A full moon, blossom.

Monday 22 February

I have written once before on the trees of Taunton. There is very little going for my town except a proximity to some very lovely hills and J25 of the M5 but I tell you, the trees are wonderful. And should you be driving along South Road to my village you will get the very best of them. You also pass a vaccine hub and a covid testing centre so more people than usual are using this strecth of road. As I don’t think any of us are going to make it to Japan this spring for hamani (flower viewing, most usually used in the context of observing cherry blossom), I can strongly recommend this stretch. The big plum trees are clothed in white and the huge cherries outside the school seem to be earlier than usual this year. 

Tuesday 23 February

Long day. Late home. We walk in the dark. Although the full moon is still days away, the sky is so clear that we cast a long shadow in the silver light. There are bats and stars and a chilly wind. 

Wednesday 24 February

The warmth of the kitchen brings tomatoes to life and more seed is germinating every day. I try out more varieties each year, more than I can comfortably fit in the greenhouse, but I still come back to some old favourites. Costoluto Fiorentino always. Marmande. The sunny days tease with the potential of summer. Big blue skies. Inside the greenhouse, the warmth thaws out my bones and almost makes me forget the long winter. Almost. 

Thursday 25 February

I receive the first draft of the design layout of my book, Gather and Grow. It feels forever since we photographed it, and even longer since I wrote it. I sit and absorb myself in it and it is hours before I look up again and I wonder if I can truly call myself a writer yet. 

Friday 26 February

The pattern of warm days and cold nights continue. We wake to a frost, and we lunch outdoors in sunglasses and a light jumper. The germinated seeds leave the kitchen and are pricked out into pots in the greenhouse. I switch the heat mat on, which is a tacit acknowledgement that the kitchen windowsill is not longer adequate to the task, and that seed sowing is about to begin in earnest. (Please note, today would have been the best day for flower sowing, being in the waxing phase immediately before a full moon. I missed it because I was busy at work, but it has made me all the more determined to catch it next month. There really is plenty of time and February is still very very early to be sowing anything.)

Saturday 27 February

I throw open the windows. Everything that can be put out of doors, is put out of doors. Plants, bowls of bulbs, dog beds, woollen blankets. Dogs. I think about cleaning the windows and marvel at the universality of the instinct that is spring cleaning. 

Sunday 28 February

A Sunday afternoon walk. There are pheasants everywhere all of a sudden. Having been quiet, they seem to be in all the gardens in the village, or running across the lanes. Reliable recall is now present in only two out of three dogs. I also notice that many of the big trees have lost branches. One big oak between the back field and the manor house has a whole limb down and it looks lopsided, like an apple with a bite taken out. For some trees, it is better news for me. The best sloes always seem to grow high up, out of easy reach. One tree has broken in half and the very top is now flowering right in front of my eyes, surrounded by sparkling silver pussy willow. 

This newsletter has been delayed by the sheer naughtiness of my youngest dog. She night look like butter wouldn't melt but my goodness, she is capable of such mischief. I wish you warm days, green shoots, and well behaved canines. Much love,

G x