Seasonal | Pilgrim's Perch

A Gala of Galanthus…

‘…I tell you, no Palm of Victory or Tree of Knowledge or Laurel of Glory is more beautiful than this little, white, fragile cup on a pale stalk waving in the rough wind.’

so wrote Karel Capek, in The Gardener’s Year in 1929.

A single snowdrop speaks of the promise of spring — *…fragile cup waving on a pale stalk.*

Years have passed since this was written but still it holds true. In the greyness of reluctantly lengthening February days the sight of a carpet of snowdrops lifts the spirits and offers promises of hope and delight as the shy spring flowers gradually and gently unfurl delicate leaves and optimistic blooms.

Masses of snowdrops beside a fallen tree trunk — *A carpet of snowdrops to lift the spirits*

The technical name for a snowdrop is Galanthus, from the Greek word, gala, meaning ‘milk’ and anthos, meaning ‘flower’. Thus we get ‘milk flower’ and, indeed, the pure white blooms resemble upturned drops of spilt milk.

A drop of milk resembles the cup of the snowdrop — *A drop of milk…*

It is a signal that winter’s grip is loosening when snowdrops make their appearance – but make sure you see them in their masses as it is said to be unlucky to see just one solitary snowdrop. Taking them indoors is a portent of an impending death – so enjoy them in their masses and in the great outdoors!

A gleam of sun illuminates a mass of snowdrops — *Enjoy the massed spectacle of snowdrops – but in the great outdoors!*

There is a touching legend that tells how, when Adam and Eve were cast out of Eden, Eve sat crying in the cold bitter wind and hostile environment that now confronted them. An angel took pity on her and breathed on a snowflake, sending it fluttering down to earth. Where the snow landed, snowdrops grew.

What made the snowdrops grow? an angel's breath on a snowdrop. — *Where the snow landed, snowdrops grew…*

In Romania, the flowers are known as ‘Daughters of the Wind.’ Legend has it that each year, the sun returns to Earth at winter’s end as a young girl. One year, Winter didn’t want to let the young girl go. He kidnapped the girl. Her lover fought Winter and managed to free her but was wounded in the process. Where his blood spilled, snowdrops grew.

In Romania snowdrops are called 'daughters of the wind'. — ‘*Daughters of the Wind’*

A German folk legend tells how God sent snow to visit every flower to decide what colour each flower would be. But all the flowers were rude, with the exception of the snowdrop. As a reward, snowdrops were allowed to bloom first – but they had to agree to give up any claim to colour.

The colour of snowdrops - any you like, so long as it's white! — *No colour, but the purest of white*

So, enjoy the pure white carpets of snowdrops whilst they last – more colour is just around the corner!

The emergence of spring…

February sees the first real signs of spring as it emerges from hibernation.

February sees the first real signs of spring beginning to emerge. Gardens and wayside verges that have looked bleak, bare and uninspiring are gradually being disturbed by new, tender shoots pushing up through the packed soil and winter debris.

Now is the time to look out for nectar-rich plants, whose gift is to provide food and nourishment for the insects at the bottom of the food chain – those which in turn sustain birds, bats and hedgehogs.

Look out for the following plants; admire their unassuming beauty and value their contribution to the amazing way in which wildlife is sustained.

The primrose is often one of the earliest flowers to emerge, its shy, pale yellow flowers peeping out from spear-shaped leaves. Watch for early bumble bees seeking out this delicate flower…

The pale yellow of the primrose offers a ghostly glow to the spring garden. — *Shy primroses peep forth as daylight beckons.*

If one crocus flower springs up you can be sure that more will follow… an early-flowering bulb and a rich source of nectar. Planted close to fruit trees they will encourage insects to come close and pollinate fruit blossom when that makes its glorious appearance a little later in the spring.

Bold crocus push up through grass and flower beds — *Crocus spring up in all sorts of places*

The grape hyacinth is frequently seen now. It seems to pop up almost anywhere in a garden once it is established, its bright blue spikes of numerous tiny blue flowers making it look like a miniature bunch of grapes. A welcome source of nectar for foraging insects!

