Monday 1 February

Did you notice? The light. It was only just perceptible, but it was there. A different colour, a little more warmth. I get my camera out and capture this beauty of a celeriac, very kindly gifted by my neighbour, just for the absolute hell of it. I am so ready for some sunshine. 

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Tuesday 2 February 

A long day at work and I drive home in the rain. I put off the evening dog walk as long as I can and I eat bread and butter leaning on the cooker. I put it off so long that by the time I walk, the rain has passed and the wind comes in. It blows around my ears, roaring. By the time, I’ve washed the mud off the dogs, the clouds have blown away and the sky is full of stars. 

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​Wednesday 3 February

Some of the stored winter squash are starting to look like the need eating sooner rather than later. The studio is the perfect place for storing them, dry and cool. Except that I have been spending too much time in there with the fan heater on and I don't think they like the fluctuations in temperature. Any excuse to get them down off the shelf and into the oven. 

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​Thursday 4 February

Tulips. There are tulips starting to come through. Every pot, every trough, every box, nibs of green. Even the late planted ones are showing up. Inspired by this wonderful article by Arne Maynard, and Andrew Montgomery's characteristically arresting photography, I have gone a little reckless with ordering with the rarer varieties. I was inspired too by a visit to Polly Nicholson's garden (Bayntun Flowers) last year. And what she doesn't know about tulips simply is not worth knowing. I oscillate wildly between hoping that spring may one day come and the cottage will be full of blossom branches and swan-necked tulips, and wanting to hibernate.

Friday 5 February

In taking refuge from the weather in the greenhouse, I find a mysterious box. It contains the odd trowel, a bread knife used for vegetable harvesting, and a bag of Muscari that has split. The bulbs are growing away strongly and so I pot them up into whatever I can find. India reminds me I can bring them in for forcing and search out the terracotta platter I got from Catherine Waters antiques in Ashburton last year. I scatter a little compost and add some moss from the damp bit on the north side of the hawthorn hedge. Such touches might disguise the fact that I don't even know what variety they are because the bag was so soggy, I couldn't read the label. There are little pots of bulbs, mostly the dwarf Narcissus 'Tete a tete', outside every shop I have been in in the last fortnight. I don't like them much myself, preferring N. 'Minnow' or, at a push, N. 'W. P. Milner'. I didn't think I could ever be persuaded to like the petticoat ones, but Eva Nemeth has made them look exquisite in her recent portraits. 

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​Saturday 6 February

The most beautiful morning. Clear, sharp frost. A clear blue sky. The frost thaws quickly and dramatically, drifts of steam lifting off the ground. We coppice the hazel trees along the edge of the flower field. I sadly and slowly dismantle the beautiful sweet pea tunnel that formed the spine of the flower field. It had reached the end of its days some time ago and didn't take much dismantling. I will put the old rods through the shredder and use the chips on the new paths between the new vegetable beds. I have loved it, and it gives me comfort that it will still be there.

A little note on persistence. If you bought sweet peas from me last summer on the basis of Carol Klein's promise that they would flower before autumn, they probably didn't. Or at least, only two of mine did. However, the plants that didn't flower are currently looking very fine indeed. I've been careful to keep tying them in to keep them out of the damp and I think they are going to give the tallest vines I have ever seen. Sweet pea flowering is triggered by day length rather than the developmental stage of the plant and so this means a lot of flowers when that day arrives. Around late May in Somerset. Conditions will vary with latitude.

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​Sunday 7 February

After the blissful conditions of yesterday, a sharp sharp wind. I manage a few jobs (prune apples and pears now) including tying in the espaliered fruit trees and tidying up any vertical growth or crossing stems. It is too cold for fine work though. The forecast is that the chilly weather is here to stay (am I the only one without snow?) so I need not to put off too many jobs. 

Stay safe and stay warm. 

Much love,

G x