Closing February, the melancholic month. Close to Ina’s birthday, a couple of days before Henri’s. We are here to mark memories. To walk on the Danish beach we walked with my mother-in-law. Though not yet in the sea we swam in. Deep snow still huddles in hedgerows. It falls again as we leave.
The badger’s been. Grass and moss clawed through and lifted in search of food. The many hundreds of fallen acorns are being happily devoured by others.
There are runs of molehills, their spacing almost geometrically precise. Henri is perturbed by the disturbed soil around her redcurrants.
Winter is slow to lift here on the Danish east coast, but there’s comfort in the first primrose sheltering under the clumps of fir, red pine and larch. Patches of delicate snowdrops are bursting through along the edges of the plot on the day we leave. There will be old-school bluebells later.
We are not here to work in the garden as such. Just to be here, wrap up warm, wander through the woods. To say hello to the house. Feed the wood stove with logs we cut and split last year.
We are joined by Jorn, Henri’s brother. We walk through the paths by the edges of storm-swept beach. We sit together as usual, sheltered, watching the sun set over the sea.
We scatter various feeders through a couple of corners, to help birds through the end of winter. Soon the meadow will stir, the wood anemones spread. There are many acres of nearby woodland about to be carpeted with flower. We will make our annual Easter detour and wander along the paths.
For now it is time to return to Henri’s happy exile in London. We take a last walk around. Promise to return in at Easter.
Now tell me, what are your favourite signs of spring?
Allan Jenkins’s Plot 29 (4th Estate, £9.99) is out now. Order it for £8.49 from guardianbookshop.com
