I have finally managed to sit on our arbour in the back garden, which stands next to the pond our boys dug during lockdown. With the meteorological spring already here and the astronomical spring imminent, finally it feels like winter is behind us, although inevitably temperatures are scheduled to drop back again as we approach the weekend. I couldn’t sit there for long because, unfortunately, an apocalyptic black cloud formation plunged the village into near darkness and rain started spitting from the heavens. But I managed to read a few chapters from my latest read, which was good.
Since my partner threw herself into revamping the garden, I’ve taken a greater interest in the seasons. The only one I really cared about was the football season and that because I had long fallen for the lazy narrative that “we don’t have seasons anymore, not like when I were a lad”. The garden revolution has shaken my torpor and now I know that we really do have seasons and it’s wonderful.
Earlier this month, frogspawn appeared on the pond and now it’s alive with tiny tadpoles. Normally, I find it hard to sit still for any amount of time, but I can watch the pond for ages. There’s always something going on.
There are small spiders everywhere, notably on the two gorgeous pieces of driftwood given to us by a dear friend some months ago. I counted 15 on the driftwood, all for a time perfectly still, until spots of rain appeared. I looked away for a moment and they were gone.
Occasionally, you get a splash from a frog lurking at pond side, a newt paddles by or a snail moves from one side of the pond to another. The occasional bee stops for a while, gaining the attention of the spiders. Non stop activity, if only you watch closely.
Plants are slowly coming back to life. My partner has rewilded large parts of the garden for the benefit of local wildlife and particularly bees. The colours aren’t quite there yet, but soon there will be an almighty explosion. You can see the changes happen every single day. Until recently, I barely looked at all.
It’s incredible how the garden has dried out so quickly after such a long, miserable and wet winter. Just a few days ago, the lawn was a quagmire, yet now while it’s not exactly firm, it’s not going to coat your shoes with mud. I spent as much time on the arbour gazing in wonder at the beauty of nature as I did laughing along with A J Jacobs’s attempt to live a biblical life for a whole year. I probably fidgeted continually – that never stops – but I didn’t keep getting up to walk around no reason other just really needing to, which happens regularly all day and every day. That’s called mindfulness, I think. The therapy version never cut it for me, but somehow this does.
The sun, when it comes out this time of year, is actually warm and today the temperature hovered between 15/16c, which is around 60f. Not exactly hot, I know, but it’s all relative. And while we had warmer temperatures last autumn, I always feel a slight chill in the air as we get ready for the long drag of winter. In truth, winter really begins, at least for me, in October and, in a bad year, sometime in September. Spring, for reasons of sheer desperation, will always be the meteorological version simply because it starts on 1st March. I can’t wait another three weeks. Winter has been long enough.
I can’t get complete silence in our back garden because whichever way the wind is blowing it brings with it the swish of one of three major motorways. Dead handy when you want to go somewhere, not so handy if the only thing you can’t avoid hearing is tinnitus. Silence is golden. but also in my case relative.
Spring could be the most wonderful time of the year, if only it was slightly warmer. It’s all about new life, rebirth, longer days and generally things that make you feel better. If only it would go just a little slower because, before we know it, which is to say in three months time, the nights will start closing in again.
Spring has sprung. I am going to enjoy it while I can.
