How many people have stopped you today to ask if you have “ Heard the cuckoo yet ? ” or comment,
“ I see the swallows are back ! ” or perhaps, " I see the ash is out before the oak, we are in for a
soak "! No ? Well, that’s sad. Looking and listening is what we country folk know all about. Moreover, Nature’s seasonal patterns, along with familiar sights and sounds of our countryside and gardens , have long been the subject of poets, essayisits and dedicated gardeners alike.
These words penned by the 18th century essayist Joseph Addison, may strike a chord. Could you live without the richness of the blackbird’s waking you on a Spring morning ? The piping of the nightingale became the love of Emily Shore, who during her short life wrote a fascinating observation of Nature.
May 9th 1835..a beautiful morning. The nightingales sung most sweetly, I think there were four of them. We watched one for a long time, perched in a naked oak...very calmly singing without hopping or dancing about... he makes his sweet long ‘ tweet ‘ ( designated by Coleridge ) “ One low piping note more sweet than all” ) without opening his beak at all, merely swelling his throat, .. the whole wood was echoning with songs...cuckoo, blackcap, thrush, blackbird, willow-wren, golden-wren.
Journal of Emily Shore.
Some years earlier Wordsworth country was enjoying good weather... 6th May 1802...
a sweet morning. We put the finishing stroke to our bower and here we are sitting in the orchard..a cool shady spot. The small birds are singing.. the thrush sings by fits. Hens are cackling, flies humming, the women talking, plum and pear trees are in blossom - apple trees greenish.. the crows are cawing. we have heard ravens. The ash trees are in blossom, birds flying all about us. The stitchwort is coming out... the primroses are passing their prime. Celandine, violets and wood sorrel for ever more - little geraniums and pansies on the wall.
The birch tree is all over green in small leaf more light and elegant than when full out. It bent to the breezes as if for love of its own delightful motions. Sloe and hawthorns are in the hedges.
Dorothy Wordsworth, The Grasmere Journals
inky clouds cover the skies...the terror of a second year of drought enteres into us. We cannot again face the misery of our parched plants. Gardeners say it has forgotten how to rain. The vegetable garden looks happy to the casual observer in its definite stripes of various greens; pale rows of lettuce, red brown of beet, feathery lines of carrot, frill of turnip and spears of salsify. Peas flower and climb in a tangle of beech.. strawberries are in blossom. Lettuces are tough, carrots are tiny, spinach is running to seed...water butts stand empty...day succeeds day in parching, rainless heat .
For me it's been a bit of a Dorothy Wordsworth day...... 19th May 2014....Sycamores on the south-side alight in frilly green, their branches open to the daily hustle and bustle, birds full of chat. Lush and verdant are the herbaceous borders, spilling leaf and flower...a warm sun on my back as peas are sown, radish leaves are poking skyward. Buzzards glide the flawless sky and curlews crack the sky space.
Angie Townsend, Sussex House
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