Tag Archives: hazel catkins

Looking backwards and looking forwards in a Winter garden

December 28, 2025 philipstrange Leave a comment

By late December, the trees around the community garden were mostly leafless. Their leaves now littered the ground creating a mosaic of shades of brown occasionally rearranged by winds. Leafless, though, did not mean featureless. The branches of a tall hawthorn were richly decorated with plump, claret-coloured berries that glinted in the low sunshine and the nearby crab apple sported groups of small round fruit resembling reddish Christmas baubles. Bare branches of a guelder rose held clumps of berries of a surprisingly luminous bright red as if lit from inside (picture at the head of this post). These berries and fruits, formed earlier this year, will provide a well-stocked larder for birds seeking food in winter (more pictures at the end of this post).

It wasn’t all looking back, though, and there were clear signs of the forthcoming season. Leafless hazel stems carried many small, thin, pale green, finger-like growths. These are immature male catkins that will gradually increase in size to form the familiar yellow lambs’ tails ready to cast pollen on to passing breezes; some have already matured in nearby private gardens. Just above the male catkins on the bare branches, a few scaly buds were opening to display small dark red female flowers, often likened to tiny sea anemones. Wind-blown pollen reaching these female flowers from other hazel trees will begin the process of fertilisation and nut formation.

Towards the rear of the garden was a large stand of winter honeysuckle, an unruly twiggy mass liberally sprinkled with pairs of creamy white flowers each with two petals, one smaller and one larger. Emerging from the petals were several long stamens, their ends coated thickly with pale yellow pollen. These flowers are a magnet for insects still about at this time of year, especially on sunny days when I saw a few flies and several hoverflies and bumblebees.

The hoverflies (mostly the marmalade hoverfly, Episyrphus balteatus) with their stripy abdomens (silver, black and orange) moved noiselessly about the bush before landing deftly on flowers to feed. The bumblebees (buff-tailed bumblebees, Bombus terrestris) moved quickly from flower to flower buzzing loudly, seemingly hanging from flowers to feed on nectar and to collect pollen that accumulated in sticky lumps on their back legs. These bumblebee workers with their characteristic yellow, white and black hair bands must be supporting a queen that has set up a winter-active colony rather than go into hibernation. Winter-active colonies are a relatively recent phenomenon in the UK, thought to result from warmer winters, the presence of flowers supplying pollen and nectar, and the relative adaptability of Bombus terrestris.

Crab apples. With the mild wet autumn many have already begun to decay

Hazel catkins – the finger-like entities are the immature male catkins and just above each cluster are the tiny red female flowers.

Marmalade hoverfly (Episyrphus balteatus) on winter honeysuckle

Buff-tailed bumblebee worker (Bombus terrestris). Note the pollen she is carrying on her back legs and the way she hangs from the winter honeysuckle flower,

nature writing

Fairies, wild garlic, snowdrops and that wooden bird along a Devon Lane in February

March 20, 2025 philipstrange 4 Comments

The British love to discuss the weather. It’s usually an unthreatening way of interacting with other people and passing the time. In the middle of February, however, I met several people who, unprompted, moaned at length about how overcast, dull, cold and grim the weather was. This spell of depressing weather lasted nearly two weeks and the Met Office even joined the discussion by telling us helpfully that this was “anticyclonic gloom.” Apparently, an anticyclone (high pressure system) over Scandinavia was influencing our weather, leading to the gloomy conditions.

Three very wet days were the price we paid for ending the gloom but at the start of the fourth week of the month the weather changed for the better. The sun shone out of clear skies and I leapt at the opportunity to walk up the lane I have been visiting for nearly a year.

Walking down the road in the sun was a pleasure and on a grassy bank I passed, there were several celandine flowers glinting in the bright light. When I reached the lane, I paused at the old quarry and was pleased to see that the hazel trees had finally flowered, their catkins plumped up and a beautiful golden yellow. They dangled from overhanging branches in large numbers and danced in the light breezes (see picture at the head of this post). The sun was still quite low in the sky and it shone through the trees surrounding the quarry making the catkins glow as if they were tiny lights and someone had flicked a switch. Perhaps the low sun had slightly dazzled me but the more I looked, the more otherworldly this scene became especially when a breeze passed and I began to imagine Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s fairies cavorting mischievously.

