That’s the increasingly distant echo of the Spring that sprung a few weeks ago.

To be fair, I’ve been wishing it wasn’t so. (I need winter to carry on just that little bit longer so I can butcher our remaining pig without worry about the flies.) But I can no longer ignore the signs: the snowdrops Her Outdoors planted have been and gone, the crocuses are still here (but only just) and the daffodils are showing distinct signs of wilting. The days are consistently warm and sunny, heralded by more and more delirious birds, the beeping Petit Duc owl has been announcing the need to procreate for a few weeks, the number of grue migrating to wherever they go for the summer is diminishing and the polytunnel is looking better than ever.

It seems early but nothing’s certain in these days of climate change, earthquakes and revolutions. I’ll log it here and come back and check next year. I’m glad I got the coppicing done.

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