December 29th, and in Dublin it's raining, it's blowing hellishly, there are at least three inches of water outside the kitchen door, but a cheerful voice comes over the phone to say that it's "simply wonderful" down in Renvyle, Co Galway. You ask in what ways it is wonderful. "The waves crashing on the shore, the wind howling, the spray and rain on your face." And this after a dodgy enough journey down a few days before, on roads with ice around the edges. Well, good for them. "You're soaking wet, of course," you venture. The obvious answer: they just change clothing; no problem. Weather is just a state of mind? No, they didn't go as far as that. But optimists are all around us.
Instead of mourning the fallen leaves of deciduous trees, Christopher Lloyd's gardening column in Country Life sports a heading "Evergreens now are looking very smart" - an approach to the depths of winter which may not have struck you. Indeed, go out and look at your holly - the leaves are positively shining, berries or no berries. The laurels, too. And the kermes oaks (querous coccifera), though small, add to the effect. The arbutus has now lost all its strawberry-like fruits, and the lovely, white, bell-shaped flowers, not unlike lily-of-the-valley, are undergoing their change into next year's fruit. And then, of course, there are all the big evergreen trees.
Which brings us to that contentious plant, the ivy. One of the most agreeable sights a couple of weeks ago was to see on this man's front lawn a Niagara of yellow ivy flowers and flower buds streaming down a slim but hefty hawthorn tree, leaves shining, flowers slightly glowing. He explained that after the annual ivy-clearing each year in his few acres of trees, he has decided to give that glorious specimen another annual reprieve. He might top it anyway, for if it comes down, being particularly bulky high up, his car will be gone with it.
Back to Christopher Lloyd: "At the end of this season we shall all be saying that it has been a long one, but the older I get, the more I am impressed by how short each season really is. Each is over in a flash and winter is no exception." Shelley put it this way in his Ode to the West Wind: "If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"
The cheerful words at the beginning were modified when the mobile phone came into use again. Slates off everywhere, hardly a roof in that area unaffected. And so on.
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