Chateau de la Ruche: January Garden Notes

Image credit: Rebecca Jones—The magic of snowdrops

The garden is quiet in January, not still, but quiet. There’s a sense of impatient waiting, a drumming of fingers, an expectant sigh as we all wait for the light to return. Nothing happens quickly, things inch their way forward; the slow push upwards of the daffodils, a sliver more poking through the soil each week, the careful and tentative raising of the snowdrop flowers, which shyly open, peering out at us from their delicately dipped heads, the hellebores, and anemones beginning to shoot, but really biding their time until February.

Slowly, slowly, the light is returning, clutching at a few extra moments each day before slowly slipping behind the field line. From the beginning to the end of the month, we’ve gained an hour. Soon there’ll be enough light in the day to wake up sleeping seeds and get the garden growing in earnest.

Image credit: Rebecca Jones

Days outside have been scarce, the rain has been unremitting, pouring down in a dull steady stream, saturating already sodden ground to breaking point.

In seven years here we’ve never seen the ditch between the woods and the drive fill with water, but now it’s threatening to burst its banks, to climb up and over the little bridge to the gate to nowhere. I wonder if this is nature’s way of drawing my attention to the brambles that have taken hold of the bridge this autumn. The water rises so much that it seems only to be the brambles that are stopping the bridge from being submerged. I make a note to clear it in the spring.

Image credit: Rebecca Jones

On the days the rain has stopped the air has been bitter, northeasterly winds bringing ice along with them, covering everything in sparkling, silvery frost. Dull skies keep everything frozen for days on end, the thaw only coming with the next blast of rain. I’ve spent the wet days inside organising seed packets, planning new cutting garden beds, and ordering seeds. Dreaming of the flowers I’ll grow this summer. On the dry days, I’ve piled on layers enough to keep out the damp chill and started to prune the roses.

I strip every old leaf, the best defense I’ve found against black spot, then cut out dead wood and weak stems before beginning to bend and shape the climbing stems into swirls and orderly shapes. My cold hands are scratched and punctured by thorns as I tie the strings. It’s slow work, days disappear as I puzzle over where each stem should go, but it’s worth it in early summer when the flowers bloom over every inch of the plant.

Image credit: Rebecca Jones

Whatever the weather, each morning I squelch and slip my way to the greenhouse, my boots wearing away a boggy path in the wet grass. I lift the frost cloth protecting the ranunculus and autumn-sown sweet peas, hoping to give them a little extra light as the day warms up. They don’t really grow at this time of year, not noticeably, they’re waiting too, just for a little bit more light to get them going again. As the dusk descends, in that time that the French call entre chien et loup – between dog and wolf, if there’s a promise of frost in the air, I cross the darkening garden again to tuck my plants in for the night, caring for them, coaxing them on until the warmer, brighter days return.

It won’t be long, already the morning chorus is getting louder, the birds raising their voices, singing from the treetops. Great tits, blackbirds, mistle-thrushes, and tiny wrens all add their own sweet songs. The little fat robins shout at me from the hedgerows each morning as I walk with the dog and cats, and the woodpecker is drumming again in the trees.

I check for signs of life in my new hedge every day, but nothing yet, I’m trying to be patient, reminding myself that the tips of the trees are only just starting to turn pink with life, there’s still plenty of time for the little plants to get going. We’ve done all we can to give them a good start.

What will February bring?

With any luck February will be a little dryer and there’ll be more garden days. By the middle of the month, it will be time to start sowing, snapdragons, larkspur, ammi, and more sweet peas and ranunculus. By the time the seeds germinate there’ll be just enough light to get them growing on.

Image credit: Rebecca Jones

My garden job list for February

• Finish pruning and tying in roses
• Clear weeds from borders and beds that weren’t weeded in the autumn
• Prune the apple trees – cutting out any branches growing inwards
• Sow more sweet peas for a later crop
• Sow a second batch of ranunculus to plant outside in late spring
• Sow half-hardy annuals – snapdragons, scabious, ammi, and larkspur