THERE are some things you can't learn from books.

Gardening is an art of trial and error and so often enmeshed with the particular conditions of any one garden.

There are rituals that some plot tenders swear by that others will dismiss as old wives' tales.

But some techniques have been proven over time.

Thankfully, there are people out there who are willing to share their knowledge like the 95-year-old mistletoe grower who got in touch last week.

He told me he has been cultivating this ancient crop for 40 years and had tried several techniques.

The most reliable of which he relayed to me in his Torquay garden.

The grower showed me how mistletoe (Viscum album) had colonised a gnarled crab apple (Malus sylvestris) at the bottom of his garden steps.

Hooking berries from high branches with his walking stick, he showed me how the berries have their own supply of glue.

"The first thing is good hygiene, clean the branch first," he advised before taking the berry between finger and thumb and squashing it into the crux of a branch.

"Be patient, come back in spring and it will send a root out which will bury into the bark."

That's not quite it, though, because success is limited.

"You have to do lots to give yourself the best chance."

There are some growers who swear by cutting a nick in the tree to ease the way for the root searching out its host.

"Never do that," said my mentor.

"It can introduce disease. And besides, the sap is just under the bark, you bypass all of that if you nick the tree."

This makes sense.

The generous gardener has already prepared some stock for me to take home.

He has taken a cut branch and with a moist sponge sealed it in a polythene bag.

It will create the right humidity to keep the berries moist until the right sowing time this month or next.

My mentor said the emergence of the carrier bag about 40 years ago helped change the fortunes for the mistletoe cultivator.

"It meant we could pick the berries before the birds took them all and be able to keep them fresh," he said.

"The plastic bag did a lot for us," he said.

It is strange how with the anticipation of an emerging spring that winter should finally arrive.

There has been snowfall on high ground, clinging to branches and packed into shady trees.

Enough for sledging in some fields.

But on lower ground we have a biting wind and a once-sodden lawn has become solid for the first time in months.

The lawn crunches underfoot. I know I shouldn't walk on it, but I do.

I unroll great swathes of fleece to protect the winter salad leaves in the unheated greenhouse.

I place cloches over the chicories and the radicchios which may or may not make it through this cold spell.

I pin down the layers that cover the perpetual spinach.

I hurry indoors when the sun drops behind the hill. There is a cleansing chill in the air.

At last, February feels like February should.