ST DOMINIC, TAMAR VALLEY

The strengthening sun casts tree shadows across swathes of snowdrops in this former market garden. A succession of old types of narcissi emerge each year in their original rows and plots but, 45 years ago, there were no snowdrops here apart from a few dainty, late flowerers.

Since then, my favourite gardening job in early spring has been to split the snowdrops and spread them about, “in the green” (before the leaves die back). Friends have donated surplus plants, so there are early tall and shorter singles, and several double varieties.

On this south-facing, undisturbed land, the blooms are well protected – by the ground cover of ivy, ferns and mossy fallen branches; from the regenerating hazel, now hung with faded catkins; the tall ash suffering from die-back; stunted hollies that survive browsing by passing deer; and oak, planted by the jays.

Cold wind and frost have slowed the inexorable progress of spring, but the thrush sings at dawn from its perch, blackbirds scuffle for worms in fresh molehills, and a goldcrest seeks insects around the fragrant witch hazel. Chiffchaff, first heard in mid-February, has gone quiet.

Outside this secluded enclave, regularly flailed hedgerows offer little shelter; withered vegetation and sparse primrose flowers merge with the cut-off woody growth and earth thrown up by burrowing rabbits. Hard-grazed pastures let out to horses are drab, contrasting with the pale greens of fields awaiting cattle, still in their winter quarters.

Springs and streams are low, and in the shady woods, cushions of dried-up moss lack verdant brilliance. Hedgebanks should again host masses of primrose, still associated with spring in this sheltered valley.