snow in the garden

five inches of snow in the garden today, after yesterday’s inch or two, and then three hours of snowfall this morning. this is four and a half inches more than Tilda has seen in her life.  her verdict – fun but too cold.

I realised that she needs a coat to deal with real winter weather and ordered her a blue fleece lined waterproof on line last night.

She and Sal had a delightful scoot around and a couple of mock fights. they soon chopped the perfect icing sugar coating of the garden into rough meringue.

there is something about snow which domestic animals find quite entrancing. this unfamiliar cold white almost solid stuff. the dogs try to eat it. I have seen bullocks rush around bucking and kicking in snow. for any animal which has to survive outside it is not the same of course.

Sal has a fatal attraction to eating snow – he eats it greedily, then he needs to go out for a pee – all that frozen water stimulates his bladder – then he eats some more snow – and so it goes on ….

I have two peanut feeders and a seed feeder hanging up and the seed feeder is emptied daily. the tits like the peanuts and I can usually see two or three  and a waiting line up on this feeder. the finches come to the peanuts even if the seed feeder is not empty, but they find it hard work. they peck away at the nuts, looking uncomfortable; the extra calories must be worth it.

it is a while since I saw an icicle. I think the snow will last another day; the temperature is up, but not enough to melt the snow off roofs yet. the main road, I am told, has clear tracks in it, but the rest is snow.

it is very pretty, but it is annoying too. I have a stock sale on today and have only had three visitors; one from Bale walked, and the others live quite near and were mad enough to come out by car. because I have the sale on, I can’t go out for a walk in the snow.

this is old man’s beard or wild clematis, which makes a greyish-white fluffy beard over hedge and tree where it grows in the wild. I have seen it a lot in Devon, but not so much in Norfolk. it grows over the end of my washing line and attempts to smother a guelder rose and a blackthorn.

the foreigner in my garden – an olive tree. seemingly fragile, but in fact as tough as old boots.