SPRING?

This is the path down to the pond and the Wendy House on the northern boundary of the garden. The snowdrops have been here since long before we built our house.

The pond is just out of sight on the top right. The ducks came and went - we wonder if they will return now we have frogspawn. Gill N. says she has newts but not seen any yet here.

Beyond the snowdrops small cyclamen are staring to push out of the leaf litter.

The birds are starting to sing, robins and chirping tree sparrows and the rooks are gathering in the tall trees. They have, as yet, not nested in our trees but next door. There its a flock of redwing in the back field. A pair of moorhen have been spotted by the pond by R.

Friday and Dudley is gone, now Eunice (I mean whoever calls a storm Eunice) and panic in the south with red warnings etc. When we had Arwen that felled 8 million trees and cut people off electricity there was not such an outcry - but then this storm is mostly in the south. Good drying weather for the washing here.

Just seen both bench seats blown over so . . .

It has not stopped the rabbits from coming to dine on the grass from down the field.

Still there will be another stick picking to be done when it has passed. The grass is so soggy my feet sink in two or three inches - stay off lad.

I would go out in then garden but . . .

I can see the quince from my window and that is near enough to outside at the moment.

I can also see the snowdrops and the wind and the chimes blown horizontally and the big ash above the house is swaying and we do not want another tree down.

I am just glad to be going into the kitchen where the Aga range pumps out warmth and put the kettle an and have a cup of tea and read a book - I have finished the crossword.

Saturday morning and a coffee in town. By lunchtime this - 

Then the sun came out and it all melted. The sparkle in the trees was stunning but walking under them was a constant drip on the head and down the neck.

By Sunday morning storm Franklin is on its way with strong winds and heavy rain so I am inside writing my blog having spent most of the morning asleep.

I know the shed needs doing, in fact the garden needs doing but the weather is so bad that not will have to wait - I mean the worst that could happen is we have a semi-wild garden and that is very in fashion.

So Franklin came and covered our windows with sea salt - we are several miles from the sea, and flooded the garden again. This puddle is the result of a new spring forming in there lawn and running down to the veg beds. What do you do in a storm if you are a pigeon - shut your eyes and hunker down until it is past.

The garden is once again strewn with twigs - sigh!

Can't wait for Gladys.

DUDLEY IS COMING

On a grey dank day like today one's mind drifts to those we have lost - so a thought and a prayer for Nell Fox who has slipped away and left us. 

Song thrush singing, robin singing, rain falling, garden stirring, Q would have a fit at the -ings. Not much down in the garden - R picked up some sticks. I worry at the growing bonfire heaps - will not light as too wet but the birds will be looking to nest in them soon. Do I leave them cluttering the place up till the autumn before burning?

We walk - 

hazel catkins and a roadkill of a fabulous but sometimes stupid cock pheasant. He is all bravado whilst the hens trundle about in the undergrowth and under the bird feeders.

We have loads of snowdrops - here planted under the greengage.

The first chives are through and we have a first, albeit tatty, hellebore flower.

And then in the house the Christmas Amaryllis we were given have burst into scarlet glory.

And then it rains and the air is waterlogged so I use the excuse to stay off the garden. And if that is not enough Storm Dudley is on his/its way - who thinks up these names? Storm Rory (and the Hurricanes) or Billy (Fury) or Marty (Wilde) or Duffy (Power) are better ?

The stream is full - on the left the stream is coming in from the bottom, a new spring on the top.

There is still colour in the garden - the old beech leaves or new day lily shoots (2 kinds).

And still the snowdrops flower, more than we have ever had in the past.

I am reading a book R gave to me - Tales of a Country Parish by Colin Heber-Percy. I am not a church goer and some might find that side of what he says a bit heavy but the other observations of life during Coronavirus are fascinating.

FEBRUARY ALREADY

 As I sit here and listen to the roaring of the gale (the weather forecast said it would be a light breeze) and watch the big eucalyptus bending before the wind, I can see swathes of snowdrops extending up into the wood and under the big fallen tree.

The snowdrops are good and early. 

In fact the birds were singing this morning and on Sunday we saw and heard a song thrush over the fell in Kirkby - presumably decided not to go south for the winter any more.

Flowers are appearing - the quince is early and we have small irises in the lily tub.

I have still not cut back all the hydrangeas and they look good against the light.

So, there I was shifting fallen and hacked back ivy off the snowdrops when a twig caught my glasses and whisked them into the air - but where?

Of course I could not see them now and did not want to tread on them. Off to the car for the old spare pair and a search. I found a lens quite quickly but it was ten minutes before I espied the frame and other lens.

We are hoping to get to The Garden of Cosmic Speculation in the spring. (https://gardenofcosmicspeculation.com) - an amazing construction. (And nothing like here.)

Had a couple of bramblings by the feeders - winter visitors a bit like a chaffinch. Apart from that is is the usuals - tits, sparrows, finches, pigeons and pheasants and wandering blackbirds.

Sunday morning, heavy showers and another gale. I sit in the kitchen in a fog? fugue? phug? Well anyway I have zero inclination to go weeding etc.

But things are stirring - cyclamen pushing through the leaf litter, the clematis armandii beginning to flower and daffodils in bud.

From the pond the shapes of the shrubs in front of the house stand out like living sculptures.

I go out and come in again, quickly, the sheep in the back field stand backs to the gale and then a robin sings, hope ahead.

So Barry Cryer has left us and also left us with one last great joke - 

A man and his wife are out walking one day when they spot a lone fellow on the other side of the road.

“That looks like the Archbishop of Canterbury over there,” says the woman. “Go and see if it is.”

The husband crosses the road and asks the man if he is indeed the Archbishop of Canterbury.

“F— off,” says the man.

The husband crosses back to his wife, who asks, “What did he say? Is he the Archbishop of Canterbury?”

“He told me to f— off,” says the husband.

“Oh no,” replies the wife, “Now we’ll never know.”