charles barrow's writing

More than a week of January has passed already. It's usually such a long (seeming) month that it's a blessing that a quarter of it has passed before I really noticed. The weather has been continually wet since the new year began, and I've been feeling rather under par since Christmas, so what outdoor exercise I've managed to get between showers has been welcome but short lived. I have, however, very much enjoyed catching many signs of an emerging spring - emerald spears of the early daffodil, crocus and snowdrop. Songbirds singing to ward off trespassers in their territory, and nest building. Buds on the hydrangea. All of these things help to lift my spirits. My mental health has not been good recently, so I've actively been thinking about what does bring me joy, and what brings the dark clouds into my life. I'm making lists. It's difficult to find any consistency when it comes to self care, it has to be worked at. And life has a tendency to poke a stick in ...

It's been a sunny Sunday morning, with a chilly bite to the breeze but, still, a great day for gardening. I was out there for hours, with a break for lunch, and finally got around to doing some of the tasks that I've been meaning to do for weeks. I cut down a couple of dead shrubs, pruned the overgrown ornamental grass, re-potted the small myrtle. And I sowed carrot and beetroot seeds. And marigold, nasturtium, and dwarf sunflower seeds for a bit of colour in the summer. And I pottered around for a while, without aim. This is a vitally important part of gardening. Empty your mind, and wander around, trowel in hand but with no particular aim, other than to admire the plants. It's the emptying of the mind that is the important part. Existing in neutral for a while. I had a down day yesterday. No energy, dark thoughts, no wish to do anything, say anything, read or write anything. I probably wouldn't have eaten much either if dinner hadn't been cooked for me. I've...

One of the few silver linings of this lockdown malarky is that the pace of life has slowed down. The frenetic pace of life that we were expected to maintain, which was quite frankly exhausting, is something that I don't miss at all. Now I can move around the house and garden at my own pace. I can study the flower borders to see what's happening down there at ground level. I can study the pots in the greenhouse, where I have sown chilli, tomato, courgette, squash, basil and coriander seeds. I can check them at hourly intervals. I am learning the art of patience. I can sit on the garden bench and watch, and listen to, the song birds squabble at the feeders. I can study the buds on the apple and almond trees, and make note, every day, as more of those buds burst open, and the trees are gradually covered in pastel pink blossoms. I can also take the time, with my small fishing net, to catch and release all the flying insects that trap themselves inside the conservatory, I've got...