February – wet back yard…

Sometimes things have to be done despite the weather and crows.

I was hoping for a sunny day yesterday so that I could get out into my tiny back yard and start to get it ready for spring. It didn’t happen. Instead the day was as grey and grumbley as my mood.

It’s that time of year I guess. I can feel the black crows flying, even when the skies are clear. Sometimes I’m sure I can hear the beating of their wings, their caws as the snap at each other. It’s just my mood.

Pulling on my old kagool I ventured out into the damp, telling myself, as I dragged it over my head, that gardening is better done in the rain. The soil is more likely to give up last year's dead plants in the damp and wet leaves are easier to rake than dry.

It seems that I’ve become good at lying to myself as none of this was true. The wet leaves clung, the sodden soil leaked through my gardening gloves; a thing I rarely wear. Even the simple cutting back of ivy became a battle as the snails, which to my surprise were everywhere, came out to play.

It took me a couple of hours of cutting, raking, shell crushing, digging and brooming. Pots were emptied of weeds and last years stragglers. Sickly trailing nasturtiums were put out of their misery. Empty pots were upturned. A wheelie bin full of last year’s garden produced. It looked quite tidy by the time I’d finished. Empty, but tidy and ready for whatever whim takes me this time around; sweet peas maybe, something highly scented to catch the breeze and waft.

Looking at the empty pots and beds, I tried to remember how they had looked last year and for a second I almost caught a glimpse of what had been. But then the crows battered my thoughts away. Damn the crows. Hurry along spring, I need colour.

Watch this space.