For many people, the cuckoo we heard calling would be confirmation that spring has arrived. Others look out for different signs: the yellows of celandines and primroses decorating the verges, hazel catkins swaying in the breeze, or the first brimstone butterflies; the extraordinary palette of greens in the hedgerows as new growth emerges after winter, or the bluebells that carpet a woodland floor. For me, the real sign that spring is here is at my feet, tucked away where many will fail to see it, hidden under a blanket of foliage.
Quite large areas of the forest are carpeted with bilberry, a scrubby plant that often grows only 20cm-tall. In winter it survives as green twigs sticking through the leaf litter but, as the weather warms, apple-green leaves appear, under which form sharp-pointed reddish buds. These open to become tiny round pink balls, shaped rather like old-fashioned globe gas lamps, with a creamy bottom rim. Already the first flush of flowers is passing as they begin to turn into the smoky-blue berries that are so good to eat when ripe. Few will survive to be collected, for this is a low-level larder that will feed many of the forest’s inhabitants.
A small clump of butcher’s broom embraces all the seasons. Its dark-green, needle-tipped leaves hold minute flowers along their central ribs, but these plants also carry some maturing berries akin to under-sized and under-ripe cherry tomatoes, while the skin of others is Chelsea Pensioner tunic red.
By a bramble patch we spot some flowers that are unfamiliar. The plants are pyramidal in shape. The white flowers with yellow stamens are arranged all around the stem in between the circlets of leaves. Though living close to their normal blue-flowered relatives, these are the uncommon white form of bugle (Ajuga reptans), not rare but notable.
