Spring
in England is wonderful; lush, green and sweet smelling, the sweetness
varies according to where you are: countryside, riverbank or an English
country garden. In springtime each has its own particular charm. No one
is better than another, just different and all most enjoyable.
Our garden is no exception. Come out of our front door and the heady
sweet scent of hyacinth fills the air and surrounds the senses. Come in
the gate and sweet delicate fragrance of violets tickles one’s
“nosebuds” and causes one to sniff appreciatively, while turning this
way and that, bending and stretching until the source is discovered. How
could such a beautiful, delicate, lingering perfume come from such a
tiny flower as the violet? But is does.
There are hundreds of bright, golden yellow daffodils and tens of
narcissi of varying shapes, colours and sizes. Spanish and English
bluebells are beginning to carpet large areas in blue, and the evergreen
viburnum has forsaken its pink buds and burst into bloom, overcoating
its dark green leaves with white and making a beautiful show along half
the boundary of the garden. The deciduous viburnum Carlesci is even more
showy and smells wonderful as does the deep pink viburnum Bodnatense,
which produces small clusters of powerfully scented flowers from October
to April.
The forsythia is 10 feet tall and 7 feet wide – a bright yellow
spectacle, no leaves, just bare stems, but with flowers so dense no wood
can be seen.
The magic snowdrops are finished, also the aconites, but there is so much else taking their place that it isn’t sad.
The
magnolia stellata is in full bloom now and is breathtakingly beautiful –
my favorite part of the day to enjoy it is dusk, because as the light
fades and everything else is lost to the darkness and shadows so the
magnolia stellata shines out with a pure, white luminosity.
The long-tailed tits, which all winter have visited the garden in
flocks, are now reduced to a single pair. They are, as always, nesting
in the front hedge, fairly high up and hopefully out of the reach of
passing hands. One sad year, no sooner had they finished building their
nest than some thoughtless passerby attempted to steal their beautiful
ball of softness interwoven with countless cobwebs. This person
destroyed the nest and succeeded only in taking three-quarters of it. I
felt so upset for the tits. They had worked so hard and I was looking
forward to the young taking their first flight. Where, or if, they built
a replacement I don’t know, but it certainly wasn’t in my hedge. It is
amusing to note that apart from the cobwebs and other delicate, natural
fripperies, they also use man-made articles. Each spring I make sure
there is a tennis ball in the centre of the lawn, the long-tailed tits
make repeated trips, with one on a nearby branch to keep watch, while
the other delicately balanced on the tennis ball, slowly and
painstakingly collecting the fluffy coating. When they have laid bare
the smooth underneath, I turn the ball and they continue until it is a
smooth sphere.
The greenfinches have been working very hard collecting fur I combed
from our dog and hung on the honeysuckle to help them with their nest
building.
Both
the crows and the magpies have been breaking twigs from high up in the
birch tree. The crows drive the magpies away, but as soon as the crows
turn their backs the magpies return. The starlings have been collecting
beakfuls of dried plant material, while the blackbirds have been
carrying all manner of things, even small pieces of paper, silver foil,
and pieces of polythene, and not least of all, beakfuls of mud from the
pond.
