Female flowers on European larch Fat snowflakes drift through the darkness and melt as they touch down. Next morning, the Howgills are brilliant with snow . A pall of mist sits over Windermere, hugging the lake, and the Langdale Pikes rise indeterminate between mist and snow . On Scout Scar, willow warbler and chiff chaff are singing . April come she will. I sing Paul Simon’s song of the season to welcome the cuckoo. Softly singing all the way to Africa to wing him on his way. It's three years since I heard the bubbling call of the female who is so much more discreet. For now, there’s freshness and beauty in the first flowers.
I love tree flowers. Sunlight pours through larch with ruby female flowers and fresh green needles against a blue sky. Golden green flowers on hybrid larch resemble tiny pineapples.
On the limestone clitter the stunted blackthorn is in tight bud, but in a sheltered, south-facing spot the plant becomes a tall shrub with early flowers .
At Helsington Church I meet a friend and we stand in the sun, looking north where snow gleams on distant fells. Here the escarpment descends by Wells Garth, that settlement hidden in the trees where springs burst from the limestone and gardens grow lush. We listen for the sound of falling water, always a surprise after the limestone of Scout Scar. Zwartbles graze in the pastures where springs bubble up and a beck flows down through an orchard of damson trees, budding and with the first flowers of the season. Zwartbles from Friesland, dark ewes with a white blaze on the face. At Park End Farm the limestone meets the mosses of the Lyth Valley and we are close to the pools recently created to attract water birds- a habitat with reed beds.
An English hedgerow in April is a joy. Last summer’s climbing plants interweave the stout structures of hedgerow shrubs and the white flowers of blackthorn show well before the leaf buds open. One spring day we came off wild weather on the fells to Kentmere Hall and a hedge where snowflakes fell upon the white flowers of blackthorn. There's such colour within those pure white flowers . All the while the faint buzz of pollinators wove through the hedge.
At Helsington Church I meet a friend and we stand in the sun, looking north where snow gleams on distant fells. Here the escarpment descends by Wells Garth, that settlement hidden in the trees where springs burst from the limestone and gardens grow lush. We listen for the sound of falling water, always a surprise after the limestone of Scout Scar. Zwartbles graze in the pastures where springs bubble up and a beck flows down through an orchard of damson trees, budding and with the first flowers of the season. Zwartbles from Friesland, dark ewes with a white blaze on the face. At Park End Farm the limestone meets the mosses of the Lyth Valley and we are close to the pools recently created to attract water birds- a habitat with reed beds.
An English hedgerow in April is a joy. Last summer’s climbing plants interweave the stout structures of hedgerow shrubs and the white flowers of blackthorn show well before the leaf buds open. One spring day we came off wild weather on the fells to Kentmere Hall and a hedge where snowflakes fell upon the white flowers of blackthorn. There's such colour within those pure white flowers . All the while the faint buzz of pollinators wove through the hedge.
Ramson leaves grew thick in the hedge bottom and the first flowers caught the blaze of light.
Heading back up the escarpment, toward the church, I stop to photograph violets. Whilst writing Cumbrian Contrasts I spent hours studying the relationship between flowers and pollinators, photographing those markings that guide insects to the source of nectar. And I love that gem-like colour at the heart of the corolla. Last spring, as I was putting the finishing touches to the story I was experimenting with a style of flower photography that I introduce once or twice into my new book. It’s a close and intimate way of seeing flowers that brings a surprise. It’s not how we see flowers at a glance. It’s down amongst the small mammals of the hedgerow bottom and nuzzling amongst blossoms as bees do- wondering what they see because their vision is unlike ours.
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