Blog
16 February 2026
February can feel like a held breath in the garden — a quiet pause between the deep stillness of winter and the exuberance of spring. Here at Emmanuel College, that pause is filled with promise. If you look closely — and I encourage you to do so — you’ll find the first signs that the garden is already stirring.
It has been fun having the students from Emma join us in the greenhouse recently. We held our first gardening workshop of the year and invited the students back to the college glasshouses as the weather was poor. This was an opportunity to learn about seed sowing and preparation for the Community garden beds. We plan our next workshop on Thursday 5th March at 2pm. All welcome.
Hellebores: Quiet Aristocrats of Winter
The Hellebores are at their luminous best just now. These stalwart perennials carry an understated elegance that rewards the patient observer. Their nodding blooms — in shades of ivory, soft lime, plum, and inky purple — hover above marbled foliage like finely crafted porcelain.
They thrive in the dappled shade and, at this time of year, they provide a vital source of nectar for early pollinators venturing out on milder days. There is something deeply reassuring about their composure. While frost may silver their petals at dawn, by midday they lift again, untroubled and resolute. They remind us that beauty need not shout to be heard.
Winter Aconites: Pools of Sunlight
Scattered like drops of captured sunshine across the lawns and beneath the trees, the Winter Aconites (Eranthis hyemalis) are now weaving their golden tapestry. Their bright yellow cups, framed by neat green ruffs, appear almost impossibly cheerful against the dark soil.
They are often the very first to brave the season, pushing through cold ground with quiet determination. On a grey February morning, they transform the garden. One can almost feel the collective lift of spirit they bring — a reminder that warmth and colour are on their way.
The First Stirring of the Bulbs
Already, the tips of spring bulbs are piercing the soil — green spears signalling the next movement in this seasonal symphony. Snowdrops have largely had their moment, but crocuses are gathering confidence, and the daffodils are not far behind.
There is a particular pleasure in watching this slow emergence. Each day brings subtle change — a little more height, a little more colour, a little more light. Gardening teaches patience, and February is its gentle tutor.
Beneath the Oriental Plane
One of the most anticipated displays at this time of year lies beneath our magnificent Oriental Plane. Though its great limbs still stand bare against the pale sky, at its feet a carefully orchestrated succession of bulbs is unfolding.
First come the aconites, creating a soft understorey of gold. Soon they will give way to drifts of crocus, followed by early Chionodoxa forbesii ‘Glory of the snow’, and then Ornithogalum umbellatum or Star of Bethlehem. This “carpet” effect is no accident; it is the result of thoughtful layering — bulbs planted at varying depths and chosen for their differing flowering times.
The result is a continuous sweep of colour that evolves week by week, ensuring that the ground beneath the Plane is never without interest from late winter into full spring. It is one of the garden’s quiet triumphs — a reminder that planning done months (even years) before yields its reward in moments like these.
Hope Rooted in the Soil
As we move toward March, the quality of light changes perceptibly. Days lengthen, birdsong strengthens, and the garden shifts from whisper to murmur. There is work to be done — beds to prepare, pruning to complete, edges to define — but there is also space to pause and appreciate.
Gardens are, at heart, an act of faith. Each bulb planted in autumn carries within it the promise of renewal. Each hellebore bloom is a declaration that winter does not have the final word.
If you find yourself walking through the grounds in the coming weeks, I encourage you to look down as much as up. Beneath the grandeur of old trees and historic walls, the smallest flowers are quietly heralding the season ahead.
Spring is not yet here — but it is unmistakably on its way.
Hoping for better weather and brighter skies.
Best Wishes
Brendon Sims (Head Gardener)