These catkins are the male flowers of the hazel and each contains more than 200 florets loaded with pollen some of which will be released on to the air when a breeze passes. Pollen carried in this way fertilises a female flower when it reaches one. The female flowers are quite different, very small and rather inconspicuous and I was unable to see any on the hazels in the old quarry. I have seen female hazel flowers this year in a local public garden and have put a picture below; they are often described as resembling small red sea anemones.

Male and female hazel fkowers seen in the Leechwell Garden, Totnes. The small “red, sea anemone” -like female flowers are just above the male catkins. Although male and female flowers occur on the same tree, pollen from another tree is required to fertilise female flowers successfully, enabling cross pollination.

When I set off up the lane, progress was slow as the surface was wet and quite muddy, a result of the recent rain. Lane side banks were looking lush and fern-rich as always, but several fresh spikes of an inconspicuous but distinctive plant had appeared since my last visit. Each example had three or four spear shaped leaves forming a cup shape and the leaves of one of the plants were caught by the low sun, rendering them a semi-transparent pale green (picture below). Additional thin spikes also pushed upwards each decorated with very small greenish flowers. This is dog’s mercury, a plant that can grow in huge numbers, often carpeting the woodland floor, suppressing other vegetation.

There had been significant change in the tree lined section of the lane since my last visit although with branches still largely leafless, good amounts of light reached the track. Primrose and celandine flowers were now showing in small numbers and arrow head-shaped cuckoo pint leaves were appearing all along the lane, mostly by the side of the path. I hadn’t realised how much cuckoo pint grew here. The greatest change, though, was the appearance of many small tongues of fleshy dark green leaves by the sides of the track. These are the emerging leaves of ramsons (wild garlic). They will grow gradually, carpeting the lane in a few weeks and eventually starry white flowers will also appear. Wild garlic is popular with foragers but it grows alongside the poisonous cuckoo pint in places so caution should be exercised when collecting leaves.

The wet section of the lane.

A long section of the lane was a running stream and I had to pick my way carefully trying to avoid wet feet. The sides of the track in this wet section were carpeted with the fleshy leaves of opposite leaved golden saxifrage, a plant that grows in several other damp, dark places along the lane. It’s an unassuming plant but its yellow flowers were just beginning to show bringing some colour. The flowers lack petals but green bracts support yellow flowers and their ring of stamens.

Further on, I came across several clumps of snowdrops pushing their spiky blue-green leaves upwards in thick groups. Their beautiful, snowy white flowers looked very fresh although rather late compared to others I had seen around the town. Each flower hung from a slender pedicel allowing it to bob in a passing breeze and the green, bridge-shaped markings on the sepals were showing well.

The last section of the lane contains several areas warmed by the morning sunshine at this time of year creating a microclimate. Clumps of primrose covered in lemon yellow flowers were already taking advantage of the warmth. Last year in March, I saw several bumblebees in this area feeding from the primroses. I wondered if I would be lucky again but it seemed that February was too soon to tempt these insects out. In the same area, I also saw one flower of red campion, perhaps another result of the microclimate.

The wooden bird sculpture

Before I finish, I want to return to the wooden sculpture of a large bird that I first saw along the lane in November last year when it was being fashioned from a large tree stump by a man wielding a chainsaw. At the time, I thought it might be an owl and the sculptor, when I spoke to him, said nothing to disabuse me of this belief. The finished work has now been revealed, it’s a lovely piece of work but clearly not an owl. Gary Easton, a local resident told my wife that he thought it was an eagle. My daughter thought it was a sparrow hawk. Perhaps we should just say it is a bird of prey? I wonder, though, when I look at the bird perched on the stump, whether it is a buzzard, a species that likes to sit on posts in this way. A buzzard would also be an appropriate choice as these birds often circle over this lane making their characteristic mewing sound.

………………………….

