Most seasons flaunt their beauty from a distance, but winter keeps it quiet. Step into the garden, lean in a little closer, and a world of exquisite, miniature marvels comes into focus. This new year, answer winter’s invitation – get outside, look low, and notice what’s been waiting there all along, says Garden Answers' columnist Dan Masoliver
The spring of 2020 was, in my household as in so very many others, a strange time. The first lockdown coupled with the presence of a six-month-old baby – our first son – rather turned our world upside down. During this time, the garden received a great deal of attention. So too did the television.
In the wee hours of the morning, my wife and I, along with our circadian rhythm-defying son, would find ourselves trawling the darkest, dustiest corners of the various streaming platforms at our disposal. And as can occasionally occur when you dig deep enough, we struck gold. The Great Model Railway Challenge, if you missed it, is a reality-style talent competition centred around, you guessed it, model railways. Think Bake Off, but train sets rather than biscuits. Neither my wife nor I have ever been modellers or railway enthusiasts, but the show was mesmerising and utterly charming.
These motley crews of modelling maestros weren’t just engineers, they were artists. Each of their layouts – the insider’s jargon for their self-made terrain or scenery – was a miniature world, conceived and created with tweezers, magnifying glasses and the most thin-tipped paintbrushes on the planet. Mountainscapes covered in conifers; railway sidings flanked with scrubby vegetation; lawns so inviting you felt like laying on them with your own pocket-sized picnic. The attention to detail was nothing short of exquisite, though to fully appreciate the artistry and craftsmanship, you had to get close – TV camera close.
Anyone who has ever done any modelling themselves, or spent a childhood playing with a dollshouse perhaps, will have experienced firsthand the incomparable joy of small things. Our gardens, too, are full of tiny treasures. The problem is, for most of the year, we’re too distracted to notice. From autumn’s eye-catching colours to the extravagance of summer and the bulb-begotten beauty of spring, most seasons in the garden can be – and therefore are – usually enjoyed from a distance. To fully appreciate the jewel-like wonders of the winter garden, you have to take a much closer look.
If the devil is in the detail, then February’s flora is practically satanic. Take snowdrops. Seen from standing height, they look like a congregation of Carthusian monks, their white-hooded heads bowed in solemn silence. Genuflect yourself, however, and inspect them up-close, and you’ll see each individual flowerhead glowing like a hanging lantern, its underside or petals or both, depending on the cultivar, inked in a variety of intricate patterns with a modeller’s precision.
Witch hazels are rightly enjoyed for their delicate, sweet scents. Follow your nose to the source to discover a shrub whose branches look fashioned by a master miniaturist replicating a New Year’s Day fireworks display. Hellebores, too, gazed upon from on high, look like a huddle of commuters waiting for the bus, heads down and collars turned up, bracing against an unforgiving February gale. But get down to their level and you’ll see their faces every bit as warm and richly hued as the loveliest midsummer’s rose.
When the days are short and the air is sharp, it is tempting to stay indoors and admire the garden through the sleeve-wiped condensation of the kitchen window. Don’t. Get outside, get down low, get as up-close and personal as your body will allow with the February flowers, and you will be richly rewarded with a treasure trove of Lilliputian loveliness.
To fully appreciate the jewel-like wonders of the winter garden, you have to take a much closer look
Dan Masoliver