Tulips have become something it is almost impossible to consider a spring without here. Flames of new colour, quite out of place on our hillside, and as exotic as any flower that is able to hold its own in our cool, damp climate.

I made a place for them straight away in the old vegetable garden, lining out fifteen or so varieties, thirty of each in a row. I had grown them in pots for years in London, but with the new land there has been a child-in-a-sweetshop approach to new experimentation. Each August we choose what we like the look of from the catalogues, ordering wholesale to buy in quantity. The bulbs, which are easy in the hand with their silky tunics, are lined out at the end of the season in November – the best time for tulips as the cold helps to prevent tulip fire, the fungal disease which can ruin your blooms come spring.

The first spring here revealed the extent of the garden around the house. A bright blue line of muscari along the path to the front door and a bolt of daffodils pushed up tight against the hedge where the grazing became too tight for the cattle. I came to rather like the muscari since they were out on the day my father first visited. We pulled him from the car and corrected his balance and for a moment, as he took in the breeze and the view, his jumper was a perfect match. He liked a bit of colour and was never afraid to use it, but I learned quite quickly that it is a medium that has to be used judiciously on our hillside.

The daffodils are a case in point. Compare them to the pinpricks of golden celandine or pale primrose that pepper the very same hedgerow and you quickly see them as an unnecessary distraction that sits uncomfortably in scale and intensity. We picked the large golden florist’s daffodils planted by the previous owners to enjoy their earliness inside and resolved to trial any new ones in pots before committing them to the grass.

The first winter at Hillside I began the search for the palette of plants that would do well here. Brightly lit open ground with wind from all directions has been a strong influence, but a plant that feels right is just as important as one that suits the conditions.

I expanded the old vegetable plot and laid out a series of experimental beds to trial plants in order to find the ones that would work. In the case of the willows, it was an opportunity to learn more about a group of plants that I had long wanted to get to know better, but had never had the room to do so. I’ve planted a catkin wood for clients in Devon and grown a few trusted varieties where room permitted, but there is no comparison to growing something for yourself to find out what does well, what doesn’t and whether the character of a plant is right for your situation.