In the wood behind the house stand many a mighty oak,
Leafless amid daffodils and April’s showery soak.
So many days, so many years, to passing season’s clock,
They’ve added rings beneath their bark made from this earth and rock.
Each weighty tree of solid wood was once a fragile shoot.
Sprang up amongst the winter brown. Drove down to hold and root.
See here, where shoot and root unite, an acorn small and brown.
That grew full ripe, high in the air, ‘til Autumn brought it down.
But ere the acorn cup grows full a magic spell unwinds,
Amongst the Springtime growth renewed within green leaves enshrined.
A promise of full future strength foretelling oaken powers.
Here with windblown leaf and twig the mighty oak tree flowers.
Mother Nature’s a quirky old lady, she likes to make up her own rules,
If we try to guess what she’s doing, we’ll just end up seeming like fools.
She likes to sprinkle some Snowdrops, then add a few Daffs just for show.
With a background of brown, green, or even – white if she fancies some snow.
She finds Spring overly pushy, likes to keep her in her right in her place.
Mam does things when she does things – at her own, unhurried, pace.
So, the question that’s waiting an answer, to which we just need Yea or Nay.
Will May blossom blossom for May Day? If she’s willing, then maybe it may.
We managed a nice picture of the early bird bluebells this week, so I thought I’d have a chat with Google about them. I was hoping he’d mention that all parts of the plant are reasonably toxic to humans and animals. Or perhaps, that most of the world’s bluebells are here in the UK, but it’s OK, we’ve made it illegal to dig up the bulbs and to pick the flowers to offer them for sale. Perhaps, even, that they are quite pernickety and take around seven years from seed to producing their first flower and trampling around on their leaves kills the bulbs.
But no. What he wanted to mutter on about was The Bluebell Girls. This was the name of dance troupes in all the major world capitals started and run by Mary Kelly who became better known as Miss Bluebell. She left school at 14 to become a dancer in a Scottish troupe called The Hot Jocks. In the 1930s she danced in Berlin and Paris – she and her husband were in Paris during WWII and he was arrested by the Gestapo – but escaped with the help of the resistance and she hid him in Paris. Despite having to go through severe questioning herself they stayed there, with their children, until the war ended.
All interesting stuff you might think – and that she was a remarkable lady. But what had caught Google’s eye was actually that Miss Bluebell was the one who introduced the world to the concept of topless dancers.
At the corner, we usually stop to look into the field. It’s been empty for the winter but a few days ago John put his animals out to graze. Not sure how they took it – they’ve been in a nice warm barn and the weather has done its normal April thing and turned nasty on us. In the hedge by the gate, a nice sunny spot, the Hawthorn has had a crisp sprinkle of new green leaves for a week or so. Today we noticed bunches of tiny green nodules – May Blossom in waiting.
The Daffodils have done their thing and are mostly standing around looking weary, this time of the year is hard for them. In the fresh-grown grass, bright yellow Lesser Celandine is peeping out here and there ready to carry the yellow theme on when the Daffs retire into their ageing bundles of leaves.
The dark browny-purple spikes of Rose Bay Willow Herb are already losing their striking dark colouring, as the feather duster of leaves spread and pale – hard to believe within a few weeks these will be four or five feet tall.
Seeing something glistening the roadside verge I bent for a closer look and found this miniature Silverweed leaf still holding a few of last nights raindrops.
There is no doubt, whatever the weather, Spring is here.