February

February is a month which often wears a cloak of fatigue anyway, being that hard final stretch of the marathon that is winter- this year, however, I felt even more acutely, how heavy the February fatigue can hang. With the anniversary of the first lockdown drawing closer- marking a year of unfathomable challenge and change, it’s been a wild, and weird year, a little scary, and a lot lonely. I felt it all this month- maybe you did too.

It started with a whirlwind of work. I hit the ground running with a project deadline, shipping out a few hundred orders (thank you thank you thank you), and a whole load of small-business admin to juggle in between. It turns out that working with flowers can sometimes be all spreadsheets and emails and very few flowers. I don’t think I slept much for that first week of February. The sunrises were honey and made the sleeplessness worth it with their beauty. Then life, as life does so well, threw a load of difficult and somewhat painful navigations my way- the precarity of the structures I’ve been building my life around suddenly became very visible, and I’ve felt wobbly since. This too shall pass, I know that well, so I know it all will, but it doesn’t make the ride any easier or less anxiety inducing.

I love these bottles; winter arrangements that came home with me after the very last pre-covid wedding dismantle over a year ago. I love that they’ve witnessed love. I love love. I put them on this windowsill temporarily, not having the heart to take them apart, and there they’ve stayed. The sun rises through them each morning, lighting up their fragile but enduring bones.

Most of February was spent inside working at the computer instead of on the plot- which was just as well, as the snow came, not much, but enough to freeze the ground solid. There was nothing to do but hope that the mulch, and tarps that were pulled over last-minute would stop there from being too many casualties from the biting temperatures.

Our home is beautiful, but not warm. The walls are made of mud and the windows are full of gaps. The -7 degrees made their way inside, and hot water bottles were slipped under jumpers and coats were worn inside. I watched the snow and ice through the windows, and worked away at the screen. I had a load of indoor gardens planted up between Christmas and New Year that kept me going. I had planted them for a photo shoot, and therefore had prepared surplus for requirement, just in case. So, there have been pots everywhere, every windowsill and every spare bit of table, and spare patch of floor- bringing colour and joy, lifting the spirits in new ways every day. The power of flowers still does not cease to amaze and delight- the Iris Reticulata ‘Alida’ I found particularly lovely with their blue tongues, flickering with that single orange flame.

As soon as the Earth thawed, the weather balmed and warm was returned in a flush of sunshine that bought on the first daffodils. Suddenly the air was full of sweetness again- that specific smell of spring that is so full of chlorophyll and hope.

The Flowers From The Farm conference went ahead- all online, and an update from the Diversity Action Group was given. It’s been a lot of work behind the scenes since June, and it was joyous to finally share a bit of the work we’ve done, and hear some of the positive feedback people wanted to give to it. Reinforced and revitalised, the enthusiasm was just what we all needed to keep pushing on.

There’s a limited palette of ingredients at this time of year. It makes for resourceful designing, and a time for textures and shapes to reign; some serious design practise in February always seems to set me up for better work to come out of the year ahead. I practised with just the pin frog as a mechanic and no wire mesh that I usually rely on, there’s a lot less control without the wire to support, but I love the amount of air you can create when not having to hide the wire. The flowers dance in a different way- with more freedom and more delicacy, to a lighter-hearted tune.

It’s March now, the month of two seasons, where the landscape changes rapidly. The bullrushes are shedding and their cotton-like seeds are being carried gently through the air. The heavy cloak of February had been shrugged off and packed away. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, so here’s to an energising and uplifting few weeks ahead.