It is morning, and the Christmas tree stands silently in the corner of the living room jewelled with baubles and decorations, my favourites being miniature flower pots and garden tools, naturally. This year we’ve added a little shiny watering can, just to keep things green. Paper snowflakes hang around the room in otherwise blank spaces, extra candlesticks and lanterns have been artfully placed, and an olive wood nativity scene sits on top of a bookcase; our own Christmas stage is almost set.

Outside, the garden as often the way in winter, is sodden. Around here for the last two weeks or so we’ve swung from sharp frosts to long periods of rain, and the garden in many ways is best enjoyed through the window. Indeed, venturing out yesterday with a

handful of bird seed for the table, the ground squelched nastily underfoot. One day I left icy impressions in the frozen grass and the next, Croc-shaped footprints in the mud.

Today though the morning has broken with a bright blue sky, so let’s hope the fair weather stays. Low chalky clouds are lit by some very welcome sunshine, a warming glow stretches across the fence, and birds are warming in a line atop ridge tiles of a nearby house. In yet more contrast, whilst most other things awaken, the garden itself is beginning to enjoy a much earned period of rest. It’s a young garden I hasten to say, and my patience for its maturity continues to be tested, but it’s establishing nicely and my enjoyment is watching it grow whilst challenging each plant for its contribution, as I think I should.

As I focus, my attention just now is drawn by two particular plants, the first a waist high dogwood, an offshoot from another garden some three or so years ago. Its shrubby stems are firing red to yellow before the fence, and the last of its buttery leaves forlornly hang down; their life’s work nearly done. The second scene stealer is sat amidst an east facing border, a Chinese grass with silvery seed heads fanned out artistically. Other grasses might sit in damp shade, but that one seeks to remind me of its brilliance every time the sun shines.

I mustn’t though linger too long in thought for a busy day is calling. Time spent studying and mindfully editing my garden lot must wait. Places need to be visited, items must be acquired, festive cards need selecting and Christmas coffee needs drinking; the gardener within needs to be out and about, because Santa’s Christmas sack need filling!

This gardener however, as he travels about, and even in the darkest days of winter, will not leave behind his passion for plants. Along the roads, he’ll catch glimpses of copses and hedgerow networks criss crossing the fields and will take visual notes of their form and presence. As with the trees that he’ll also spy across the open countryside, amongst crowded plazas and besides carparks, he’ll feast his eyes on countless silhouetted stems, each of them perfectly timed to top up his green spirit.

Each door wreath and every bough of holly or ivy will be enjoyed for its real self, and on spotting robins and red berries, he’ll likely be transported to some working winter shrubbery with snow all around. Each Christmas tree will pose him an identification challenge, cold air will freshen his face and shift him to a chillier time in some random garden, and if he’s lucky, he might even find himself under a sprig of genuine mistletoe. His shopping expedition is always, by default, a plant hunting one too.

Returning to this present moment, I find myself having to bring my morning words to a close. Hours have passed since leaving my lot, many miles were travelled, lunch was taken, tills were topped up and I’m now back with my wordy thoughts.

I can confirm that hedges were indeed passed, slowly in traffic too, and I perused their woody networks plenty. The blue sky faded swiftly, the air did turn fresh, and not one genuine evergreen swag or bobbin robin caught my eye. Even still, I count myself fortunate to have ticked a few unessential items off the list, and to have returned home to some warmth. There was even a moment of discovery when I found myself quite by accident walking beneath many, many bunches of mistletoe still in their tree; they clearly though, I’m sad to say weren’t ripe or ready for business.

Today, on reflection, I yet again confirmed to myself that even in the midst of Christmas chaos: you might be able to take the gardener away from the garden, but you can’t easily take the garden away from…

Christmas Chaos, by Gary Webb