Waiting. Action.
Like a flower waiting to bloom
like a light bulb in a dark room
I am sitting here waiting for you to come home and turn me on
like the desert waiting for rain
like a school kid waiting for spring
I am sitting here waiting for you to come back home and turn me on
Nina Simone, waiting for the seed sowing season to start, I am sure. For the soil to burst into life. It is in the air, though not yet entirely around the corner. If there is love in your life, or you would wish there to be, and you would like this to be celebrated with flowers in abundance, can I suggest you forgo the garage forecourt, the out of season air-freighted roses, and the supermarket neon gerberas?
Monday 20th January. It is cold. Bitter. There is a hard frost that we seldom see here in the shelter of the valley. Late frosts in mild climates are more damaging than deep, Narnia-like endless winters because they can catch plants unawares. Everyday I notice signs of unfurling growth; peonies’ deep coral buds pushing up, the sloe blossom forming white pearls along the dark branches. For once, the un-named plum in the hedge has started to blossom before the autumn flowering cherry has passed over its peak. Rogue dicentra albas can be seen in rose beds. This morning, the frost is so deep the first hellebores slump to the ground. Even by the afternoon, they still look like they may regret their January enthusiasm.
Job for the week: Trim the old, tatty leaves from hellebores coming up and into flower. If they are still quite small and no flower spike can be seen, leave them for another year, they may need to bulk up a bit. This is common is you have self-sown plants. However beautiful they are, do not try and cut them for the house until they start to set seed, a little way away yet.
Tuesday 21st January. The frost gives way to fog. It falls and rises but at times it is so thick I stare at the sun, sitting like a disc, like a full moon. The ground is too hard to work so I count the flowers still out. Bells of Ireland and a stray white corncockle. White & blue borage. A white scabious that has been flowering since July. The odd rose. In the matrix planting, erigeron annus is in full song although the plants have grown so well that they lay on the ground, splayed under the weight of their stems. I tidy and cut back without enthusiasm, mindful that the self-sowing of the plants is the key to the success of this year’s growth. I know I will be weeding out atriplex all Spring; it adores my field and attempts to colonise thuggishly.
Wednesday 22nd January. The ground is starting to thaw. Puppers takes advantage of the softening earth and digs intently where the voles have left piles of sycamore seeds, trying to catch their smell. She never meets a vole but the orchard is studded with setter-head shaped holes. Hugo makes peace with the thatcher and accepts his presence.
Thursday 23rd January. The electricity is off whilst men climb the huge lime trees in front of the cottages. The branches can fall in storms and the wires slung underneath are vulnerable. However, it is not branches they remove but balls of mistletoe as big as cars. Close to, the weight of them is tangible. They are beautiful and ancient looking, and exactly a month too late to be of interest to anyone. The trees look stark.
Friday 24th January. A photo shoot. A step. Knitting and weaving, finding the edges of my selves. A psychologist. A business owner. A writer. A gardener. A grower. Now I have a job, a business, another business. All at different ages and stages, with their own personalities and demands, their own dreams and desires. Today I plan. It has been nuts and bolts up to today for The Essential Science. Talking about it and sharing it makes it real. It takes life. The website will be defined by photography by Emma Lewis, styled by Hana Snow. Some behind the scenes photographs from the Space at Caro in Bruton are below, and the thinking behind the ebook; due in July. When I shared this on Instagram, I had scores of messages from wonderful people with whom it struck a chord.
It is psychology that is the essential science. Learning about your mind and the way you brain works may just be the most important thing you ever do.
