Beltane and Bluebells

For May eve we camped out in a little East Sussex wood; we wanted to be out in the fresh new green and jump over our own mini Beltane fire to bring in summer. Also, the area is renowned for its bluebells, of which I am something of a connoisseur.

The weather was cool and damp, the humidity intensifying the depth of the colours  and general sense of lushness and rampant growth. Birdsong seemed astonishingly loud, the only other sounds a constant dripping and the babble of running water.  I felt I could almost be in a high altitude cloud forest anywhere in the world if it were not for the familiarity of the trees and vegetation around me.

There are so many wildflowers all blooming together right now, the harsh winter having telescoped the seasons down until the first late winter flowers stand shoulder to shoulder with summer blooms. And everything is giving it’s best after that winter, including the bluebells.

If you are lucky enough to have been in a bluebell wood in full flower you will know well the extraordinary sensual overload that this can provoke.  You walk along thinking that you’ve already seen it all, it couldn’t possibly get any bluer. Then the trees open out a little more and they are swimming in an astonishing violet mist of overwhelming voluptuousness. This, I can tell you, you have to experience for yourself.

It’s not just the colour, the scent is vivid  too – heady and exotic for something so British, but with a coolness that makes it bearable, like lilies crossed with violets. Sometimes you can smell the flowers long before you see them.

I remember my first sighting of bluebells as a child, and the wonder I felt at their unexpected beauty. My mother wisely told me not to pick a single one, they could never look better in my hand than standing exactly where they were and I understood and did as I was told. Coming back from our walk we saw a family who had not been so wise; they had greedily picked as many as they could carry and were already making disappointed sounds at how swiftly they had wilted. They bore my mothers rage with baffled indifference, but if they learned nothing that day, I had learned plenty.

To read more Nature Notes, why not visit Rambling Woods – in fact, why not write a Nature Notes post of your own?

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Wildflower weekend

The May bank holiday meant a chance to get out into the countryside, run around like fools in the fresh air, go on walks, get some exercise. We made the most of it, and luckily the weather was kind – I’d even go as far as to say perfect. All the recent rain coupled with the even more recent sun has seen many wildflowers at their best. Through train windows we glimpsed the improbable violet blue mist of bluebells on woodland floors, and on one journey saw (and smelt!) woodlands with a snowy carpet of wild garlic, a beautiful if unusually scented flower. I spent plenty of time in the woodlands and meadows of Hampshire, belly down with my camera pointing at some choice beauty. The photo above was taken in short, sun dappled grass and has, as far as I can count, eight if not nine native species in flower, from the familiar, cheerful Primrose to the somewhat alien looking Lords and Ladies. I won’t write a list of what species I can see; I think this picture is more about the overall effect. Anyway, if you are in southern England right now, you could do worse things than go looking for wildflowers, especially with the newly glorious weather. In fact – do it wherever you happen to be! You don’t have to know what they are to enjoy them.

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