It is a most unusual day. I write from the table at the bottom of my garden, cup of tea at my side, Pip at my feet. We have spent the last three months waiting, waiting, waiting for spring to arrive, for the sun to shine, for the earth to warm. I’ve been dreaming about all the seeds I’ll sow this year, the new varieties we’ll try and all of the cut flowers there will be to bring into the manor. At times it’s felt as if Spring would never come. Just waiting, waiting, waiting.
That’s not to say I’ve been sitting, twiddling my thumbs.
On the contrary, it’s a misconception that things slow down over winter, there have been roses and trees and shrubs to prune, grasses to cut back, leaves to rake, winter sowing to do, the greenhouse and sheds to organise and clean and of course lots of winter arrangements to make and bring into the house. If we can’t get outside then the outside will have to come in. I think I’d go mad otherwise.
But still, I feel this building pressure beneath the surface of the soil, waiting, waiting, waiting. And with it anticipation rises, and as the time gets closer and the days get longer a vibration of anxiety creeps in because I feel like I’m at the starting blocks. The flag is raised and then BANG! Time goes from creeping, tediously along, to sprinting by, like an olympian, while I stagger behind, sweatband askew, shorts a little tight, desperately trying to keep up. Because I’m in a race to get all of the jobs done that I’ve been dreaming about, all of the preparations that can only be achieved in this precious slither of Spring to ensure a fruitful and glorious garden.
Thankfully, I’m not in it alone. I don’t think there’s a gardener in the world that doesn't get a bit twitchy this time of year, and of course, I have help. Horizons college have solderied on throughout the cold and have been helping to make preparations. The broad beans have been sown, along with a mass of sweetpeas and more recently tomatoes, peas, lettuce and sunflowers. Our students are particularly great at seed sowing. It’s a quiet task and the repetition is meditative. There is also little more exciting than sowing a tray of seeds, and just one week later returning to see their little green heads popping up out of the surface of the soil. Thanks also to Nancy who has the responsibility of looking after all of these potential plants while we’re elsewhere. It’s not uncommon for me to send a late night text announcing that it’s too chilly and the greenhouse door needs to be shut or to check the seed trays haven’t dried out.
The first of our spuds are now in the ground which is always an exciting development. I know come harvesting time, this is one of the jobs our visitors enjoy doing the most. The smooth skin of a new potato tumbling out of the soil, like discovering treasure. And for the first time, we will attempt to grow sweetcorn. This is a risky business. A Lot of wildlife visit the garden and I’m aware badgers have a penchant for sweetcorn. Nevertheless, gardening is a job for the brave and I think this is a risk worth taking. It’s probably a little early to be sowing these right now too so you've plenty of time if you want to give it a go too.
I feel as though I could whitter on endlessly about the things we’ve been doing and the things we will be doing, but as I said, today is an unusual day. I’ve hung up my running shoes and slung my sweatband in the wash. I’m sitting at the bottom of my garden, cup of tea at my side, and Pip at my feet, enjoying the sun, listening to the birds and watching the bees. There will always be jobs to do, but Spring is a sprinter, and if you don’t look up and enjoy it as it speeds past, you’ll miss it altogether.