Secret garden

 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 . . . 

The previous owner and passionate gardener planted bulbs everywhere which have spread over the years to become small carpets of early spring yellow and white.

Our currently flooded wood. Luckily we had a wood-cutting day just before the rain came

Serpent dog

I often look at our beautiful second-hand greyhounds and wonder at their sheer noble elegance and grace.
This is 'Bali' half dog-half serpent (musical instrument or snake) after leaping from the car this morning into a field of early spring flowers.
Someone who came to see us yesterday told me that the English cousins of these dogs are let out onto the moors of Yorkshire when deemed to be too old for racing to wander like ever-thinning silhouettes, muzzled so they eventually die from not being able to eat . . . I knew about the horrors of what happens to the Spanish greyhounds (which ours are) - hanged, starved, beaten etc, but I hadn't realised there was a UK equivalent cruelty.
I think we will always be accompanied by two of these marvellous, gentle and good-for-the-eye hounds. A drop in the ocean perhaps but at least we can bequeath the gifts of good food, regular walkies, the sofa, and love on a few.

Bees blossom birdsong

I think we might be in for a good fruit year. The cold probably killed of many bugs, and the blossom seems extra . . .what's the word, can't think of one, but the image of that woman in La Dolce Vita comes to mind.
What a beautiful time of year: to be woken by birds, once again to watch the leaf cutter bees making for the holes in our table as we eat on the terrace, and the mad Parma violet-pink of the Judas tree blossom adorning the front garden.
Today is grey and damp after yesterday's rain, much welcome after June-like end of March. We are proud owners of two more water butts. It was crazy to not harness water from the 'abri de jardin' roof, it's only taken five years to get round to it . . .