One rooted cutting of Mrs O’s Veilchenblau has moved half a mile to the Franciscan International Study Centre in Canterbury; Sam and Richard are deliberating where to plant it beside their new woodland walk.
Another has gone to my mother, who says it is thriving; one will go to my brother and one to the dear friend whose willow tree I wrote about a while back. A little joy that will last for years; if Mrs O knew – and I’m not convinced she doesn’t – she would be pleased.
This afternoon I met B, a neighbour, looking for a rosemary bush to raid for her roast lamb. It was more than a little joy to me when I was able to give her a rooted cutting, grown in Mrs O’s greenhouse. B and her family were good friends to Mrs O, so that cutting will truly be ‘Rosemary for Remembrance’.
When I was gardening with Dermot, I tried to make cuttings from the roses where we worked. They did not strike because, when I was not around, he kept pulling them up to look for roots.
Last autumn at Mrs O’s I put in cuttings of a few roses, shrubby hypericum, euonymus and other shrubs. If only Dermot could see the results of patience combined with lethargy!
Planted around Mrs O’s back garden, they should provide cover for the local birds, and plenty of colour for whoever ends up living there to see from the kitchen window.
(Ms Rosemary Turnstone already has her own rosemary cutting potted up ready to go in her garden, as soon as she has reclaimed the right sunny spot for it.)
Before the traffic roar started this morning, I was out of bed and making a drink. The gulls, pigeons and collared doves were busy calling, blackbird and robin asserting their territory, but right outside the kitchen window, a scrap of brown feathers expanded to three times its rightful size and proclaimed its love for Jenny.
If she’s Jenny Wren, is he Johnny? She followed him, away across the back gardens.
And so the day started.
Good Morning Life
And all things glad and beautiful.
Listen to the wren here: BBC nature_Wren
It feels as though Will Turnstone has been hibernating these last few weeks. Did he notice the blackheaded gull in full plumage out there on Valentine’s day? He did, but did not tap the keys. Nor did he tap the keys for the wren that disappeared behind an ivy leaf at his approach, the goldcrest opposite the kitchen window, the bluetit possibly prospecting the nest box used last year; Br’er Fox crossing his and Mrs T’s path at 6.00 in town; the rainbows that punctuated recent showers – a gift from the low-shining sun; the lapwings, redshanks, pochard, and others at Rye, in the company of Mrs T; the daffodils wide awake for Saint David’s Day on March 1st. But be sure that he did indeed notice them and rejoice.
What blessings have you received during February?