side of our horrid hedge) the ornamental cherry tree is now displaying the faintest haze of plum coloured buds. They will be candy floss pink when they open. Not a favourite colour, but still a sight to look forward to against a blue spring sky.
And talking of the horrid hedge, those of you who follow my gardening pursuits will know that last year I was doing battle with it: untangling swathes of ivy, pulling out decayed hawthorn branches, unpicking very prickly vegetation that had knitted itself into a chicken wire fence running the length of the back garden, whingeing about the forest of saplings – ash, sycamore and elder that had grown amongst the holly, privet, weigela and hawthorn, all of which meaning you pretty much need a chainsaw to keep it in check.
In an ideal world I would have it dug out and replanted with wildlife-human friendly species. In fact, looking at 1990s photos of it, I don’t think it was ever deliberately planted as a hedge: more a case of boundary holly trees and shrubs suckering up together with arboreal interlopers and encasing a very rotten field fence.
But then a few weeks ago I had a notion. I discovered I could buy individual wild hedging plants and so fill in gaps between existing thickets. We have now popped in bird cherry, field maple and briar rose whips. We also have a more substantial hornbeam still to plant on the sunny side of the biggest gap created by our recent building work.
My hope is that, as the new plants become established (well trained of course), we can then cut back the main stems of the ash, sycamore and overgrown weigela, encouraging them to sprout more usefully (and manageably) from the base. That’s the plan anyway. One for the long term, methinks.
And apart from this, and in rare dry spells, my other betwixt-winter-spring gardening pursuit has involved digging out the compost bin. Last year I’d filled it with dug up lawn. And oh, what lovely stuff it’s become. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me – a lovely big pile of crumbly dirt. Perhaps enough for two raised beds.
Time to start some seed sowing then…
copyright 2025 Tish Farrell
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Lots to love here. The joyous crocuses (if only they didn’t get flattened), snowdrops and that gorgeous dark hellebore, flower and leaves! And crumbly compost. I opened my horrid compost bin the other day to dispose of grass cuttings only to find a mouse staring up at me! Could have been worse, could have been one of the rats seen in the garden recently. Good luck with the hedge, sounds like a good plan.
Ooh, Jude, I’m also glad it was only a mouse looking up at you. And thanks for hedge plan encouragement.
It’s all sounding grand in the Farrell household. Spring is a lovely time of year, if a tad slow in the UK. Those dark hellebores are divine. I doubt they’d be happy here.
Hellebores do seem to thrive in cold weather, so probably not so good in your corner of the world. But then you have so many wonderful early spring flowers (envy). And a bigger blue sky quota 🙂
Spring HAS sprung with you it seems. Our snowdrops were and are magnificent this year, but the crocus are havig a thin time of it with the wind and the rain, and stay obstinately closed up. I don’t blame them. But the first daffodils have opened, and the hellebores are doig well. So maybe it’s not so bad here either.
It’s mostly been so very cold since Christmas. And too much rain. And yes, our more delicate crocuses have been well and truly flattened in the last couple of days. The ones by our gate seem to have chosen a sheltered spot and so far survived the buffeting. Lots of buds on the fruit trees and bushes which always cheers me up.
I always knew spring was coming when I saw the crocus pop through the last snow.
Nothing like that moment is there, G.P. when spring flowers power upwards through the snow. Thanks for that image 🙂
Am rather envious of how spring like you are in Shropshire compared to the Dales here – the light you had makes all your lovely photos glow – the horrible hedge will soon be unregnizable with all those great gap fillers – May I suggest one or two wild cherry Prunus avens for there- a bird dropped one in my communal London garden and it’s a beauty beloved by wildlife.
Nature is looking good over your way..It’s the “well trained of course” that jumped out at me. Lol.good intentions are my downfall.Spring is promising over here but it is still Feb. For a few more days.
