THE GARDEN IN WINTER

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21994, 1 July 1933, Page 7

THE GARDEN IN WINTER

By E. S.

Now and then in late winter and early spring we experience one or two really halcyon days. Mornings, when after the lightest of frosts the sun shines with real warmth untempered by even a breeze, and the calm sea reflects the serenity of the clear sky. Even in our sometimes maligned southern clime, we have enjoyed several such, brief seasons this winter, and how we appreciate them! We had rain and wind last week, and we may have wind and rain again to-mor-row, but here is a filad and golden day, and with ready forgetfulness of the storms we enjoy it to the full. The garden is full of surprises; when winds are keen and the grass is sopping we do not linger on our inspection, and so we miss much, but to-day we notice everything—the clumps of muscari flowering in the grass by thS turf wall, the delicate iris stylosa in sheltered corners of the rockery, and the primroses and forget-me-nots, rather timid and short of stein as yet, that bring early assurance of the spring. It is wonderful how hardy some of the plants are; tiny sweet peas that were buried under a drift of hail for a week look none the worse for the experience, and calendula, antirrhinums, stock, geums, heuchera, and late chrysanthemums, to mention only a few, seem to have survived the cold and the cruel buffeting of the wind in a remarkable fashion.

But time is flying and there is much to be done. There is the weeding! In winter time weeding does not 'seem to repay one so far as appearance goes. When one has carefully cleaned over a bed it often looks very little different, but it is well worth while to do it thoroughly for it all 'tells in the summer. Chickweed, that pest of spring, is never really idle all the year round, and one often finds tiny plants barely an inch long busily flowering and seeding and making trouble for , the' months to come, and then an apparently harmless patch of ,the tiny seedlings will spring to rampant life with the first warm days, and we wonder where all the weeds have come from. So if we can only get them before the little beggars have fulfilled their purpose in life and scattered their myriad seeds we shall save ourselves much labour in the busy summer days. There are so many tasks that clamour for attention; the lawns must be trimmed—it seems ages since we had the lawn mower out, and so it must be oiled —and the roses should be pruned, and this and that clnmn should be lifted and 'divided. When one has had the fireside habit for weeks it is surprising how many excuses one can find for continuing it. Nearly always the wind is too cold, and nil growth in the garden is more or less dormant anyway, and so the task is postponed again and again. But once we have plunged into the delightful if somewjiat arduous labour of the garden the spell of the fireside is powerless to hold us. When one is clad in woollen jacket and I close cap an ordinary wind has no | terrors, and one soon grows warm on the days. A -pair of old goloshes is most useful, for the ground is always damp, and a rubber mat or a thin cushion covered with macintosh is essential when kneeling to weed. Gloves are a dreadful nuisance, for they get muddy so quickly and later are difficult to clean; and after the first few minutes one doesn’t really mind the mud on one’s hands—indeed, one takes a queer sort of pleasure in it, something akin to that which children find in making mud pies. But the scrubbing afterwards is a problem, and seldom restores the hands to their former Hlywhite grace. The lady gardener, however, will find that if she rubs soap liberally round her finger nails befote setting out it will form a wonderful protection and render the task of cleansing much more simple. And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden You’ll find j'ourself a partner in the glory of the garden. And as one straightens a tired back for a minute’s rest so many unexpected spots of colour and beauty strike the eye even in the wintry garden. The delicate tracery of branch and twig against a gleaming white cloud; the sunlight glancing on the ruby buds from which little grey pussy willows are emerging; tho richly colourful wands of the golden willow; at the height of its beauty at this time; the rosy glow of heath against a big grey stone; and the rich brown of the large plot that father dug last Saturday afternoon and levelled and trimmed as if he loved it! . It will be some time yet before it is spring, but spring is surely coming. The silvery spears of the daffodils remind us of the age-old promise, “ While the earth remaineth . . . summer and winter shall not fail.”