CAT news
A gardener’s privilege As the barrenness of winter slowly gives way to the sounds and sights of spring, Petra Weinmann begins to make plans for the CAT gardens.
A new path winding through the heart of CAT offers the chance to spot nature emerging from its winter sleep.
A
s I write this, January is waning and a new season is beginning to seem possible. Every winter, despite clear evidence to the contrary, there is a point (usually when returning to the CAT quarry after the Christmas break) when the abundance of summer feels like an improbable dream. The garden at CAT, on its slate tip, can be a gloomy and rocky place, far removed from the verdant haven I know is only a few months away. In between the storms that have flapped our polytunnels and encrusted the hardy winter volunteers in mud, there have been serene moments. Picture the low sun breaking through and illuminating the thriving mosses, pale birch bark and millions of raindrop crystals on bare twigs. Or hear a robin’s song, suspended in the watery air. The world holds its breath in these moments and finds a still point, before tipping into the rush of spring with ever greater momentum. Looking at the bare garden today the imminent transformation seems profound, and it is a gardener’s privilege to pay attention to this unfolding. Already there are some signs of changes afoot. As I walk the new woodland path through the heart of the garden,
Kuttelvaserova Stuchelova
hazel catkins catch my eye. Were they this yellow yesterday? Overhead a pair of nuthatches are picking their way along birch branches as a team. And here comes the persistent call of the Great Tit that always seems to punctuate this journey out of the dark months. Roger McLennan, our head gardener, is mobilising too. He has been assembling the ‘hotbeds’ we use to kick-start our plant-raising season. Metal cages are filled with scraps from the café kitchen. These generate enough heat as they decompose to keep the cold night air off our germinating vegetables and avoid using electricity or paraffin. Of course, rotting vegetable matter gives the polytunnel a very distinctive aroma – a sure sign that the growing season has begun!
