A Place Called England

I planted snowdrops in the green in the woods last Sunday morning, and this Saturday when we visited they were already demurely in bloom.


The first fruits of them that sleep

We usually get one crazy forerunner between Christmas and New Year in our garden, but it’s not until the massed banks of praying white heads start to appear that we allow ourselves to believe that Spring is merely a Solstice away. There will be a hard frost, perhaps even snow, towards the end of the month, but you can’t stop it now.

We dropped into a new (to us) garden centre on the way home and I picked up a couple more asparagus roots. I’ve been trying for a few years to get a patch going, but after one very successful year it’s been a bit of a struggle. So I dug over the entire bed today, gently rescuing the alien-looking plants and sprinkling in blood and bone. I carefully replaced them, from large to small so I could keep track of which I expect to crop this year and which need nurturing carefully—adding the new ones on the end and telling them they’re going to like it here.

Asparagus bed

No slacking now, fellas.

Fingers crossed.

PS. If you’re wondering about the post title, check out Maggie Holland’s version. Perfection.

About rpg

Scientist, poet, gadfly
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2 Responses to A Place Called England

  1. You’re thinking about spring on February the fourth? What a concept. It snowed here yesterday.

  2. rpg says:

    Yeah but you’re in the frozen north (which is actually south of here, but never mind)

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