‘Well trained’ and well spotted, Beverly. We both know that well trained planting requires the gardener to be well managed too 🙂
Thanks so much for that tip, Laura. Looking at pics of it, I think there was one at the old allotment, and it was indeed lovely. This little look has made me aware of other wild cherries. There are still big gaps where the hedge runs close behind our kitchen wall so we’ll need more planting there. Can’t do it yet as it means a concerted approach from the far side – a job for warmer weather.
yay!
🙂
I think it’s great that you receive such joy from your garden Tish. I love to see a garden’s beauty, but not work in it. I guess I’m the one who walks by and admires your garden and the work you’ve put into it.
Yeah this makes me happy all around, especially hearing the joy in your voice talking about gardening. That first photo of the hellebore is quite stunning! We have a Daphne odora here in the PNW that is so fragrant this time of year, like honeysuckle or jasmine, starts blooming in early January if you can believe that! Was out immersing myself in it earlier. Keep the progress reports coming Ms. Farrell!
Cheers, Bill. That daphne scent is simply transporting on dark winter days. And yes, hard to believe even after total inhalation. Amazing what plant life gets up to.
Nothing like that here so I rejoice in the beauty and say a heartfelt thank you for sharing. I miss seeing the masses of wildflowers in the park in Illinois
Glad to send you a spot of cool climate spring, Janet. I can well understand how you miss your Illinois wildflowers.
Spring is wonderful! What a beautiful garden!
Many thanks!
Crocuses certainly herald Spring – love them.
They are so exuberant, aren’t they.
They are very special.
All your photos give. a sense of hope…..thank you:)x
Thank you for that lovely comment, Janet. I’ve been learning lately that it’s essential to keep priming the hope segment of the brain circuitry.
You are so right. x
Your Spring has sprung!
It certainly seems to have done some springing, Sue. Though I have to say the wind was perishing again today. ‘Cuts one in half’ as mother used to say.
Bad luck with that wind
We’re away so missing the first signs of the English spring. It was lovely to see how it is progressing through your eyes 😀
Happy travels. Sarah. I’m sure (hope) you are doing very well without our chilling winds. The first flowers, though, are certainly v. cheering.
I’m smiling over here, Tish! Thanks for sharing
Smiling back, Thom 🙂 🙂 🙂
There’s nothing like the feel and smell of freshly turned compost. 😀
That is such beautiful looking compost, Tish. How do you get the grass sods to break down so well in such cold weather.
My son is also digging up a box hedge in parts and planting in the gaps. The box provides some protection while the new plants get established.
Hello Tracy. I think a good frost actually helps to break the sods down. There were some live grass shoots around the edges of the compost bin (it’s a square wooden slatted one), but the’ve gone back into the new heap to go round again. And as to the hedge gap-filling in, your son’s approach was exactly what we were thinking. It should work, shouldn’t it 🙂
Absolutely.
Such beauty in February.
wonderful colorful photos and the candy floss pink is not my fav either, but we have a few trees on the side of the house that will also be sporting this color next month.
I checked out John Clare’s poem and wow, it was LONGER than I expected. And as I read through Calre’s February stanzas, appreciating the older format, it was interesting to read about the dialect and his view about grammar…. and now I know that “pooty” means snail – hahaha
Hello, Yvette. Lovely to hear from you, and I’m v. pleased you enjoyed the John Clare poem. Such a clear vision of times passed. And yes, isn’t pooty a great word. John Clare came from a very humble background, but he wrote some fine verse. He had a sad end though in a lunatic asylum.
Oh that is truly a sad end and yikes, I know today’s mental health care is not always the best, but at least we do not have those “lunatic asylums” of the past (hope we don’t anymore….)
Inspiring writing Tish, I gladly read it all, it helped me believe that with hard work and good planning there is a lot of hope for even the most neglected garden, which mine partly still is at the moment. But it’s a work in progress, much enjoyed.
I am admiring your beautiful spring flowers.
So pleased you enjoyed this, Agnes.