Winter doesn’t
want to let go. Although it’s
clear and sunny, there’s still a nip in the air. Apart from a few horse chestnut leaves, most large trees
remain tightly in bud. Hedgerows
are trying to wake, and bright ivy and patches of greening hawthorn slip by
as I drive west to the Penrice Estate.
Inside the
Estate, moles have been active; it’s that time if year. Their earth mounds litter the
sheep-grazed meadow, dotted by celandines and daisies. In the formal gardens, the last
snowdrops hang on, peeping out amongst extraordinary carpets of purple
crocuses. Under great beeches even
more crocuses, and clumps of primroses, many growing around limestone outcrops,
compete with a mass of brilliant yellow daffodils shining in the late morning
sunlight.
The Serpentine
Lake is free of lilies, and the winter wildfowl seem to have left. It’s that inter regnum period between the end of winter and the beginning of
spring. There’s very little sound,
it’s more or less silent; I hear the squeaking wings of a ravens as it passes
low above the canopy. In a
sheltered spot a few violets look feeble; they’ll be out in force here once the
weather turns warmer. In front of
the old orangery, snake’s head fritillaries are in bud; I’ll need to come back
in a week or so to see these most wonderful flowers at their best. Inside the orangery, withering fruits
of oranges and lemons from last year hang from small pot-bound trees, but already
new green ones are getting ready to ripen in the months ahead.
By the Garden
Lane, the blond marsh is silent.
New shoots of reed and yellow flag are starting to show, and the green
leaves of marsh marigolds creep along the edges of pools, and under the shade
of willows. I have the feeling that when spring arrives it will be quick.
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