Wildlife Gardening in Early Spring – The Garden Awakens

The Slow Beginnings of Wildlife Gardening in Early Spring

Wildlife gardening in early spring can feel slow to begin, especially when the sky is still heavy and endlessly grey. Last year’s stems, those that weren’t completely battered by the early storms — stand forlorn in the borders, hunched over and dripping. We haven’t had much in the way of frost sparkles this winter. Just mud and wind and water.

The procession of storms have stolen a great many beautiful trees from Cornwall. Views have changed and precious habitat been lost. It’s a sad affair.

And yet, here in the warmth of my kitchen, in a small patch of daylight on the windowsill, there is a tiny microclimate. A tray of hope for sunnier days to come. New life is emerging from the seed compost — tiny leaves and delicate stems, reaching towards the light. Snapdragons, wild carrot and sweet peas… so far.

It amazes me how seedlings survive out there in the wild, at the whims of the British weather. Those fragile green threads — so small I have to hunt for my glasses to see them properly — seem incredibly vulnerable. And yet they carry with them the promise of warm summer evenings, bees humming and butterflies fluttering.

In fact, I feel a fluttering within myself right now. Like a little butterfly in my chest — the quiet excitement for a garden waking from its long winter sleep.

It’s a good feeling. One I need right now.

Finding Peace in Small Moments

The days are noticeably longer this month. There is a lightening of spirits as well as the sky. It’s no longer dark when I set off for work! and rare dry days mean I can squeeze in a little garden time when I get home. Exciting stuff for midlife me and my wildlife obsession.

Life in the woods is stirring too. Buds are appearing; hazel catkins hang from the branches, and the tangled bramble stems are starting to put on fresh growth. Bluebell leaves are pushing through, and the woodland floor is beginning to turn softly green beneath the bare branches. Meanwhile, in the hedgerows, lesser celandines, dandelions and primroses bloom.

On the rare weekends when the sun graces us with its presence, I’ve seen butterflies, and brave bumblebee queens venturing out in search of breakfast and a place to build their nests. The honeybees are out too — my skimmia has been buzzing with life. Try as I might to film it, it’s very difficult. Perhaps the bees are camera shy?

I’ve been collecting these moments and holding them close. They are my peace when life feels overwhelming — which is partly why I haven’t written for a while. It’s hard to order my thoughts when everything feels a bit too much.

Watching spring unfurl a little more each day is a quiet joy I look forward to every year. And every year I feel so lucky to live here in Cornwall, where the climate is kind… even if the weather has been a little less so this year.

Natures Therapy

Have you ever tasted green? The fresh young leaves of wild garlic and sorrel are bursting with polyphenols, nutrient dense wild food and if green had a taste, I think this would be it — the taste of the countryside.

When I walk, I touch the smooth leaves and the rough bark. I listen to the birdsong, growing louder as we tilt back towards the sun. I breathe in the scent of flowers — in our garden and along the street — hyacinths, skimmia, sweet and wonderful. And other scents I can’t quite name, but that somehow smell of spring… and smiles. These deep lungfuls of spring air are both invigorating and grounding — a tonic for waking body and soul.

These are the moments that anchor me. I need the outside — the woodland, the plants, the garden. When everything else feels like too much, it is there. My sanctuary, free to enjoy whenever I choose. No matter that the fence is still down, the hedge is little more than a row of twigs, and my garden chairs have finally rotted so completely that when I sat on one, I fell straight through it.

It doesn’t matter.

Because every time I step outside, something catches my attention and I drift into my own little world — where time softens, and the soil soothes my mind… Quite literally, actually, because I recently read that soil microbes stimulate serotonin in a similar way to antidepressants.

So yes — bring on the soil bathing. Perhaps it will catch on, like forest bathing?

It Begins again

And so, as the wheel turns quietly towards the next marker, the sky may be more grey than blue and the ground more suited to growing rice than flowers… but life is stirring all around.

On the woodland floor, in hedgerows, in gardens — and here on my kitchen windowsill.

It begins again.