Ah, it started so well, did February. There were days of sunshine and warming temperatures. The birds were out and about, the plants happy in their pots.
And then last week, with Storms Dudley, Eunice and Franklin one after another, happened. It’s been wet and wild, grey and miserable, ever since. Because these haven’t been thunderstorms, which I quite enjoy, but gales and rain, which are dull by comparison. I have been glad that there’s been nowhere that I’ve really needed to go, though. The only casualty of Storm Eunice was the garden gnome, who ended up flat on his face. Franklin is still blowing itself out as I write.
We’re still waiting for the Polar Bear snowdrops to flower, and we’ve discovered that not all the bulbs planted last November were eaten by squirrels. We think some of the crocuses survived their ransacking, but we’ll see when they flower. M couldn’t really remember exactly what he’d planted then anyway. Fortunately, so far, both the fig and magnolia seem to be quite content, despite the cold: both are beginning to grow little green buds.
And the fig has been joined by a pair of honeyberry bushes and a pair of blueberry bushes, so maybe we’ll have lots of our own fruit this year. M insisted two of each were needed for the cross-pollination. Or there’d be no fruits. Just got to hope enough of the bees in the hotels will wake in time to buzz around the blossoms. Perhaps the fig should have a friend too.
Most of the garden is, though, still in the waiting-for-spring stage. Lots of green, not so many other colours. Hopefully, with Franklin’s departure, Spring can have another go at arriving.