A sudden flash of blue from grape hyacinths shows a welcome burst of life. — *Grape hyacinths bring a splash of startling blue*

Lungwort, or pulmonaria officinalis, displays pretty, pollen-heavy flowers that are irresistible to insects. Traditionally used as a remedy to help colds, coughs and asthma, the high mucilage content also helped treat a variety of chest conditions. (Warning: never use plants medicinally to treat ailments unsupervised.) Sight and smell, however, may be freely enjoyed!

Lungwort flowers peep through unusual foliage. — *The unusual markings of lungwort conceal it’s pretty flowers*

Peeping shyly through winter overgrowth you might spy the hellebore, or Christmas Rose. It’s also known as the Lenten Rose since it often doesn’t come into flower until the Lenten season. It is welcomed by bumble bees but less so by deer and rabbits for whom its leaves are poisonous. One writer has described its flowers thus: ‘their finely modelled bowls indulge in all manner of strange freakings, frecklings, cloudings, stripings and blotching… every individual flower a fantasia of its own caprice.’ In other words, every flower is different!

Hellebore flowers come with all manner of weird and wonderful markings. — ‘*A fantasia of its own caprice’*

But look for yourself and simply enjoy the rich array of unsung beauties in the early spring garden.

Revealing Joy in January

The days of January can seem short in length but interminable in their dragging out day by day to the very end of the month. After the excitement of Christmas we feel, perhaps, like a small child – tired and emotional – and with the turning of the year it’s as though bleak reality sets in.

A tree stands silhouetted against a winter sky — *The dark days of January*

The brevity of winter daylight marks January as a dreary month; those neutral shades of grey, pale brown and yet more grey seem to cast an unremitting dullness over the landscape.

Dark twigs form wonderful patterns against the backdrop of a silvery sky — *Dark twigs cast intricate patterns against a January sky*

And yet this is a good time to enjoy trees in all their stripped-back glory. Denuded of their leaves you are able to see their true shape; to follow the branches from trunk to twig-tip; to trace the intricate patterns the interweaving twigs reveal. Touch and feel the bark of the tree; sometimes rugged and rough; sometimes smooth as a cheek. Wonder at the colour of bark as it gleams in the occasional ray of sun; never uniform but always a palette of shades of yellow, brown, grey, silver.

The English poet, Thomas Hardy, created an evocative picture in his poem ‘The Darkling Thrush’ when he wrote:

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky 
	Like strings of broken lyres,
	And all mankind that haunted nigh
	Had sought their household fires.

We picture the scramble of twiggery and stems caught up in wintry gusts; perhaps we shiver and head for home, for the warmth and comfort of the homely fire.

Or, it may be a delightfully sharp and clear frosty day. Branches strike elegant poses against the sky; poplar trees reach for the clouds with proud elegant sweeps.

A poplar tree displays its branches reaching upwards to the skies. — *Reach for the clouds…*

And if it has been raining we can marvels at raindrops clinging to the underside of delicate twigs, awaiting the inevitable ground-ward pull of gravity.

Drops of rain tremble on tree twigs, waiting to fall to the ground — *Tiny drops of rain tremble on twigs like small jewels*

Even better if there has been a fall of snow and trees capture handfuls of snow in their woody fingertips. Then is the time to tread softly; to hear the muffled stillness that comes in a snowy wood, broken only by the occasional rustle as a branch sheds its snowy burden.

Fluffy snow held captive in the hold of pine needles — *A net of pine needles captures a fall of snow*

‘The Darkling Thrush’ finishes with a note of hope, a sudden moment of joy in the middle of the gloomy landscape. An aged thrush breaks the silence with his outpouring of glorious song:

At once a voice arose among
	The bleak twigs overhead
	In a full-hearted evensong
	Of joy illimited...

Hiding amongst the branches a bird bursts suddenly into song — *A hidden bird bursts into song amidst the branches*

January may be long but it is not without moments of joy and revelation. Winter does not last indefinitely.

A ray of sun gleams out unexpectedly and brightens the darkness of a January day — *A welcome gleam of sun brightens a January day*