February’s walk, the twelfth I have described, brings this set of walks to a close. It has been very interesting to follow the seasonal changes in the lane over a full year’s cycle. February’s account contains tantalising hints of Spring so I thought I would finish with part of this poem by Thomas Hardy entitled The Year’s Awakening which seems very appropriate.

How do you know, deep underground,

Hid in your bed from sight and sound,

Without a turn in temperature,

With weather life can scarce endure,

That light has won a fraction’s strength,

And day put on some moments’ length,

Whereof in merest rote will come,

Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;

O crocus root, how do you know,

How do you know?

Dog’s mercury

Ramsons (wild garlic) tongues

Ramsons and cuckoo pint growing side by side, a warning to foragers!

Opposite leaved golden saxifrage showing yellow flowers with rings of stamens

Snowdrops

For more about the lane and the walks please click here.

nature writing

A very mobile squirrel, two woodpeckers and the first cuckoo pint along a Devon lane in January

February 20, 2025 philipstrange 5 Comments

January turned out to be a very mixed month for weather this year. Frost started the day on several occasions and sunny days were rare events. Perhaps the most notable feature was the passage of storms Eowyn and Herminia across our area bringing high winds, very heavy rain and several instances of thunder and lightning including one in the night disturbing our sleep.

I chose a quiet day in the third week of the month to walk up the lane I have been visiting over the past year. It was very still, quite cold and a ceiling of thick, grey cloud spread out above. Lower down, pale mist hung in the air, making long views indistinct and muting colours and sounds. The mist penetrated wherever it could, coating surfaces, depositing droplets of water on leaves, a truly dank day (see picture at the head of this post).

When I reached the start of the lane, I paused by the old quarry to listen to the song of the birds as they moved about in the trees high above. Around me one or two hazel trees drooped downwards covered in immature greenish catkins, still firmly closed. Elsewhere in the town, some hazel catkins had been opening to expose their golden pollen-loaded lamb’s tails, perhaps these were in more sunny locations. There was more bird song to accompany me as I proceeded up the lane and at one point a wren appeared close by on a low bush. We exchanged glances and the tiny bird churred noisily at me before flying off in anger.

Along the lane, ferns still dominated the look of the lane-side banks. The fern fronds hung elegantly downwards creating a mobile green decoration that trembled in the light breeze. Increasing numbers of fleshy primrose leaves were showing along the sides of the track and many heart-shaped lesser celandine leaves were also apparent, their darker green decorated with varying amounts of a lighter grey green. Neither plant exhibited any flowers yet. A few celandine blooms had been evident on sunny days by the sides of town centre car parks so I thought it couldn’t be long before they also showed along the lane. It wasn’t all stasis though and at least two clumps of very fresh cuckoo pint leaves had pushed through the soil along the banks that border the lane. Shield-shaped and a shiny bright green, these few cuckoo pint leaves were a clear sign of seasonal change.

I stopped to listen to the sounds of the lane, a mixture of low traffic noise from the bypass and running water in the valley below. My reverie was, though, suddenly interrupted by a noisy clattering of branches in the trees above. I thought it must have been a large bird leaving its perch. All I could see when I looked up were more branches swaying about until further movement highlighted a grey squirrel leaping between branches, as skilfully as if it were a monkey.

Around the half way point of my walk, I began to hear short bursts of a rapid drumming sound coming from somewhere ahead. I know this drumming sound well, it is characteristic of a woodpecker. At this time of year, it is thought to be part of a male bird’s behaviour defining his territories. As I walked onwards, the sound increased and when I paused to listen properly, I realised that there were most likely two birds. The drumming seemed to come alternately from two directions each with a different timbre. It seemed as if the two birds were communicating and perhaps agreeing their territories. There are three species of woodpecker in the UK but this loud drumming behaviour is thought to come from the great spotted woodpecker, a distinctive black and white bird with bright red patches.

