The same thing happened last year. Standing in the field in the depths of winter, planting trees in the mud under a grey sky, I began to wonder if the whole concept was valid. My idea of a beautiful Eden-like garden, filled with lovely things to eat and pretty things to look at seems, at times, so far away. And walking in the empty-seeming field today with the cold clay literally squelching under my boots is definitely one of those times. Was it through a veil of insanity that I imagined the colours and the butterflies, the sunbeams and the smell of lavender…?
The trouble, I think, is that the field has so little structure at the moment and so in winter everything dies back to a uniform, flat, brownness. But we have recently planted some hedges and with a few more to go in this winter, some more branches on the trees as they mature a little, and the Olympian growth of the willow hedge/tunnel this will soon improve.
Last year my thoughts became full of hope and excitement again the moment the spring arrived and my plan became, well, if not exactly sensible, at least credible. So for the time being I’ll just keep planting the little bare-root trees, shrubs and other stick-like things in to holes in the mud, follow the paper plans, and try not to think too much beyond the next cup of tea.