The buds on the wild gean are just opening. This is a big, multi-stem tree that sits at the point where the garden meets the wood. It was here when we moved in, and I'm pretty sure it was put there by the birds and not our predecessors, who were not keen gardeners. Prunus avium can be a weed tree in woodland gardens, and I recall being shown around such a one in Suffolk by an owner who regarded wild cherries with the lack of enthusiasm generally reserved for sycamore seedlings. But it is a fine thing in the right place. When in full bloom its beauty will indeed "shine out like a beacon of snow" for a few days. The pigeons have a go at the flowers but it is too large to be unduly troubled by them. Lucky we don't have bullfinches.
Little bulbs are still putting on a fine display. In the gravel, following on from the dwarf iris, there are brilliant blue Scilla siberica, and softer blue Chionodoxa and Puschkinia. Two-tone Muscari latifolium grows there, its flowers brighter blue at the top of the stem and dark blue on the lower half. The white flowered Muscari botryoides album also does well and spreads obligingly. I have a few plants of Anemone pavonina, bought at the Chatto gardens after admiring them in the gravel garden. These come in rich but soft shades of pink and cream, with flowers of a similar size to A. coronaria. They seem reasonably perennial, but my attempt to increase my stock by saving and sowing seed failed, as the seed went mouldy. Maybe they will do the job for me in situ.
In the long bed along the edge of the drive I have a lot of hyacinths. I have never bought a hyacinth on purpose to plant in the garden, but after using them in pots, even indoors, I always plant them out. They last for years. This is not unusual: Christopher Lloyd wrote of one clump in his garden that he knew was decades old, because the plants had originally been given to his brother when he had appendicitis. I like to ring the changes in pots from one year to the next, so we have dark and pale blue, yellow, white, and an exciting shade of purple from the variety 'Woodstock'. This looks especially good in the late afternoon, with low sun and the light quality that comes with the threat of heavy rain somewhere, when the purple almost appears to fluoresce (Verbena bonariensis will do the same thing in that kind of light). One of my tasks for this afternoon will be to replant a potful of Centaurea, originally planted last autumn, which I noticed had been pushed half out of the ground by a determined emerging hyacinth snout. Despite their exotic appearance, hyacinths are attractive to foraging bees. My hyacinth pots this year have almost failed though, for the first time in 25 years. They were stood outside, due to lack of space in the greenhouse, and only about three bulbs out of 20 have come through. The bulbs looked fine and healthy when planted, so I presume it was too cold for them.
In the back garden I have some of the dwarf tulips, I think 'Ancilla' and 'Heart's Delight'. They are cheerful little plants that persist well in the border, though sadly mine are blooming through a ground cover layer of sheeps' sorrel, as I haven't managed to get to that bed yet, as I work my way round the ravages of winter.
The only trouble with dwarf bulbs and an enthusiasm for self seeding is that hand weeding rather than hoeing is generally required. I like spending time with the plants, and am resigned to the fact that the garden tends to be rather weedy. Since I have no plans to open to the public I needn't worry unduly about other people's notions of how a garden should look. But if you like things to be tidy then extensive bulb plantings anywhere other than in pots or naturalised in long grass probably aren't for you.
Addendum The irrigation is running in the lettuce field, sending up sprays of water between the rows like a finer version of the fountain in the courtyard at Somerset House, and the fleece is shining in the sun as brightly as the sea. If I were a keen (or even competent) photographer I ought to keep a photo diary of the lettuce farm throughout the year. It could easily fill up a room or two at Tate Modern. Unfortunately I am not a good photographer, finding that walking around trying to capture things in a camera prevents me from looking at them. But somebody should do it.
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