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Spring will reveal if the two hedgehogs have survived winter under the leaves | Spring will reveal if the two hedgehogs have survived winter under the leaves |
(7 months later) | |
Last autumn's leaves lie thickly under the spreading sycamore branches. Mature trees, they protect my garden from westerly winds, making the ground beneath the natural place for a woodland border. Hellebore flowers now nod on thick reddish stems. I have to tilt them up to see inside their burgundy cups, centred with palest stamens. Aconites are much less complicated, flauntingly yellow and open to the sun. Around them lies a mass of little seedlings, fresh green frills, finely cut. Unlike the glaucous leaves of snowdrops, snowflakes have bright green leaves and hanging bowl-shaped flowers. They look quirky, like old-fashioned lampshades. There is a faint scent of new mown grass from decaying woodruff. | Last autumn's leaves lie thickly under the spreading sycamore branches. Mature trees, they protect my garden from westerly winds, making the ground beneath the natural place for a woodland border. Hellebore flowers now nod on thick reddish stems. I have to tilt them up to see inside their burgundy cups, centred with palest stamens. Aconites are much less complicated, flauntingly yellow and open to the sun. Around them lies a mass of little seedlings, fresh green frills, finely cut. Unlike the glaucous leaves of snowdrops, snowflakes have bright green leaves and hanging bowl-shaped flowers. They look quirky, like old-fashioned lampshades. There is a faint scent of new mown grass from decaying woodruff. |
In this root-sucked border, where the sycamores take so much from the dry soil, I value the autumn bounty of leaves that they give back. I see them as a harvest rather than a nuisance. Last year's barrowfuls from terrace and paths now cover the border. Daffodils spear up through them, emerging blanched yellow as if blinking into the light. It's a prized mulch that protects the soil against windblown dandelion seeds from the field outside. And there – best of all – erupting among the waxy evergreen bergenias, is a plump brown dome, a hedgehog hibernation nest. Ridiculously near to the path, the hummock is neatly made, the layers of leaves in wads like banknotes, some light, some dark and decaying. | In this root-sucked border, where the sycamores take so much from the dry soil, I value the autumn bounty of leaves that they give back. I see them as a harvest rather than a nuisance. Last year's barrowfuls from terrace and paths now cover the border. Daffodils spear up through them, emerging blanched yellow as if blinking into the light. It's a prized mulch that protects the soil against windblown dandelion seeds from the field outside. And there – best of all – erupting among the waxy evergreen bergenias, is a plump brown dome, a hedgehog hibernation nest. Ridiculously near to the path, the hummock is neatly made, the layers of leaves in wads like banknotes, some light, some dark and decaying. |
There are two hibernation nests in this border. The smaller one hides the hedgehog that I found wandering in daylight last November and fed for a week on cat food. The dish was put next to an elderly viburnum, dry and leaf-filled underneath, arched over by lichened boughs. One morning the food was uneaten and a mound of leaves and dried ferns appeared, not snug under the viburnum, but in this open border. Around it hosta leaves have now turned to grey filigree; moons of honesty lie tattered on the ground. A great tit sings repeatedly we-two, we-two, we-two, that spring is just round the corner. I won't know until then if the two hedgehogs have survived winter under the protecting leaves. | There are two hibernation nests in this border. The smaller one hides the hedgehog that I found wandering in daylight last November and fed for a week on cat food. The dish was put next to an elderly viburnum, dry and leaf-filled underneath, arched over by lichened boughs. One morning the food was uneaten and a mound of leaves and dried ferns appeared, not snug under the viburnum, but in this open border. Around it hosta leaves have now turned to grey filigree; moons of honesty lie tattered on the ground. A great tit sings repeatedly we-two, we-two, we-two, that spring is just round the corner. I won't know until then if the two hedgehogs have survived winter under the protecting leaves. |
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