Primroses poke through the woody debris left by recent hedge-flailing along the lanes, but the joy of this sunlit walk towards Calstock is suddenly cut short. On black ice, at the bottom of Bury Hill, we both crash, full length; I cannot rise, but Jack goes for help as I slump among brambles on the cold mud, soon to be coddled in blankets by a neighbour. There comes marvellously skilled attention from the ambulance workers and Derriford hospital in Plymouth for a partial hip replacement.
From the 11th-floor ward, I watched spectacular sunrises above Dartmoor and Hemerdon Ball. Now, after just four nights away, I am home, cared for by Jack with his painful cracked ribs, and supported by my sisters and brothers-in-law. On crutches and between exercises, I am thankful to gaze out and witness the onset of spring in our overgrown woodland garden.
It is the bright clashing colours that always surprise – brilliant yellow Helios daffodils contrasting with the shocking pinks of flamboyant camellias (Debbie, the long-flowering Cornish spring and St Ewe). Purplish petals of the 30-year-old Magnolia campbellii are incongruous near the outgrown hazels that hang with faded catkins. The spreading Magnolia soulangeana, planted around 40 years before our arrival here, is thick with opening buds, and could yet be hit by later frosts than those which have singed the double flowers of our tree-like camellias. Meanwhile, roses and fuchsias shoot their fresh leaves and the prickly berberis throws out orange spikes. A puffed-up cock pheasant, seemingly with no rivals, lurks around the unpruned hydrangeas. His predecessors and accompanying hens grazed to extinction the masses of purple crocus that I used to plant; the snowdrops are no such temptation, though, and continue to increase.
Downslope, the cherry plum is a white haze above once commercially grown Victoria daffodils. The adjacent oak, lime and deteriorating ash remain leafless, and the stark gashes of fallen branches are a reminder of winter’s destructive gales. From upstairs, I try to ignore the sight of the collapsed framework of my precious fruit cage – the victim of unexpected snow before Christmas. But hey, gardeners aim to live for ever, and we will see.
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
