Barely a week ago, I was manuring the raspberries, weeding the herbaceous borders, making plans to get compost onto the primulas. And now there are six inches of snow, and gardening life grinds to a halt. I don’t mind at all as it happens – I’d far rather have a late spring than one where everything rushes into growth and then is shrivelled by May frosts, as happened last year.
The snow came in on the east wind in heavy showers – battleship grey clouds trailing white streamers. When they hit, the garden disappeared – white vortices spiralling in the backdrafts, the blackbirds abandoning their food and hunching down in the meagre shelter of the cotoneaster bushes.
The showers passed; the sun emerged; it was almost warm. At least, with snow in March, you know it won’t stay for very long. So it’s possible to enjoy the look of the garden in the last of its winter covering.