Incremental Improvements

My daughter and I sometimes swap words that either make our skin crawl or that make us giggle or are ones that we love. Some of her worst ones are "bruising" and "tender" and one of my favourite words is "incremental". Don't ask me why but somehow it rolls off my tongue on the very rare occasions that I have the chance to use it.

So what has happened to make me even think of my favourite word? Maybe it is the fact that I have realised that every day, we delay a further five minutes before closing the wooden shutters in the evening, thus closing out the last of the daylight. Perhaps it is the increase in the depth of the excellent compost in the huge bin in the back garden, or the number of birds coming into the garden or that we are noticing the earlier arrival of the first rays of sun that tip the trees along the back of our property. Every day there are more grape hyacinths coming into flower and today we realised that we should have five narcissus blooms open by tomorrow.

I don't even know if "incremental" is the correct word to use for most of these scenarios, but I do know that suddenly there is more and more of the good stuff going on. We sat out in the courtyard at lunchtime, and while Jean barbequed some marinaded pork chops to perfection, I gave my Valentines Day cyclamen a nice big pot to expand into. While working, first I shed my tracksuit top and then I rolled up the sleeves on my flannel shirt before shedding it completely. Clad only in my short sleeved thermal vest, I realised that our suntrap was working overtime and that it is just about time to start re-organising my wardrobe.

For five years in Florida, we never had to wear anything warmer than a light sweater in January, but for the past two months, we have been lumbering about in endless layers, thick socks and solid shoes. Now it is time to unearth the tee shirts, dig out the shorts and do something about our lily white legs. I know that we are not supposed to risk removing a single layer of clothing until the end of March, but quite honestly I can't see myself working in the garden in my current kit of tracksuit pants, snow boots and an indeterminate number of upper layers.

I spent a very pleasant hour today lying in my hammock which is now suspended under the bay trees reading a fascinating manuscript given to me by the artist Barbara Robinson. All I had to do was to reach out a push on the branch next to me to set the hammock rocking gently. The neighbourhood dogs were taking a lunchbreak from barking and the passing village traffic had stilled while everyone had his knees under a table somewhere or other. The sun filtered down through the rustling bay leaves, and if I watched really closely, I am sure I could see the grass growing.

I know we might still get a cold snap, and although we made our own grow bag today and put in six tomato plants, I did fix them up with a cosy little frost blanket in case the night air was a bit chilly for them. I have already shed one blanket from the pile on the bed and we have stopped putting the heater on at night or warming up the bathroom before undertaking morning ablutions.

Spring is no longer being waited for impatiently - the incremental lengthening of the day, the shortening of the night, the increase in temperature, the appearance of the blossom and the softness of the air all lead us to believe that maybe winter is losing its grip and the French countryside is bursting back into life. No wonder it is one of my favourite words.