Early spring in the woodland garden

On an afternoon where spring certainly felt like it had replaced winter, I took a stroll up to the back of the garden, to the woodland bank.  Often overshadowed by numerous trees during the heart of the summer, right now it's an airy and interesting spot, the perfect place to while away some garden time, and a wonderful escape from hubbub of life.

The woodland bank, indeed the whole woodland garden, feels as though it has taken on an air of natural establishment.  The planting here is part-natural, part-manmade, but I really feel - for the first time - like the balance between my work and nature's in settling into rhythm up here.  Nestled into the many ferns that form the backrdop to the main woodland border sit some stunning hellebores, in full bloom at the moment, robust and uncompromising, but a reliable choice for years of uninterrupted pleasure.  It seems to be a very common phenomenon for gardeners to remove the leaves during the flowering hellebores in order to highlight the blooms, but I like to keep mine in the way nature intended - and if this means stooping to get a better view of the flower, then so be it - seeking these things out is one of the joys of gardening to me.

Complementing the hellebores is the rich and dainty purple of the latest addition, pulmonaria - also known as common lungwort or, as I like to call them, lady's cowslips - a perfect woodland plant that I can already tell will become a firm favourite.  I really like these unassuming plants, not just for their flowers (which do strike a remarkable similarity to another favourite, the cowslip) but also for their mottled silver-green foliage.  They've only recently gone into the ground, but they look as though they've always been there, and more importantly, they look like they belong.

I was delighted and surprised to notice that snakes head fritillaries - both last year's, and new bulbs I planted in the Autumn, have come up.  I almost missed the new bulbs, until Lizzie pointed them out, their delicate little heads drooping solemnly and bobbing the the breeze.  Even more of a surprise was last year's plants, for these have returned, only with a white flower instead of the usual mauve.  I'n not really sure why this is, but I'll live with it nonetheless - the colour almost adds to the delicacy.

Dotted patches of daffodils rise high above the new green of the wild garlic to give a timeless, native atmosphere - I feel like the Romans may have seen a similar scene when they clambered around these slopes, two thousand years ago.  Periwinkle rambles through the undergrowth here, and in a few short months, for the promise of summer is a sure one - the bank will be littered with the pinks and whites of myriad foxgloves. The woodland garden will grow, flourish, nurture and delight for months to come - but it all starts here, in early spring.