Adam's Garden

Peering out from the window at a landscape caked in a hard white frost, and glancing across at the greenhouse, the weak morning sun illuminating the icy glass panes, it is a struggle to summon up the energy and enthusiasm required for an excursion outdoors to collect some logs for the fire, which has all but burnt out during the night. Leaning forward slightly, and by craning my neck, I can look up the hill into the orchard and just see the roof of the shed housing my slightly tender plants. The roof is clear of frost, indicating the heater has not run out of paraffin - my main concern during these cold snaps.

This year I was a bit slow in insulating the greenhouse with a double layer of bubble-wrap polythene and as a temporary measure a number of plants went into the relative warmth of the shed, which has a warm timber/sheeting roof and wooden shiplap boards forming part of the walls. A couple of polycarbonate sheets form elongated windows with good insulating properties, but nevertheless a heater is essential because the front of the building is predominantly glass, very efficient at conducting heat outwards. I aim to keep the shed above freezing, but not so warm that the overwintering plants will put on unseasonal growth. During sunny days the door needs opening, mainly to prevent excessive heat building up but also to let in some fresh air. One cold night the heater went out but luckily the minimum temperature was recorded as one degree Celsius and there was no damage. Birds have taken refuge inside on several occasions, and whilst they manage to enter via the smallest of openings it takes an inordinate amount flapping around, back and forth, to exit by the wide open door, colliding with the abundant greenery in the process. The presence of the plants appears to act as a lure for these creatures, for when the same shed was used for general storage, albeit in a different location some hundred yards away, this problem never occurred.

As the sun climbs above the woods on the far side of the field adjoining the garden, and the shadows cast by the trees begin to shorten, I put on my coat and leave the warmth of the farmhouse. As the freezing air envelops me I hunt for the wheelbarrow, looking in all the usual places and eventually find it leaning against the trunk of the old cherry tree, covered in frost, with the steel handles feeling like blocks of ice. The aged tree met it's waterloo three years ago - the branches became leggy and large pieces would break off in the slightest wind, leaving the lawn scattered with sticks after turbulent weather. At just above head height the trunk forked into three, so rather than clear-felling I decided to cut the tree back to a few feet above the fork, leaving a natural crook for a plant container. The ivy, which had long since started to climb the tree, was left to grow rampantly over the natural scaffold formed by the three stumps, and a honeysuckle, with pale green leaves contrasting with the dark ivy, was planted at the base of the trunk. This has proved quite an eye- catching and unusual feature. For the first summer the container, secured into position by rope, was planted up with scarlet double flowering Nasturtiums. The large container was completely covered in ivy and the plants had to be trained up into the light to start with. Once they had their heads above the grasping ivy they were away and produced a brilliant cascade until the first frosts. Last summer I chose to use white Surfinias, which produced a much fresher look and with bigger flowers than the Nasturtiums looked more in proportion. It is always nice to try new combinations but next year I think I will stick with the Surfinias and have taken enough cuttings for my own use. These particular plants are protected by plant breeders rights, which means you should pay royalties for plants that are propagated for sale; this does not apply, however, to plants produced for your own use.

When the sudden temperature difference between indoors and out has been overcome, the cold, dry weather which usually results from a high pressure front in winter is pleasant to be outdoors in. It is impossible to do any gardening with the ground frozen, but as I trundle the wheelbarrow along the path it is nice to spot the occasional splash of colour: the deep ruby coloured dogwood stems, shoots produced when the plant was cut hard back late last winter; the vibrant orange of the coral barked Japanese maple, Acer palmatum 'Senkaki'; numerous red Cotoneaster berries ; the deep jade and cream variegated foliage of a compact hedgehog holly and the delicate pink flowers of a winter flowering cherry, Prunus subhirtella. The rooks are unsettled as I pick over the log pile, situated almost immediately below the rookery. They are in residence permanently during the breeding season in the early spring, refurbishing the nests and littering the ground with twigs in the process, but for the rest of the year they are occasional visitors, clamorously swooping in without warning one day, and gone the next.

The logs, protected from the elements by a waterproof tarpaulin, and frozen together are easily prized apart. They are all cut from the farm hedges. Many are of oak. Not from grand, tall sessile oaks but from what are locally called 'scrub oaks' - a mongrel species produced by the continual natural wild crossing of sessile and pedunculate oaks. Like most trees left untouched in the wild, they spread out as soon as possible, forming a rounded or lopsided shape. As a result the grain is often quite twisted and the wood is only suitable for fires, although the logs produced are often difficult to split. They need to be well seasoned before burning, and burn slowly, the dense timber releasing tremendous heat. Ash logs are not as heavy. The straight- grained wood is pale, with smooth bark, easily split and this is reputedly the only species fit for burning when green. I have found that it is better burnt when dry and produces a good bright flame, but does not last as long as either oak or beech, the latter being the favourite of Queen Victoria. Beech lasts well and produces a good flame. The sycamore logs burn very quickly, releasing a lot of heat but not lasting too long, and birch is the shortest lasting of the lot - good for quickly reviving a sinking fire though. The two most unusual burners are holly and elm, but there is not much elm about now. A dry holly log burns like coal, except it occasionally produces a small burst of flame, almost as if there are pockets of resin trapped inside. The timber is very, very white and incredibly hard, but cuts like a dream with a chainsaw. Elm just smoulders, like the embers of a fire at the end of the evening.

The rooks quieten as I return to the warmth of the house with a full barrow, and the cat is waiting to be let in. She makes a dash for the mat in front of the fire, which is a lot better than the garden tool shed, in which she spent four days last week. She had crept inside the open door and it was shut behind her later in the day. After stacking the wood by the fire I return to the window. The sun is higher and the poolside fence is steaming nicely. The greenhouse is clear of frost, and I think about the not too distant future when the ground will be thawing and the daffodils will be sprouting, and the garden will be alive again. And I make plans.

You can find more articles in the archive under Soiled Hands.

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