March

MARCH IS AN UNRELIABLE month at the best of times. At Brynmerheryn, wind and rain batter bare branches in the woodland, the metallic scent of snow is in the air and the ground is frozen iron hard at night.

Nevertheless, the days are lengthening and a few rays of sunshine have brought the earth a little warmth, just enough to put a sheen on the birch trees and bring the catkins into bloom. Buds have appeared on the Lacecap hydrangea that scrambles up the north wall of the house and has to be pruned ferociously every year or it creeps into gutters and blocks the drains.