Snowdrops and showers.

The past  week brought mostly settled days, a mix of sunshine and showers. The gales that have dominated the weather since Christmas were noticed by their absence. Thursday threw a spoiler, heavy rain, a grey wet shroud of a day. Willow buds are thickening, on the cusp of bursting open, lifeline pollen and nectar for early flying  bumblebees. The first snowdrops have flowered.

A fence of driftwood and alder was finished, a simple zig-zag that draws a line where a back garden border ends and a newly planted area of trees begins. With one fence finished another was started, there’s an area at the side of the house, currently the spot where we store young trees, where we eventually plan to go all Derek Jarman, driftwood and stone and finds from the shore. The first step, a fence of salvaged sweet chestnut pales is in progress, the pales, already silvered by sun and salt air, will sit well, back garden perennials on one side, a garden of gravel from the shore on the other.

Greylag geese have taken a liking to the meadow, a dozen birds are here most days now. They’re getting used to our coming and goings. A fortnight ago they would fly off, honking and complaining, if we went anywhere near, now they just walk away, head cocked to one side to make sure you aren’t following. 

Eider ducks are being seen on the bay, absent for most of the winter they are starting to return for the summer. A string of males and females were seen, flying in line, skimming the swell before settling far out on the water. They nest on the moor at the back of the house. In past times the nest sites would be marked, after the eggs had hatched the soft breast feather nest lining would be collected for eiderdown filling. Their latin name of somateria mollissima is a perfect fit; somateria – body wool, molliissima – very soft.

Last year at the bottom of the meadow close to where the ground falls steeply to the shore wild angelica appeared among rushes planted with young willow coppice. A few self sown plants dotted here and there. Their seed heads are still standing, the seed, cast to the ground by autumn gales is starting to germinate, dozens of tiny seedlings dotted amongst the shelter of the rushes. We’ll transplant a few and leave the rest be.