The behaviour of the woodpeckers felt, to me, like a signal. Even though that day was dominated by wintery cloud and mist, the birds knew that the seasons were shifting and when I walk up the lane in February, I expect to see more change. I also hope to have news of the wooden owl which when I walked past in January, was still covered by a plastic dustbin.

lesser celandine leaves showing the darker and paler green markings

hazel catkins along the lane, still firmly closed

the wooden owl under its plastic dustbin

nature writing

Winter solstice wanderings along a Devon lane in December

January 3, 2025 philipstrange 2 Comments

Something about the dawn sky caught my attention that morning when I first looked out of the window. A break in the cloud cover above the hills to the east radiated an unusual honey-coloured light and I wondered what might follow as the sun gradually approached the horizon, although still hidden from view. I looked out again at about 7.40 and was rewarded with a fine show of colour to the south east, the sky above the hills a striking reddish pink when I first looked. I tried to focus on the red but it changed as I watched, gradually taking on an orange hue before fading to a yellowish white light that spread across the sky to the south east. These colour changes were both subtle and transient making them difficult to comprehend but for a few brief moments, I felt I was experiencing the movement of the earth. The red/orange light that lit up the sky that morning results from the selective scattering of the blue light in sunlight as it passes through the earth’s atmosphere to reach my observation point. As the earth turns, the path of light through the atmosphere changes. This changes the scattering of the blue light resulting in the colour variations I saw. (for a more detailed discussion of these colours, click here)

The sun eventually rose above the hills to the south east about half an hour later. At this time of year, late December, the sun approaches the end of its southern journey across the sky before pausing on the solstice, then beginning to move northwards again. After the solstice, the shortest day of the year, days begin to lengthen, light gradually returns and we can look forward to the eventual arrival of spring.

I was keen to see how the lane I had been walking up for several months was changing at this pivotal time of year. I had planned to look on the day of the solstice because of its importance as a time of transition, a time of looking forward and backwards, but given the weather forecast I decided to walk on the preceding day, December 20^th.

The bank of green leaves (three-cornered garlic) by the side of Maudlin Road, Totnes. To the left, slightly uphill is the lane I have been walking.

Looking about as I walked down the road from our house, much of the plant life seemed to have shut down but near the start of the lane, a roadside bank told a different story. Here was a fresh-looking mass of pale green, thin, strap-shaped leaves. The leaves might have been mistaken for grass but when I broke a piece off a leaf, I detected a mild oniony smell, for this is three-cornered garlic. Attractive bell-shaped white flowers will appear very soon, borne on triangular stalks, and for me this plant is an early sign of the new year.

Storm Darragh had passed through south Devon earlier in the month, removing any weak branches and remaining leaves from the now skeletal trees. The lane felt much more open with light being able to penetrate more easily, though with the cloud that lay overhead that morning, this was a flat wintery light and colours were muted and contrasts low. Along the track, the leaves that had fallen in large numbers covering the surface last month were now damp, brown and decaying.

The ferns that line the lane with the harts tongue ferns showing well.

The ferns that line large parts of the lane showed few effects of the season. The harts tongue ferns in particular, appeared to still be growing well and perhaps even putting on new leaves that glistened in the low grey light. I paused to listen to the sounds along the lane: small birds sang high above and they were visible moving about in the trees, noise from traffic on the by-pass filtered across the valley and a light breeze meandered down the lane occasionally, rustling the ferns that murmured in response.

In keeping with the time of the solstice, I came across symbols of both the past year and the forthcoming one. Berries were the main indicator of the past year and, along the lane, I found maturing green ivy berries (see picture at the head of this post), black tutsan berries, a few holly berries, and some bright orange berries that I was unable identify without any more clues such as leaf shape (see pictures below). These different berries provide important winter food for birds who will consume them over the next few months, spreading the seed in their droppings. Ivy berries, for example, contain as many calories as Mars bars (weight for weight, according to the RSPB).

Looking to the forthcoming year, leaves of primrose and lesser celandine were pushing through the leaf mould along the edge of the track. The pale yellow flowers of primrose are already evident in our garden so they should be showing along the lane before too long to be joined by the brighter yellow celandine flowers. Last month I mentioned seeing a few pale green immature catkins on the hazels. In the intervening weeks, these immature catkins have erupted all over these trees like natural Christmas decorations.

