and other things I have discovered
In Japan, cherry blossom is a symbol of new beginnings and is celebrated with parties under the trees. Good idea. We are bristling with antibodies so the invites went out to come and party. Would we know how? And what would we need?
Einstein suggested that time is not constant. He probably started thinking about this after a tough slow winter. One day he was glad that February was done, the next he was staring at his Camelia bush wondering where the hell March went. I know how he felt.
It’s magnolia time. These flowers are a symbol of perseverance, which is a strong trait in rats.
In the olden days, people passed through this room for fun, or work, and often stayed for weeks. We kept it tidy, some people got fresh flowers, and everything worked fine. A year ago today that stopped, and a new word was born. ‘Stickitinthespareroom’ became a thing. It is going to take a lot more than a bunch of daffodils to sort this lot out.
Hyacinths and the sweet scents of spring. Google said they are a symbol of jealousy, but then it suggested power, peace, happiness, and pride, until it was all nonsense. The internet keeps spewing stuff out, but there are ways to avoid being overwhelmed.
The fig tree is full of summer promises. Every hard green fruit will be soft and juicy by August. Then we’ll race the starlings to get them first. Birds have it so easy, with everything laid on. They don’t wake up every day racking their brains for dinner ideas.
In Aboriginal culture, the eucalyptus is a reminder of our interconnection with nature and the importance of links to past and future generations. This tree was planted to provide gentle shade, with a hint of rain forest. All we got was a spindly stick that thrashes about in gales. It became a reminder of ‘potential damage to a roof’. So we chopped it in half.
The east winds are biting and the crocuses bite back, stubbornly forcing their way up through frozen earth. Crocuses symbolize a Brighter Tomorrow, which means planning. Time to think about February jobs in the garden.
The White Narcissus is so tidy and dainty, catching the sun on its way to the pond, which has too many leaves, and no frogs. Where are the frogs?
The garden is frozen in suspended animation. Hints of catkins, tips of buds and bulbs, an army of daffodils, hyacinths, and forget-me-nots in waiting. But the moss on the lawn is growing fast. What is moss for? I did some research.
The winter Jasmine is speckled yellow. A hint of spring, a promise that more splashes of colour are coming soon. But not yet. Storm Christoph turned the lawn to a soggy quagmire and it’s best not to go out. What to do? Make a pizza.
Cold grey, dark grey, more grey. Even blue Monday was grey. Sometimes there is a blinding shaft of low winter sun, instantly lifting everything like a magic spell.
The Begonias are making an effort. In summer they will do a takeover bid, swamping everything nearby, but in winter they are welcome. Collapsing under the weight of frost one minute and presenting bright pink flowers the next, Begonias are a symbol of caution.
The Heather is flowering. Perfect for lucky posies. The village freecycle system has exciting daily doorstep offerings, with anything from cabbage steamers to vanilla candles. This week it’s busy with everybody trying to Fengshui horrible presents away. I could put a pile of posies out in case anybody needs extra luck, but it’s best to leave the flowers on the bush. They are, right now, what bees like best.
The snowdrops are here. Time to step AWAY from Christmas and the disappointing debris of sherry, stuffing and cold potatoes.
Tried to go out yesterday and maybe buy a couple of presents. Came home with this picture instead. It’s called ‘rainbow on rain’ and reflects the upsetting portal that we are all going through at the moment. Everything is blurry and there is no way of knowing what is ahead. But one thing is certain. It’s time to stay home and make biscuits.
Here is a little Hellebore, the Christmas rose. A useful pit stop for bees, who might need a drop of nectar on a winter flight, and a symbol of serenity. All is well in the garden, with plants quietly getting on with winter. Completely ignored by humans, who are going into a frenzy of ‘creating Christmas no matter what’.
The prickly heath bush has pearly pink berries, as lovely as John Lewis baubles, all ready for Christmas. I’m not. Christmas cards keep turning up and there are two of me here. One wants to send Christmas cards out fondly and the other doesn’t see the point. What to do?
The chickens are about two years old today. This Borage, all dancing flowers and dainty hairs, is supposedly a favourite with chickens. Time they got a treat, for managing to still be here.
A confused rose has flowered and the tomato glut keeps weirdly glutting. As well as the normal November business, we are forced to eat tomatoes and pick roses. Is this a sign that things are different this year?
