Viburnum time

Cold air, dark mornings, the path (through what my sons--when they were very small--used to call the secret passage) sugared with frost, and the air suddenly and improbably carrying a floral scent. I look around and there it is above a garden wall: Viburnum, its spheres of blossom a pale soft pink, doing in the middle of winter what honeysuckle does in the summer: stopping me in my tracks. It's a wonderful thing that Viburnum fragrance, mostly because it's there at a time when we least expect it, and also because, like any floral scent, it pulls you right into the moment. When you're looking for the source of a scent, when you've found it high in a summer hedgerow or over a cold wintry wall, when you bury your nose in a June rose, or get up close and personal with lily-of-the-valley in May, you're there and nowhere or nowhen else. And that's not a bad thing.

Viburnum sp. Purveyor of winter scent

Out in the winter sunshine this morning to capture the look if not the smell of the Viburnum, I couldn't help but notice the ivies - their glossy leaves pooling the low winter sunlight, their curious capped berries just starting to develop.

Hedera helix, fruits

Ivies aren't that well liked here in Ireland, but I think they're a fabulous plant - ivies on my boring breeze-block garden walls transformed a barren grey wasteland into a haven of wildlife, complete with whirring wrens and happy blackbirds nesting in their hearts and chattering sparrows gathering to suss out the bird table from a safe vantage point. I've four or five varieties, but my favourite is Hedera sagitifolia, with (yes you've guessed right) arrow-shaped deep green leaves. It's one of the most graceful ivies. I've also got what I think is Hedera 'Gold Child', a rather lovely variegated ivy--not brash like Hedera colchica 'Paddy's Pride' (which is way too in-your-face for small gardens), not uptight and too contrasty like Hedera 'Gold Heart'; it's just right really! But a little variegation goes a long way (it took me a while to realise that, and it's especially true in a small garden) and it looks best where it grows into and alongside the deep green Sagitifolia and another even deeper green variety, 'Ivalace'.

Hedera, ('Gold Child'?) painted. Sort of. 

How not to do ivies; how not to do variegation:
Hedera 'Gold Heart' and Hedera colchica 'Paddy's Pride'

Mid-December is the not the busiest of times in the garden, predictably enough, but the sun shone this morning and after a ramble out to catch the Viburnum in the morning sunlight (most times I pass it these days it's dark) I spent some time in the greenhouse and the garden. In the former I potted some cuttings and slips I'd been given by another gardener (whose garden was filled with such a lovely variety and plenitude of plants!); in the latter I cut back some of the perennials and grasses that had succumbed to frost and were now a sodden mess (the texture of blancmange as a friend memorably remarked one winter). I don't know if any of the cuttings will take, it's not the best time of the year for that class of thing after all, but we shall see. While in the greenhouse I took time to despair at the state of the alpines I'd been cosseting all summer and autumn. They're a fairly sorry looking bunch now, and I'm not sure what I've done wrong...

Very sad alpines; oh the shame of it

I've been cutting up some old windfall apples for the blackbirds and other thrushes and was throwing a few more into the kitchen garden (protected by a fence from a marauding schnauzer) and discovered that there  were still some Autumn raspberries. They're not the sweetest I've ever eaten, but their taste was unmistakable in its raspberriness.

Autumn-- no, Winter!--raspberries

While out in the garden cutting back and tidying up, I gathered some bits and bobs for the wreath for our inner front door. Each year I try to make the wreath out of what I can glean from the garden; this year's is not the best I've ever done - it's simply a mix of Eleagnus foliage (variegated and non-) and some Allium seed heads with a lovely ribbon added on for some festive appeal, but I sort of like its simplicity. I also prepared a candle for the Solstice table: cones collected from the woods on a walk this week, ivy from the garden and some glittery bits from my fellow-wreath-maker whose wreath is a thing of beauty. The two of us spent a happy hour or two this afternoon working at a table strewn with ivy and Eleagnus and cones and ribbons and wire. This sort of work is always the better for being shared; and it's lovely to work alongside a friend, alternating concentration and grappling with small pieces of wire with desultory chat and musings. Thanks lb.

Solstice wreath - Eleagnus and Allium

Solstice Candle

Festive wreath (by LB)

I'll finish this week with an easy spot-the-schnauzer, once again nose down while I was looking up.

Spot the schnauzer

Have a good week all. By the time I write here next week, the daylight will on the increase. Happy Solstice!