Perhaps the most significant indicator of the season, though, was the same as last month: an almost complete lack of flowers along the lane. All I found were a few red campion flowers on a grassy sheltered area by a fence near the end of the lane in the same place as last month but now accompanied by a tallish plant with yellow dandelion-like flowers, probably one of the sow thistles.

I had hoped to report progress on the carving of the wooden owl from last month but when I reached that part of the lane, I found the owl wrapped firmly in blue plastic. I have no idea what has happened and I shall have to wait another month to see whether the mystery is revealed.

Bright red berries, difficult to identify without more clues such as leaf shape.

Primrose leaves pushing through the leaf mould

nature writing

Through leaves, by brambles and bittersweet, and a wooden owl, along a Devon lane in November

November 27, 2024 philipstrange 5 Comments

For several days in mid-November, leaden skies covered this part of south Devon accompanied by a shroud of pale mist thickening to fog on higher ground. Looking out of our back window, colours were muted, autumn tints lost their vibrance and more distant features of the landscape were reduced to grey silhouettes. After a few days of these conditions, it felt as though the mist was seeping into my consciousness, affecting my mood, so I decided to get outside and walk along the lane I have been visiting over the past few months. As always there much of interest to see and a few surprises.

The lane in November showing the soil banks, fallen leaves, ferns, the older trees on the left and the groups of thin coppiced stems on the right.

Since my last visit, there had been major leaf fall and the beginning of the lane was richly carpeted with greenish brown leaves from nearby sycamore trees. Walking here was now a satisfying aural and tactile experience, my feet creating swishing and crunching noises as the leaves dispersed. It also awakened memories of past autumns when kicking up leaves had been a joyous, uplifting experience providing a welcome release of tension.

I know that I am not alone in relishing walking through leaves but the mid-20th century writer and poet Vita Sackville-West and her family took the experience to another level by coining the term “through leaves” to denote any very satisfying sensory experience. In her case this meant not only kicking up leaves but included pulling a cork from a wine bottle and running a stick run along iron railings. I thought about this for myself and came up with two satisfying sensory experiences: that first glimpse of the sea as you approach the coast; making and kneading dough for a pizza.

As I walked on up the lane, the colour of the fallen leaves changed creating an autumnal patchwork, greenish brown to a deep reddish brown, then mostly green and back again as the lane-side trees varied from sycamore to chestnut and to hazel. The effect of this leaf fall was also to allow more light into the lane revealing features of the terrain previously less obvious. It was now clear that this was a sunken lane lined by steep soil banks, typical features of an ancient track. The lane is thought to have been used as a thoroughfare for more than 500 years with the passage of feet, hoofs and wheels over so many years wearing away the surface.

Denuded of their leaf cover, tree branches stood out and at least on the right-hand side of the lane, the groups of thinnish skeletal trunks suggested relatively recent coppicing stimulating multiple small growths to sprout from the base. The other side of the track borders on to scrubby woodland and trees here were generally much older. As befits an ancient Devon lane, ferns still dominated the soil banks but even the ferns were changing colours and some older fronds were brown, wilting downwards, creating arresting herringbone patterns (photos below).

Near the start of the lane, I had passed a hazel tree with low hanging branches, still mostly covered in green leaves but with some beginning to turn. On a few of the branches, small finger-like outgrowths (~2cm long) were evident. These were pale green, a colour perhaps of a brighter season, and each was covered with a regular stippled pattern. These are the beginnings of male catkins that will mature next spring to spread their yellow pollen on to the wind. Last month I saw pennywort preparing for next year’s growth and here is another sign of the non-human world looking forwards.

Continuing up the lane, I passed a wet section with running surface water to reach an open clearing, often sunny, although not today. Ivy was still in flower although few insects ventured out to take advantage. This clearing is lined with brambles and one bush had put out some flowers. These were very attractive with two-tone pink and white petals and a brush of white pollen-loaded stamens but they looked out of place and with few pollinators about at this time of year they probably won’t come to much.

