This is an extract from book I’m writing – ‘A Year at Bluebell Cottage’

From ‘April, come she will’

The garden is slowly clothing itself in a haze of virgin green buds. In winter I can see right through the bare stems in borders nearest the cottage through to the newly carved out Berry Border on one side, and the orchard on the other. But now these two views are veiled in a soft wash of green leaves. The garden changes quickly in April; what was visible two weeks ago is vanishing behind freshly formed screens. If I want to see behind them I must go around them and look. Garden designers often talk about the importance of creating journeys through the garden, of the importance of enticing you further into it by partial concealment. Evergreens such as yew and box are often used to this effect, but I generally prefer to use deciduous shrubs. In summer, their foliage provides the full screening ‘come hither’ effect, but in winter, when there is a strong disinclination to venture further than necessary, a glint of colour through the screen from an emerging clump of cream crocuses has just the desired effect and draws me through. Perhaps it’s also part of living further north – every scrap of winter light is valuable. I find most evergreens too heavy, unchanging and dark. They seem to form dark blobs in the garden and deny life to the ground around them with their dense, unbroken shade.

Deciduous shrubs may lack leaves in winter, but for me they don’t lose their interest. As the leaves fall, pale winter sunlight trickles through them, and the bare stems lift the garden, glistening in the frosts, or catching the morning light, creating pleasing patterns of light and shade. Vistas open up through the garden that were closed a few weeks before, and plant shapes reveal themselves, shorn of their summer clothing. Bulbs thrive underneath and herbaceous perennials nestle up to their stems. And each tree and shrub has its personal moment of awakening in spring, as one after another finally decides that its moment has come and bursts its buds. Most have a good covering of green now, but there are still a few yet to be roused from their slumber, despite the temptations of a few mild days. The pale stems of Hibiscus ‘Blue Bird’ has only the faintest hint of green in its tight buds and the Gleditsia triacanthus by the pond appears still to be completely dormant. (For the first three years Dave glanced askance at this bare tree each spring and asked me if it was still alive. But he is learning fast now, he not only knows it will sprout leaves late, he knows its name, and that of many plants here. It’s inevitable – he’s learning the very best way, by osmosis).

Sue Beesley