Not a hazelnut

Winter is signalling it's imminent departure through the behaviour of the birds in the trees of my garden; they're singing a different tune in the evenings and it's one I recognise from spring's passed. My propagation beds are not as full as I intended them to be due to unexpected business and I'm feeling foolish for not having focused better on collecting cuttings from the things I want to have more of. It's not too late though, as the plum blossom hasn't yet burst, so I'm doubling down on my efforts to collect from afar for the near. Today, I planted a dozen rhubarb crowns given to me as a reward for pruning the apple trees of a woman who couldn't do them herself. As well, she gave me handfuls of gooseberry prunings which I've pushed, individually, into the soil of the beds. The three English Greengage seedlings I was given last week are now settled into the soil of the orchard park across the way and I'm planning to sow the seeds of the native broom, Carmichaelia odorata tomorrow, so I'm in catch-up mode and making some good progress. I'm becoming very enarmoured with gooseberries and will visit each of the rare specimens I already have growing here, thanks to thoughtful donors from all around Southland and Otago, and snip the tips of those to further populate the cuttings bed, so that I can increase the presence of those old favourites, the goosegog. It's a prickly business though, and I'm nursing several punctures. No matter, it has to be done and every morning is warmer, lighter and more filled with bird-song than the one before. Oh, and hazelnuts! I wanted to plant a hundred of those but haven't done one! I'm determined to find a cache and plant them post haste. Hist whist!