I am currently impatiently waiting for a rose bush to show signs of life.
My girlfriend saved this white rose from perdition, when her ex (divorced nine years ago) restructured his back yard last month. It was her favorite. So I offered to give it another lease on life and put it in a nice big terracotta container hoping it will be happy at my place.
London must be warmer than Amsterdam, mine are full of shoots ready to burst forth. You know this poem, obvs. That force that Dylan Thomas talks about is exactly what you perceive, sense, when you see the shoots.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The jobs are mostly cutting. I cut some Cotinus down to the ground today because it makes them produce giant foliage, and it left a sticky sap on my hands which smelt nice, but the smell was unwanted, and was hard to wash off. I knew it would do this but was too lazy to find gloves.
A cold snap, down to -3 or less, a few weeks ago ravaged some Teucrium and some Rosemary. Some leaves look alive and as they say, where there's green there's hope.
Thanks to a conversation here last year I'm going to try some bronze fennel in a huge container. I have the plants and they are happy.