A cold winter’s morning in Norwich and there’s a light crunching under foot as I walk across the lawn – or what passes for a lawn. I’m hoping the noise I can hear is frost.
When I say ‘lawn’, it’s more like a carpet of rotting Sycamore leaves with an additional layer of those helicopter seed pods I used to marvel at as a child.
As an adult I hate the damn things, having to pull up the saplings in late spring and summer. And autumn. And early winter.
Last year I built a three compartment compost heap which I was extremely proud of. Now that it’s all collapsed into a mangled mess of rotting wood, I’m too embarrassed to show it to you.
Further up the garden there’s a pile of nicely rotting logs. These are from a Sycamore tree that had got too close to the house and had to be felled about four years. It’s, hopefully, the nesting ground for Stag Beetles, but it can take at least seven years for them to appear. I’ll report back in 2020.
At this time of year there’s not much to write about and I’ve already talked of my plans in an earlier post. Since I wrote those words five days ago, little has changed, other than the realisation of the task ahead.
The bottom of the garden is lined with fir trees which is home to a number of birds. Wood pigeons, Jays, Blackbirds, Robins, Blue Tits and Magpies. I even has Goldfinches in there. I want to do as much as I can to encourage wildlife – I know there are foxes and hedgehogs around and the occasional squirrels and rats. The latter two not as welcome as the rest.
Even on days like this – with showers of sleet and rain, the garden gives me a great deal of pleasure and, as you can see in the video above, a good deal of hope for the spring.