Wet winter

Finally a break in all the rain. This December has been wetter than any I can remember, but today we've had a few hours of blue sky.
Over the last ten days the Cych has come over its banks three or four times, but so far the floodwater has mostly found its way back to the river. Taking a walk along the river this morning it was striking to see how much has been changed by the force of the water; tree boughs ripped clean off, log dams shifted and sections of bank eaten away.

It was good to see the sun, if only for an hour or two, and to see what has to be the first sign that spring's on the way. In places the soil has been scoured away by the floodwater to reveal clumps of snowdrop bulbs, each with a spike of green.
Back home I've been bringing in more wood for the fire, which is now a more time-consuming chore because each bit has to be checked for uninvited guests. On Christmas Day I brought a basketful of wood in and soon after we were chasing a wasp around the kitchen.
Drowsy at first, it was soon fully awake and ready for a fight. After a chase from room to room I caught it with a glass and took it out to the wood shed.
A second wasp turned up an hour or so later, but by then I was too busy with turkey and roast potatoes to go hunting. It turned up dead in the sink when the time came for washing up.
Now each log is getting the once over. I think it's better for both us and them that their sleep remains undisturbed.

Hedging my bets

After a lot of thought I've picked my follow-tree. A difficult choice to make it was too. I've plumped for a garden tree because I can visit it every day and have also gone for one that is usuallyoverlooked.

And the winner is... an ash that is part of our boundary hedge. Our garden is long and thin and slopes steeply, with the house at the top and this hedge is as far from the house as you can get.

I've looked at old maps and the house has been here since at least 1880 and this bit of hedge pre-dates it. Over the years it has been pruned back and it has been laid, so my tree is short and barrel-chested and has thick boughs that grow sideways from its trunk. It's like a mature tree that has been put on its side.

I cut it back pretty radically a couple of winters ago, so it has lots of growth from last summer coming out of it hedgehog-style, upwards and sideways.

Plenty of ivy growing on it too with a few berries that the blackbirds have left uneaten. No sign of the ash buds fattening up at the moment. But on the bank below things are happening; snowdrops are in bloom and the delicate shoots of what I think is dog's mercury are just starting to push through the soil.

Drop dead gorgeous?

What is it about the humble snowdrop that provokes such strong emotions? Some, a galantophobe splinter faction, rant about them. And, of course, their are the hardcore galantophiles who can't get enough of the things.

With a single bulb going for £725 this week it looks like the war of words about snowdrops is going to run and run. Here, hedgerow snowdrops are coming into bloom and look as good to me (or not, depending on personal taste) as the £725-a-shot 'Elizabeth Harrison'.
Personally, I love their durability. They look gentle, but that's deceptive. Along the banks of the river here snowdrops are doing their thing where the winter floods have stripped the soils away to expose the bulbs. 

I like them, but only so much. On the woodland floor, in long-established drifts, they're quite beautiful, but for me snowdrops rarely work "in captivity" - they tend to look contrived. So, £725 well spent? Not really.