January came with heavy snow and gale force gusts that brought down snow-laden trees. Then there were days of frost and biting winds, then heavy rains that flooded fields and roads. There were also many low cloud days, the hills around the Castle shrouded in murk the colour of mud; not much sight of the sun. But through it all the snowdrops have been emerging in ever bigger clumps. They are everywhere around the town, in pots and borders, on patches of abandoned garden, under walls and hedges. And they’re still going strong.
Our own snowdrops are too newly planted to make a clump or a photo worth taking, though we’re still pleased to see them. So these are the neighbours’ snowdrops.
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The garden has been looking pretty dreary, but there are signs of spring – when I put on my specs and do some low-level peering. The Tete a Tete daffodils for one are looking promising:
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We’re also approaching the main season for hellebores. The December flowering Christmas Carols have kept going through snow and frost, but the rain has muddied and bruised their faces.
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This purplish-pink one, just opening outside the kitchen window, is faring better:
And still in purplish mode the Ajuga reptans looks to have put on a growth spurt along the back garden path. I think it may be Atropurpurea. It’s certainly looking very purple here in the afternoon light:
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And since we’re in the back garden, it’s worth looking in on the winter greens. At one stage they were buried in six inches of snow, but now I see the Swiss Chard and perennial beet have begun to regrow, and the purple sprouting and cauliflowers planted out in the cleared runner bean bed in September are bulking up. The land cress, meanwhile, has been sprouting edible, peppery salad stems all winter.
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And finally there are the slivers of tiny mauve crocuses that have popped up all over the front garden. On dull days they are almost invisible, their petals in tightly wrapped small spikes that remind me more of fungi than flowers.
But earlier this week we actually had a blue-sky-full-on-sun day, and the tiny souls opened wide, though barely an inch across at full petal: their own small force of nature.
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Six on Saturday Our host Jim, as ever, has plenty to show us in his garden; always something new to see or learn about there.
