Growing away nicely in this year's snow free zone.

What a difference a year makes.  This time last year I was coaxing forgetmenots to flower in desperation after a foot of snow on Easter Sunday, whereas this year I'm spoilt for choice with flowers to cut for my stall!  Tulips abound in every shape, size and colour and everything is bursting into growth and filling out the garden.

I've even managed to get down to the allotment a few times - but have to remind myself to clear and plant, clear and plant…  Otherwise I find myself clearing, clearing, clearing, and then having to start again where I first began as the weeds have come back.   So far, broad beans, peas and parsnips are in. Everyone I meet at the plot seems to be in a good mood and the whole place is starting to look business-like. Even the abandoned plot next to me has been taken over - another family with children so our little corner is starting to look like the youth chapter of our allotment association.

So many veg and annual flowers still clamouring for attention in my seed box and so little room left in my greenhouse and cold frame.  Have sown some annuals direct, but I don't seem to have the best success rate that way. Generally I do much better by sowing in pots and planting out later. But needs must, so am giving it a try again.

In the garden, I'm starting to plant out stocks and sweet peas sown under cover in March - a gamble as there is still potential for frost during the next month, so hope it stays away and my gamble pays off.  Hmmm. We'll see.

Did my first stall of the year on Saturday.  So nice to be back arranging my own flowers as they are so much less uniform than those available commercially and it gives such a different feel to arrangements.  Feels a bit like coming home when I get my mitts on flowers I've raised myself.

Forcing spring

Monty Don strode purposefully down his paths on Gardener's World last night, extolling the beauty of his primroses and plucking a tiny posy for his easter table. Lucky devil.  Would love to be plucking bunches of mine, but they are still firmly buried a week after the last mighty snowfall. I'm starting to seriously wonder if my April stall is going to be viable three weeks from now.  I think I'll give it another week and make a decision then.

The only chink of colour in a fairly bleak gardening picture appeared in my cold frame this week - in December, Spalding sent me some free bulbs to blog about, and my first daffs of the year have finally emerged from the ones I planted in the greenhouse on Boxing Day. It is nice to have something to brighten up the house for Easter even though these little tete a tete  daffodils are usually out by the end of February.  The fact that they are late arrivals makes them all the more welcome. Not a single outdoor daffodil is in bloom yet, though some are resolutely starting to fill out their buds.

I'm also having a go at forcing magnolia branches, having rescued a heap of them from a recent local casualty. The heavy, pearlescent white and pink flowers of the gorgeous spreading magnolia tree just around the corner put on a stunning show every spring but some of its heavily budded boughs have succumbed to the weight of the accumulated snow. On seeing piles of branches on the lawn, I thought what a shame it was, but after chatting with the owner and collecting some of them up, I realised the full extent of the tree's injuries - perhaps not life-threatening, but still fairly major - one of the branches which came off must be about a foot in diameter.  

I got buckets of beautiful lichen-covered branches with furry buds which look like pussy-willow on steroids.  Lovely in their own right, but if I can get encourage them to open, they'll be magnificent.  Don't know if they are really far along enough to develop, but I'll give them a few weeks to have a go.  In the meantime, their sculptural form adds a little interest to the mantlepiece.

While I envy Monty his primroses in the current conditions,  he has at least inspired me to go out an get some more corrugated plastic sheeting to construct a temporary cold frame in the corridor between the garage and the greenhouse - at least its the kind of project which makes you feel like you are moving forward in the growing stakes despite the eternal winter.

The sky may be grey, but the eggs are blue

I knew you could 'go to work on an egg', but I never knew that you could fall in love with them.  Found these jewels yesterday and can hardly bear to use them as they look so pretty.

The product of a Cotswold Legbar if you want to get your hands on some!

Discovered this afternoon that they make the most stunningly dark yellow lemon curd too. Deep yellow yolks.