Weeds can be beautiful. And I'm hanging onto this one – Susan Morrison

There’s no doubt about it, spring is on the way. The plants in the garden that I have managed not to kill are showing signs of life. My snake's head fritillaries are doing their thing, bobbing about on the breeze.

They're next to the hyacinths, which I like to tell people I bought whilst on a run to a posh garden centre like Hopetoun House, but actually, I got them from Lidl. Comin’ up smashin’ for a’ that. At the end of the garden, the buds on the fruit trees are starting to leaf. When we moved in, I harboured notions of a mini-orchard. It is indeed compact and bijou. I have a cherry tree, a pear tree and an apple tree. I can’t really see them saving us from the current empty fruit shelves in Asda.

Last year I got enough cherries to pop onto Empire biscuits. Well, one, at least. The pear tree just gave up trying, much as I imagine Kate Forbes’ media handler did in the recent leadership election after she went on air and did what we always say we want politicians to do and told the truth about what she believed. Awkward.

We did OK with the apple tree, and managed to get enough juice for my daughter, who has a degree in brewing and distilling, to create something cidery. It's lurking in the back of the cupboard and smells distinctly dangerous. I have vague worries about it exploding.

And then there is the other tree. I noticed it last year, but I thought it was a stick, randomly propped up against the back fence. Miraculously, leaves appeared followed by blossoms, thick, snowy and beautifully scented. It's an elder tree.

Technically, it's a weed, I suppose, and I should dig it up and throw it out, but a very kind gardener once told me that a weed is just a plant growing in the wrong place. If you like it, keep it. I don’t know where my elder tree blew in from, but it's blossom and berries are welcome, so this is one weed I’ll hang onto.