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Margaret's Garden Journal

Part dining room, part potting shed, part greenhouse, part sewing room, part study, my conservatory.

In January icy winds and slippery paths keep me inside. Pigeons crash land on the roof to share the rising warmth. Chitting potatoes, trays of onion seedlings, boxes of sprouting dahlia tubers squeeze dining area and study into a corner Scented hyacinths smother the smell of damp from bales of potting compost.

By spring only a narrow path give access to pricked out plants laid out in boxes covering the floor. Window handles hook newly planted hanging baskets. Rapidly expanding tomato plants take over the table so the laptop has to take it in turns with a knife and fork on a lonely table mat while the telephone hides beneath surfinias.

June - the room empties. Even the avocado and kumquat trees return outside. This is the season of wide open doors allowing thrush fledgling to hop inside, and forage for titbits. Laptop, its screen unable to compete with the glare of overhead sun, retreats to tree shaded patio or sulks in a curtained bedroom. Sewing machine and lectern take over the table, banished only when rain sends barbeque crowds scuttling in.

Autumn is muddy floors with potato and dahlia brought brought in for washing, and then the smell of soap suds and disinfectant because it is almost Christmas again.

Fairy lights combine with tender trees and shrubs that spent all summer in the garden to create a magic grotto round double tables covered in damask and gleaming glasses. Odours of fine wine and traditional roasts waft through the air in the evening and carols set feet tapping, but one can still wander out during the brief day to admire the catkins of Garya Elliptica and smell the vanilla of Viburnum Bodiensis