On 24th February, 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine.
March, 2022
Tuesday 1st
Lesser celandine, marsh pilewort, fig buttercup. A persistent weed, purged, uprooted, even poisoned by gardeners who begrudge its independent presence in the ordered precision of their borders; yet as the punishing winds abate, and rays of sun reach these battered hedgerows, here amongst the snapped straw and broken twigs, it blooms, unfurling petals of waxy yellow, golden stamina, and lime green stigmata. Unassuming, yet vibrant as a miniature sunflower; a humble harbinger of spring; a testament to dogged resilience and perennial regeneration; and in a week when the news could not have been bleaker, a tiny beacon of hope.
Saturday 12th
When the icy breeze abates, the bright sun of early spring spreads warmth. Verges are parades of seasonal gold. Yellow trumpets of wild daffodils unfurl in silent fanfare from crepe paper leaves, and tiny flowers of lesser celandine open up like liberally petalled buttercups.
In the wood, domes of leafy purple erupt into myriad petals of coltsfoot, canary filaments radiating out from sweetcorn hearts, like Celtic suns. Under branches green with moss, elegant lace bonnets of tuberous comfrey unravel from punch pink buds.
Twigs are sleeved in maritime sunburst scale and sprout unruly beards of reindeer lichen. Jelly-orange witches’ butter adorns a gnarly knot.
In the fields, newborn lambs race and gambol, while the lambs tails of hazel are newly partnered with tiny crimson whiskers on the nut-bearing buds of female flowers.
Wednesday 23rd
Lush green verges sport polka dots of yellow: little stars of lesser celandine and the ochre manes of dandelions, one bashful and hiding in the baby bracken, another graced with the orange wings of a tortoiseshell butterfly.
Swathes of wild daffodils sway in the warm spring breeze that carries on its breath the first haunting calls of curlews.
Spiky twigs of blackthorn are budding into leaf and bursting into blossom, the threat of needle sharp-thorns veiled in the pretty white lace of petals.
And, as if in sympathy for the suffering of the Ukraine, a tiny patch of ground blooms in the colours of its flag: four perfect little wildflowers, blue petalled with hearts of cornfield gold and a name as relevant as their colours: forget-me-not.
Thanks, George . . . Fortunate aren’t we, having stuff like that on our doorsteps. A lovely read.
Thank you, David. Yes we are very fortunate indeed.
A change of style, George, which is always worth doing to refresh yourself. At times, the intensity of the focus upon the leaves and flowers of the hedgerows was reminiscent of ‘The Wind in the Willows’.
That’s a mighty compliment, Martin. Thank you.
Well that was a treat. So many familiar faces from the New Forest when I was growing up. I’ve not heard that called witches butter, excellent name.
Thank you, Geoff. Delighted you enjoyed it. Witches’ butter is indeed an excellent name.
Brilliant – you are like a Lakeland Richard Jefferies.
Thank you so much, John.
Very nicely done, and informative as always.
Thank you, that’s very kind.
Really good article(s) ! Don’t think I ever heard of Lesser Celandine before. They are among my favorites of your photos. The forget-me-nots too. And the kid.
Thank you, Neil. The kid was adorable. Lesser celandine flower early which makes them a welcome sight. They are supposed to be natural barometers, unfurling their petals in good weather and closing up against the wind and rain. They’re all gone now. Replaced by buttercups or crowfoot, which they superficially resemble l.
I was looking for inspirational poetry in my books yesterday, but found it here in words and wonderful pictures.
Hanna
That’s a lovely thing to say. Thank you do much.
George, thank you for sharing such an enjoyable diary and processional, elegant writing and wonderful photos. The obvious sincerity of this paean to your corner of the earth is heartwarming, and even the intrusion of news from the Ukraine fits in, honest reporting, like becoming aware of ominous buzzing from a disturbed hornet nest. The colors may change and fade, but I will remain green with envy that this wealth of nature is available for your lunchtime strolls.
Thank you, Robert. That’s a wonderful compliment. I love the hornet nest image.
P.S. I’d wanted to comment on your Loweswater article, that the tale of supernatural death has prompted me to add to my List of Dangerous Things to Avoid, Even if Properly Sanitized After Usage Near Wrong End of Horse: “Crupper/Horsey Bits of Demonic Leathergoods Leaping Out At You in Stairwells/Entanglements & Possible Stranglings,” actually a brand-new category.
Yes, very wise. Perhaps they should come with a government health warning.
—and someone asked me the other day: ‘have you any holiday plans this year’?
Christina (Cockermouth)
Yes, indeed! We are very lucky living where we do. Cockermouth is beautiful.