Spring – Mick Canning

Yesterday was Imbolc, February 1st. Imbolc is a pagan festival marking the halfway point between the Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. Honouring the goddess Brigid, goddess of fertility, it celebrates the beginning of Spring.

And so I went looking for signs of Spring. It was a real Spring-like day. Blue skies. Sunshine that felt almost warm. Birds singing. Stuff growing. There was a Red Admiral, but I didn’t get a picture. I did get a few pictures of other stuff, though.

Four years ago it was also a lovely day – we were walking on the South Downs – perhaps Imbolc is often nice. I’d look it up if I could, but it seems very difficult to find detailed weather records on the internet; I’ve been looking as I’d like to check a few things. Anyone know of any sites?

Sunny and Spring-like.

Primroses are out.

There were some wild daffodils coming up in the woods. Not in flower yet, but it shouldn’t be long.

The cultivated varieties are already in flower.

As are the Camelias.

And the snowdrops are still around, although past their best.

At ten past four, the sun was still out. This might not sound a big deal, but after the real Winter months it feels like a definite progression. Later, because of the clear sky, predictably it quickly became much colder.

We’re not quite there yet.

We’ve had rain recently, and everywhere was muddy again. Much more like I would expect February to be. The ground had dried out quite a lot over January, but the soil was still saturated just beneath the surface and it doesn’t take much for it to turn back to thick, claggy, mud. But the weather was better than had been forecast; and as I set out the sun was glinting on the stubble fields and in the shadows there was just the faintest blue hint of frost. It felt so Spring-like. Everything was suddenly green and growing.

Soon, I was much too warm in all my layers. Mornings like this inevitably remind me of other favourite walks; long walks on sunny, clear days. I walked through a valley which was filled with birdsong – blackbirds, robins, blue tits, the demented cackle of a green woodpecker, and the determined drumming of a greater spotted one. In the future I will probably take walks that remind me of this one.

I must sometimes be a frustrating person to walk with – I like to stop frequently and just look around me. Absorb the landscape. The air smells fresh, now, but without the over-sharp coldness that stings the nostrils. Even though it is too early to smell flowers in the air, there is something on the breeze…Something evocative, much like the scent of woodsmoke causes me to instantly think of trekking in Nepal, or campfires closer to home in Sussex.

Suddenly there is a kestrel overhead…I never seem to get those shots of foxes or buzzards and don’t know whether I’m just too slow or if everyone else just walks along with their cameras in their hands, ready to take that photo.

At least flowers and trees tend to keep still. I do find my camera can be an unwanted distraction, though. If I am walking along looking for something to photograph, I feel I’m not really seeing the landscape around me. I’m just searching for a subject. For that reason, I often don’t take a camera with me on walks.

The first peacock, in fact the first butterfly of any kind I’ve seen this year. But talking of green woodpeckers and kestrels, I think there is a case for replacing all their somewhat dull modern names with the ones they used to have in the past: the green woodpecker was the yaffle, named for its wonderful manic call, the kestrel used to be called the windhover – how wonderful is that? And in the seventeenth century it was actually commonly known as the windf*cker. Perhaps the prudish Victorians banished that name the same as they changed the perfectly named white arse to the bland (and meaningless) wheatear.

I think we should reclaim the names; they add extra interest to a long walk.