The real sign that winter is over isn’t the flowers or the flush of green on the tips of the branches. No, those are just the window dressing. The real sign that winter is over are the insects, the bees and the butterflies. In early March 2014 the insect seemed to suddenly reappear after their winter absence and I knew Spring wasn’t far off at all.
8 March 2014
A couple of days ago a bee was buzzing lazily around the tiny violets on my front lawn. He seemed pretty lazy anyway until I tried to take a picture, then he shot off as if I was pointing a gun at him, not an iPhone. After a while, when I didn’t see any more bees, I thought perhaps I’d imagined it.
Yesterday was Job Centre day. It was grey and chilly again when I set out, not at all spring like. The blackthorn was out all along the river path though, lots of little yellow anthers waving about and not an insect in sight to pollinate them. The ubiquitous red and white tape was fluttering in Hoglands Park, showing where yet another tree has fallen. The lake has shrunk to a big puddle now though so at least there was no paddling this week.
As I only had to hand in some forms I had time to kill waiting for CJ. It’s been a while since I visited the enchanted park so that was where I went. The first flowers I noticed were pink azaleas. I was quite surprised to see them so early, twining through the shrubbery amongst the daffodils. There is a meandering path through the enchanted park bordered by scattered island beds. A flash of red dragged me off it between the beds, tulips, something else I hadn’t expected to see just yet.
Now I was wandering through the beds on a grassy trail. As always, it felt a little naughty to be off the path but the beauty of the beds demand it. The ground here was littered with spent camellia flowers and, sure enough, there were blowsy, candy striped blooms above me. The next bed was aflame with tulips, daffodils and a patch of purple crocus. Around the corner, the impossibly tangled branches of corkscrew hazel and yet more daffodils.
Back on the path I was dismayed to see sawdust and stumps where, not long ago, there had been mature rhododendron. Yet another tree has fallen taking with it the rhodos and leaving the bed rather bare. Lord Palmerston, standing on his podium surveying the street seems rather exposed by the lack of foliage and the poor park keepers must be devastated.
Close to the end of the path more azaleas were blooming, these white with a delicate blush of palest pink. They were so lovely I moved in for a closer look. I got more than I bargained for. A bee was buzzing from flower to flower and, for once, didn’t fly away as soon as I started taking pictures. These understated blooms, their throats speckled with pink have to be some of my favourites.
Walking back I stuck to the path. When I came to the crossroads with the main path the blossom on the huge azalea made me smile. Last spring I spent many a happy lunch break sipping coffee on a bench gazing at this tree. Tantalisingly, the branches are just a little too high for me to get a close look at the individual flowers. I stood for a while looking up into the tree taking shot, after shot to try to capture its beauty. After a while I took a seat on the familiar bench and just drank it in.
Of course I couldn’t sit for long, CJ would be finished soon and waiting for his post Job Centre coffee treat. With one last look at the Palmerston statue and a cheerful hello to the park keeper chopping at the grass on the edges of the beds I set off back towards Holyrood. We had our coffee, well, I had coffee, CJ had hot chocolate, topped with far more whipped cream than any other cup in Costa and marshmallows. I think the girl behind the counter has a soft spot for him, or maybe she thinks he needs feeding up.
The sun had come out for our return journey. Neither of us could resist a peek through the fence of the demolition site as we passed. They seem to be at the foundation digging stage now. Behind, the dome of Central Hall is covered with scaffolding, I hope it hasn’t been damaged by the wind. After that we crossed the New Bridge to get home. It’s probably a longer walk but I wanted to have a look at the green to see if anything was growing where the fire raged last summer.
Much of the gorse was burned in the fire and I was pleased to see a few flowers and new green leaves growing in places. Gorse is often burned purposely in the New Forest to keep it under control. It has amazing powers of regeneration. When I visited the day after the fire it seemed impossible that anything would ever grow there again but now huge swathes of burnt ground are covered with self heal, taking advantage of the extra light and soil enriched by ash no doubt. The purple flowers, just beginning to open, had attracted a few butterflies.
Normally butterflies fly off as soon as I even think about taking a photo but now, one tortoiseshell seemed happy to stay still for me. This may have been more down to a damaged wing than any desire to be cooperative. Apparently, tortoiseshells seen these early in the year often have quite tatty wings, having just woken from hibernation. There were yellow brimstones too, often the first butterflies seen in spring, but none stayed still for more than a few seconds.
The self heal wasn’t the only wildflower making the most of the light and regenerating the scorched earth. Little speedwells were holding their striped blue faces up towards the sun and one, lone celandine, sure to be joined shortly by many others no doubt. There will soon be leaves too, the hawthorn is sporting a fuzz of green and fat yellow catkins cover the willow.
As we made our way back towards the path we passed a small tree split in two, probably by the recent gales. It seems this little green has had more than its fair share of disaster. Still the spring is bringing recovery and regeneration and, now I’ve seen bees and butterflies, I think spring has officially begun.
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I think we should skip winter this year and go right to spring!
That sounds like a plan!