Some of the vegetation had died down revealing several clutches of shiny, bright red berries hanging in groups of five or more. They were attached to the thin stems of a scrambling plant decorated with arrow head shaped leaves, some with spurs. This is woody nightshade and the red berries are its fruit. The berries are said to taste very bitter at first and then sweet accounting for the common name of the plant, bittersweet. I wonder who performed the taste test on the berries as they are very toxic and ingesting them can be fatal.

As I stood there, I found it difficult to concentrate as the sound of a chainsaw nearby reverberated through the air. Chainsaws make me uneasy as, with their power, many years’ tree growth can be eliminated thoughtlessly in a few minutes and I wondered what I would find further along the lane. When I turned the corner, however, I witnessed something quite unexpected. Ahead of me, up a short rise where another path crosses, there was a man in a boiler suit standing on a ladder. He appeared to be using a small chainsaw to sculpt a tree stump and it looked as though he was trying to create a wooden owl (see picture at the head of this post). I had seen the tree stump earlier in the year when the tree had been felled and wondered why it had been left. Now I knew.

I stopped to talk to him. The wood was proving rather hard making his work more difficult but he was pleased that I recognised his emerging creation. He thought the tree was probably elm, dead for at least 20 years he reckoned, presumably from Dutch elm disease. The wooden owl, when complete, will stand sentinel at this junction of paths providing an interesting addition to the lane. I hope, though, that the tree had been felled for safety reasons, not for human vanity.

I left him continuing his work and walked up to the end of the lane where it meets a busy main road enabling me return to our house. Just before the main road there is a low patch of vegetation by a fence and that day it was splashed with colour, looking very out of place at this time of year. Several spikes of red campion pushed upwards with their fresh looking bright pink flowers. Alongside these were three or more spires of hedge woundwort each with reddish purple flowers decorated with white scribble patterns. This is a flower I strongly associate with summer but I suppose the recent mild weather had encouraged it into flower. Since my visit, we have had two nights of freezing temperatures, our first taste of winter, and I doubt if these flowers will have survived.

lockdown nature walks, nature writing

Hope and Loss along a Devon country lane – Lockdown Nature Walks 13

February 21, 2021 philipstrange 10 Comments

For my next Lockdown Nature Walk (taken on February 10^th 2021), I went up Fishchowter’s Lane, an ancient track on the southern side of Totnes. It was a very cold, grey day but I found much that was encouraging and some that wasn’t. After my account of the walk, I have included a poem that feels relevant, “A Backward Spring” by Thomas Hardy.

An open part of Fishchowter’s Lane showing the ferns and wall pennywort growing along the soil banks

A jumble of bright green, grass-like leaves spills along a roadside wall near the beginning of Fishchowter’s Lane on the southern edge of Totnes. This is three-cornered garlic and despite the bitter easterly wind, a flower stem has dared to appear among the leaves. Most of the flowers on the stem are still swathed in a pale papery bract but one has escaped, snowy white with a hint of a pale green stripe. For a moment, this fragile flower holds my hope that spring, when it arrives, might lighten this lockdown making it easier to bear.

I begin to walk up the lane past houses and a former quarry, now a dark, fern-fringed grotto occasionally used by a wood worker. Trees grow within the quarry and a group of small birds fusses in the leafless branches. One of these trees, a hazel, drapes over my path casting a mist of yellow catkins that shimmers in the wind.

The lane rises gently along the side of a grassy valley as it enters open countryside and I begin to be aware of a stream rushing along the valley bottom a little way below. I am used to mud on this path but with the recent spell of cold weather, it has frozen hard with reminders of that morning’s snow caught in crevices. At first the lane feels open with views across nearby fields in the valley but soon the character changes. Trees and scrub growing in the path-side soil banks now cover the track giving it a more enclosed, sheltered feel. By late spring, fresh leaves will have created a mysterious green tunnel here but today some light still gets through. With the overcast conditions, though, this is a poor flat light and everything feels rather gloomy.

