Less a garden, more a parcel of land. Just under two acres of what used to be the orchard for the large farm next door. The farmer used to breed shire horses and we have collections of vast horse shoes carefully placed to hold shire horse amounts of good luck.
Between us and the farm house is a brook. A dam towards the northern corner of the garden keeps the level high and at this time of year you can hear a most unusual sound for Cambridge – tumbling water. The brook winds in a gentle curve along the boundary and leaves us in the south west corner. There is an informal bridge to the neighbours garden which we ae discovering enables the muntjac deer to come in at night and eat whatever is on the menu; last night it was aconites.
During the week I only really see the garden at night. It makes it much easier to see the pheasants sleeping in the trees, the few rabbits left now we have fenced them out, check the chickens and let the dog, Biscuit, pursue all sorts of shadows.
The end of the garden rather resembles a dinosaur graveyard. As this is the first year in the garden we have pruned hard before Christmas. Having slipped a disc on Boxing Day I have failed to get a fire going under the wet sycamore; when the frost finally come we’ll try again. There is a lot to burn and it needs to be done before spring comes. All the hornbeam saplings we dug up in Norfolk and transplanted behind the fire in the south east corner do not like they have made it. We shall try again.
We are in the process of identifying all the fruit trees and I will list them out in future entries but we have a selection of apple, pear, perry, plum and gages. The inevitable elder is everywhere but it is a welcome gatecrasher. Last year’s elderflower cordial was delicious. The freezer is full of it, along with pear and apple juice. Like all of Cambridge the garden is fairly flat but as in a number places around our small village you can see evidence of the original plough and furrow. We are blessed.
