We set out for Wick Wood under a bright blue sky, in a clear atmosphere that makes it great to be out and about. It’s bitterly cold. The frost in the air is an unseen presence that bites the nose and ears. There is warmth where the sun breaks through the trees, and the rising mist it creates tempts us to linger, to luxuriate for a moment or two. A few steps on and we’re back into the shade again. The temperature plunges, shards of ice litter the sides of puddles broken by earlier feet, and mosses and ferns are dusted with silver. We press on until we turn into a ride down which the sunlight flows to pick our way through thawed mud and still-iced turf.
Early wood spurge are in flower but the most colourful bloom is easily missed. We stop where there are several clumps of butcher’s broom. As Ruscus aculeatus is new to one of my companions, we pause to look more closely. The female flower is tiny – only a few millimetres across – a beautiful formation of three yellow-green petals and three similar sepals, with a reddish-purple centre, that develop in the middle of what appears to be a leaf. These “leaves”, or cladodes, are expanded stems, with needle-sharp spines at their tips, no doubt to protect against predators. Each female flower develops into a cherry-sized scarlet berry, which is why this surprising member of the lily family is sometimes known as knee holly. Spines might deter some predators but here two stems have had most of their cladodes nibbled away.
This is my last regular country diary, though I hope to continue contributing occasional ones. I can’t conclude without saying thank you to the Guardian team who have made it possible for me to contribute for the past 15 years – particularly Celia Locks, who first invited me to write, Anne-Marie Conway, the column’s current editor, Eric Hilaire, our picture editor, who has in recent years added photos to the online version, and to the subeditors. Thanks also to all those whose comments on the web have encouraged, occasionally corrected, and sometimes set loose tangential trains of thought. I am immensely grateful to you all.