Despite this, the enclosed track has a feeling of lush green growth. Ferns and wall pennywort cover large areas of the soil banks and have yet to be touched by the cold weather. Shiny arrow head-shaped leaves push up through the soil on the banks and by the path side, some with prominent black spots. These are the leaves of Lords and Ladies whose beacons of orange-red berries will light up the green tunnel in late summer. Groups of pointed leaves like small spears, some spattered with mud are also emerging through the hard soil along the side of the path. Breaking a piece of leaf releases a sharp oniony smell transporting me forwards to a time when these starry-flowered ramsons will capture the edges of the track. Then further along, green mats of oval wavy-edged leaves cover the bank. This is opposite-leaved golden saxifrage an evergreen, damp and shade-loving plant. A few yellow flower stems are already showing, bringing hints of sunshine to the dark track.

The path continues to climb slowly, sometimes enclosed by trees, sometimes more open. A stream running off a steeply sloping field crosses the lane to join the water in the valley and I pass an organic smallholding before the lane rises again to reach a junction where another path crosses at right angles. The junction is set in a peaceful tree-lined glade where water cascades from fields across rocks and old tree stumps before entering a culvert to hurry downhill towards the valley stream. I stand there for a while listening to the ebb and flow of the watery sounds and I try to imagine the people that have walked this way over the years. I also reflect on how, if you walk a path regularly, it can insinuate itself into your life.

Fishchowter’s Lane leaves the tree-lined glade to head steeply upwards across the side of a rising hillside. The path is enclosed by scrub and mature trees and feels rather bleak today. As I climb, the noise of the wind threading through the trees begins to dominate and apart from wall pennywort growing on the soil banks there is little to see except for a few green spikes that may be bluebells. In compensation, the views to the north become increasingly spectacular, across the valley below, to the town of Totnes and further on to the Dartmoor hills.

The lane climbs about 75metres from the watery glade in a short distance so I am relieved when the track levels out. This part of Fishchowter’s Lane is open and airy in spring and summer, its high hedges richly embroidered with wildflowers. Today, though, the plants growing along the banks look damaged. Foxgloves and wall pennywort show this most with their leaves drooping uncharacteristically. I am puzzled by this at first but decide that the recent high winds from the east combined with persistent low temperatures have damaged the lush leaves of plants that grew well in the earlier mild weather. It looks alarming and although it may set back these plants, they will recover and regrow so I press on to the next junction where I turn left along Bowden Lane.

This is a well-used farm track, scarred with deep muddy ruts glinting with shards of ice. It’s another mass of growth in the warmer seasons, abounding with flowers and insects but today it looks apocalyptic. The farmer appears to have decided to rein in the vegetation, flailing the hedge and plants growing there, spreading the cuttings across the high banks that line the lane. A thick brown layer of coarse fragments of wood and leaves covers both sides smothering any new growth, so that the lane looks dead. I don’t hang around here, there is nothing to see, the wind is bitter and a little snow is now falling. The lane ends at a four-way junction and I walk on to the minor road which allows me to descend along Totnes Down Hill. Primroses with their yellow flowers are showing well in the high banks but it is very exposed with more evidence of wind damage.

So, what about my earlier hopes for the arrival of spring? With all this natural and unnatural destruction, all this loss, I can’t help but feel downcast but then I come across a splash of snowdrops growing by the side of the road. As I look at the delicate green markings on these flowers, a great tit sings a joyful “teacher, teacher” from a nearby tree and then a robin appears. Not wishing to be left out, the bird begins to speak to me.

……………………………………………………………….

A Backward Spring by Thomas Hardy

The trees are afraid to put forth buds,
And there is timidity in the grass;
The plots lie gray where gouged by spuds,
And whether next week will pass
Free of sly sour winds is the fret of each bush
Of barberry waiting to bloom.

Yet the snowdrop’s face betrays no gloom,
And the primrose pants in its heedless push,
Though the myrtle asks if it’s worth the fight
This year with frost and rime
To venture one more time
On delicate leaves and buttons of white
From the selfsame bough as at last year’s prime,
And never to ruminate on or remember
What happened to it in mid-December.

……………………………………………..