Another hard frost this morning...

 Plants that come into flower at this time of year are hardy enough to take it, even these seemingly delicate Crocuses.

 The wintry morning sun played across the garden and slowly the thaw began.

 The ability of plants to deal with adverse conditions never ceases to amaze me. This Hellebore was covered in frost with leaves drooping and head bowed.

 After a few hours of cold sun it perked up again. I should qualify the term adverse; plants are hardy in their native habitat and genetically programmed to survive a range of fluctuations (and in fact thrive on them).

As I wandered round the garden the local robin appeared and settled right next to me. I sensed I was being asked to rustle up some breakfast and obliged with a sprinkling of sunflower seeds.

 Two plants for winter interest: the vivid red berries of Ruscus aculeatus and the marbled leaves of Arum itlalicum. The former I photographed at the South London Botanical Institute, the latter in the back garden.
 The common name of R. aculeatus is Butcher's Broom, and its spiny stems were reputedly used by butchers to sweep their chopping blocks. The berries are so red and perfectly spherical that they almost look like plastic decorations! NB way back in February 2017 I wrote an entry about walking through Epping Forest to search out this rather rare and curious plant.
 A. italicum grows in a difficult and shady area towards the far end of the garden where not much else will grow. I noticed a handsome clump of it over the fence in next door's garden in an adjacent spot and thought: if it does well there it should do well here. And so it proved.     

 A close-up of Gorse as seen on top of Wolstonbury Hill when I walked on the South Downs yesterday (see previous entry). There are several types of Gorse in the UK and I assume this is Common Gorse (Ulex europeus) judging by its height and locale. The others are Western Gorse (U. gailii) and Dwarf Gorse (U. minor).

 "Our blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs" is how Kipling referred to the South Downs in his poem "Sussex". Brilliant sun was forecast all day (and no work on this week, hurrah!) so I took the train from London Victoria to Hassocks and from there walked up onto the Downs.
 My first thought was to head out to Devil's Dyke and back but following my nose I decided to do a circular walk over and around Wolstonbury Hill. It's too early in the year for flower hunting but the pockets of broad leaved woodland on the lower levels will be full of Bluebells in spring. Similarly the grassy slopes are noted for very fine displays of orchids into the summer months.
 This was my first strenuous walk of 2019 and it was good to get the legs moving and the heart pumping though my body was a little reluctant to be honest.

 In fact there were some flowers to be seen- on the very top of the hill exposed to the worst the weather can throw at them. As plants go Gorse must be the toughest of the tough with its viciously prickly spines and luminous yellow blooms through winter that no wind or rain can dislodge.
 The highest point of Wolstonbury has splendid 360 degree views for miles upon miles into Sussex and towards the coast.

 I can see the sea! Descending the other side of the hill there are vistas across to Brighton and the Channel beyond. This is a small island and really we're never that far from the sea but somehow I always feel like I've traveled a long way when I catch a glimpse of it on the horizon.

 The Snowdrops at the end of the garden are going strong. In the past few days the drooping flowers have opened up to reveal the bold green markings within.
 This colony was here when I moved in, presumably planted by a previous tenant. They have increased slowly in the time I've been here and no doubt have been doing so over decades. Each year I divide a few clumps and plant them away from the main group to increase their spread. Like all bulbs they clump up by producing offsets (small bulbs) which separate from the parent bulb. I assume they must be self-seeding as well though I have read that Snowdrops don't set viable seed in the UK.
 Galanthophiles are obsessive about the many varieties and variations to be found among the Galanthus genus. For me the effect of seeing them en masse is what I love most. The ones in the garden are most likely some variation on the Common Snowdrop (G. nivalis) though I'm not sure which one- possibly 'Sam Arnott' as discovered by the 19th. century Scottish Galanthophile of that name?

 Crocuses are poking through already. Crocus tommasinianus in shades of magenta, lilac and white are the first to show themselves in the garden and a pot of Crocus angustifolius is coming into flower on a window sill, a variety called 'Cloth of Gold' :

 The bright orange anther and pollen sacs dusted with pollen are very prominent when the petals of the Crocus unfold and open to the sun- though I don't think many bees will venture out in the damp chill of a day like today.

 Lent a hand at the South London Botanical Institute yesterday, mulching round the beds which is something they do every year. A small band of us distributed a layer of well rotted but still steaming horse muck with a layer of spent mushroom compost (i.e. the stuff that mushrooms have been grown in). The former is slightly acidic and the latter somewhat alkaline so the resulting mix is probably fairly neutral.