Inheriting or rather acquiring a very large garden (with a house) was both exciting and alarming back in the late summer. A small voice within me was busy saying, that's quite a lot of work . . . isn't it; and not just my internal voice, quite a few visitors and friends we showed the pictures to also mentioned, in a kindly and possibly relived it wasn't them way, that it would be indeed a lot of work. And it is - a massive amount but after an initial week or so of slight panic we started attacking the more overgrown areas and quickly it became a pleasure, even an addiction to get out there and cut back, replant, or just note with surprise new plants everyday.
In these strange times as we retreat more into our own environments I do feel privileged to own, if indeed one can ever really own a piece of land we can play about on, gardening always feeling to me like a mixture of experimentation, learning and playing about. Even in houses with microscopic gardens or flats with a few window boxes it's always felt imperative to me to try and grow something, even a few herbs, naughty weeds or the odd tomato plant.
This morning, spring is somewhat in the air even though there are many weeks still to go of cold, wind, ice and much needed rain - recalling now the impossible to imagine hyper-dryness and struggling trees . . . Bird song is more evident, the lilac is budding and in every corner of this still-secret to us garden, things are emerging . . .