Finding a little light in the dark
The old year’s gardening has nearly ended. The new one’s waiting in the pots. Tulip and narcissi bulbs planted in lasagne style, semi-sleeping under the soil.
The yellow roses are pruned, the last few flowers in a vase. I will leave the ‘Bengal Crimson’ rose to bush. The stellata has lost its leaf. Autumn is now all swept away. Furry magnolia buds in numbers like never before carry our wishes.
There are new hellebores: four of these Christmas roses, from deep purple to tinted red, and a white. An early-morning impulse buy to soften the austere late year.
The garden centre is a mass of Christmas trees waiting for their families and fairy lights. Spruce and fir in every size and style, potted and unpotted. I am seduced. The children are grown and we will be away on the day. But the old Danish family decorations are calling from their cupboard and I love the scent and to see the tree lit.
Dad bought a couple of hundred 6in tiny pines when we were kids and it was the boys’ job to cut the choking grass around the pencil-thin stems. Another of Dad’s money-making schemes, like the chickens and the caravan to be rented out to holidaymakers. My brother Christopher cleverly failed with his share immediately, chopping one too many trees in the trimming. So it was left to me.
We have red pine and fir on the summerhouse plot, but I’ve never had the heart to cut them down. We dress one with outdoor lights for the holidays and buy a Nordmann Fir from the local farmer where we get our goose. Sometimes he has a few cut and ready, but as often we wander round the plantations looking for the perfect balance of height and shape. Sometimes it is snowing.
The drive home with the bird in the car and tree in the trailer is the true start to our holiday. Merry Christmas everyone.
Allan Jenkins’s Plot 29 (4th Estate, £9.99) is out now. Order it for £8.49 from guardianbookshop.com
