Brr. It is cold here. Such chilliness is rare in these parts and I have to resist the instinct to hibernate. I light the fire first thing (it feels such an indulgence) and I cut into the first of the humongous Queensland Blue squash. I roast it in trays with bay and sausages and, last night, stuff it into ravioli with Gorgonzola and hazelnuts. Usually, a cold snap at least means that the mud freezes but we seem to have the worst of both worlds at the moment and I have to choose between a cold hosepipe or a cottage full of grit. Even the spaniel is starting to be reluctant to go out. The setters, greyhounds of the gundog world, would happily stay asleep on the sofa or bask in front of the fire for a full twenty three and a half hours a day. 

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In this dark and grim January, there is one glimmer of beauty. The hellebores. You do not know true beauty until you have looked a slate hellebore in the eye, although you would have to be lying down to do it, their heads resolutely nod down towards the cold soil. However, their gorgeous colouring and their willingness to appear just when we need them most make them a valuable addition to any garden and, should you wish to grow or to cut them,

Awful name dropping I know, but I should mention that this picture below is not of my hellebores, but of Arne Maynard's. He has a wall that gathers around the courtyard by his kitchen door at Allt-y-Bela and it is lined with pots. In February, these pots contain a wonderful collection of double H. Orientalis. An idea well worth pinching, because if you don't want to get down to their level to appreciate their intricate wonder, you are going to have to lift them up.

It is that funny time of year where I want to up-end and spring-clean everything, to wipe slates and to new-leaf turn, but I don't have the energy to do it. For a gardener, the new year feels like it starts in March, when the scent of the air changes and the soil starts to green. When you start thinking about having your first cup of coffee standing in the back door, rather than in three jumpers, bed-socks and under a duvet. There may be hellebores, and the shoots of the tulips coming through the soil, and the quince in the hedge, but I am not convinced that now is the time for anything too energetic. I have a new set of shelves for the studio and half a pot of Raw White Bauwerk paint ready to freshen up walls, just in case the Observer does want to feature it as a she-shed, but I haven't got any further than that. 

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Now may be the time for stillness and gentleness. Planning and plotting, but much less of the actual doing. 
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Talking of plotting and planning, the theme of this month is very much making the most of your growing space and I will be posting about my field today. However, I am inherently incredibly nosy and I cannot wait to record an interview with Milli Proust this Wednesday. She is going to be talking about how she got started, the lessons she learned, and how she uses structure and space to not only grow wonderful flowers but also to create a beautiful space to be in. (This is not as easy as it looks, and cutting gardens used to be tucked out of sight for just this reason.) If you have any questions for her, just reply to this email and I will add them to my growing list of things I really want to know...

Much love,

G x