Out the front, part three

The greatest time of year is here

This is it. Right now. I have been lucky to travel all over the planet, but nowhere compares with England in spring. This is, naturally, the biased view of someone born and raised here. But when the light stretches and the first greening begins, there is nowhere I would rather be. You can take your sundowners over the savannah, your rooftop beers in Brooklyn, your climbs in the Andes. I have seen heaven and it is an English garden in April, alive with bees, the sound of blue tits, jays and nuthatches on the air, the last of the tulips, the blossom on the blackcurrants and the first invertebrates in the pond.

Handily, my broken leg has meant that leaving said paradise has been something of a challenge. But as the days have passed and my ability to move unaided has increased, I have been able to tend, to water, to plant and sow. So, too, am I able to enjoy the results of the hard work of January and February.

Nowhere is this more evident out the front. I have written a couple of times about this previously unloved place, where a year ago a giant leylandii and a pile of pebbles atop four layers of weed protection was all that passed muster for our front garden.

After some hefty clearance, days spent digging through heavy clay, and hours of pond lining and bed building, the site was finally ready by late January. Now, four months on, the hazel hedge I planted is growing fast, the salvia has taken root and the syringa is growing apace. Cornflowers are in need of thinning. Violas add colour and the wild marigolds are going crazy. In a new bed, a scattering of allium bulbs have been secreted and watered. A prayer for their growth on the breeze.

Best of all, the pond I had to relay has burst into life. The once murky water has been cleared by the presence of water dropwort and lesser spearwort, the latter showing its first yellow flowers. Around its edges the gladioli are showing signs of rapid growth as the oxeye daisies and foxgloves lay in wait. The forgetmenots will soon be finished, but not before a last blush of blue.

And in the raised bed I made from scaffolding boards, a series of strawberry plants and herbs (chamomile, feverfew, marjoram, thyme and oregano) are sandwiched by dill and chive seeds. The pots are home to dead tulips, long gone crocuses and a tiny delphinium my wife brought back from outside a house nearby on a recent walk. It was a beautiful, unexpected gift that will grow and thrive and bring succour to us, not to mention the insects that love the front garden.

In the past week I have watched red admirals bask on the stones which now form a path around this once unlovely space, and queen bees flitting between the flowers, in search of nectar, sharing pollen. When I open the front door, I’m taken aback by the beauty of the pond. I have grand plans for new marginals, when my leg will allow for less hobbling and the ability to crouch without wincing in pain. In the meantime, I will enjoy it all, this brief but wondrous time of year calling me back outside, ready to make moves once again.