February is the shoulder of winter, its broad edge, its stretched seam. It tries to hold on to the bitter darkness, but can’t quite manage it, its wintery resolve weakening as the days lengthen and stretch, the air softens and the flowers begin is push their way up and outwards.
It’s fickle though, February, coaxing you out of your coat and jumpers one day, only to change its mind the next, thrusting icy winds or damp fogs your way. But even on its darkest, gloomiest days you can search out the promise of spring. As the snowdrops begin to fade, getting raggedy at the edges, the celandines turn their starry faces towards the light, the hellebores are gathering strength and the daffodils and tete-a-tete are bursting open.
At any other time of year, I do not love yellow, but in February it is the perfect antidote to the sludgy greys and browns. Bright punches of colour that glow in the sunshine when it arrives, a welcome sight in the bare garden, the trees still stark and crooked, no softening cloak of leaves to hide their naked bones. The first blossom is here though, puffs of blackthorn blooming in the hedgerows and the wild cherry plum in the garden opening more and more each day. Its sweet honey scent tempting the early bees and pollinators.
I am behind in the garden, the cold wet winter and work on the boot room keeping me inside. I have managed to prune all of the shrub roses, cutting each back by a third, weeding out the weaker stems and ruthlessly removing any over-crowded shoots to allow the air to flow through the centre of each plant. But I have barely started on the climbers. It’s these that take the time. Tending to the climbers involves ladders, the bending and shaping of each stem, reels of string to tie in each piece and often some begging for more wires to keep the plants growing up the house. The new leaves are already opening before I have stripped off the old ones – time to get a hustle on.