The plants around us

So we set our clocks forward an hour last weekend. I usually revel in this change. Though missing the early morning light, it is just wonderful to have an extra hour each evening to do gardening jobs. This year however the flexible working hours imposed by the Covid lockdown has altered the impact. The Spring looks different - maybe its my own head changing the view but it seems colder and a little less cheerful, the wind has a cutting edge to it and weirdly the colour seems bleached compared to only a week or so ago. The first primroses I found this year look a cool shade of white rather than the pale buttery yellow I expected. And though we had a few days this week with clear blue skies it seemed to accentuate the colour bleaching of the landscape. The 2 km from home limit for walks or cycles is making me focus on my own garden at the moment. Planted several years ago, name long forgotten, these hardy tulips have ignored the cold and have brightened up the front boa...

I get a sort of seasonal colour blindness in the darkest months of the year. Its as if the fading light turned down the volume on my colour vision so I see the world in more muted tones. I often wonder if that is why peoples' clothes tend towards darker colours as the days shorten. And then March happens. Now I am not disregarding the hardy heroes of mid winter, the tough little crocus, the snowdrop, the violas and more recently the very early flowering narcissi. They brighten a moment when I happen upon them - but the days are so short and opportunities to linger are scarce. so for me it is early March before the ballet begins. Like lots of things in nature it starts slowly. I will notice in the woods a small patch of Lesser Celandine catching the winter sun with their golden flowers. Then a discarded plant pot near my potting bench presents s tangle of blue and yellow forget-me-nots. I will almost put my boot in the  mound of lavender coloured vinca as I scramble down a ban...

Here we are at the Spring equinox, the point where the daylight/nighttime ratio tips towards daylight and our days become longer than our nights. I absolutely love this time of year. From now to the summer solstice on June 20th has become my favourite season. Walking in the woods this morning I could feel that tipping point, the suppressed energy of the growing season rising through the earth. This is when the forest floor dances into life. Before we contemplate its wonders though, let me first salute the winter warriors. Those hardy plants that have adapted to take advantage of the cool, wet, low light conditions of a west of Ireland winter. Plants like holly and ivy that seem oblivious to the autumn, who grow slowly and steadily, searching out the light when the trees have lost their leaves. They weather the winds and the storms and if damaged by a tree being toppled, they just regroup, repair and regrow . But this year's outstanding champion has to be the moss. Maybe it was...

I have always noticed plants. From the tiny yellow Groundsel flowers we plucked from the cracked slabs on Sligo Quays, as a treat for our canary, to the single sprawling pink rose bush that was the main attraction of our tiny town back yard  I have been aware of plants all through my life.  The autumnal smell of wet leaves that we kicked through while walking to primary school, the oily lavender scent from the nuns garden if the sun shone in May, the sudden sweetness that wafts past me on a winter walk in the woods from a hidden plant that relies on scent rather than show, they have been a feast for my senses. And with the arrival of digital photography I have indulged in capturing their images so that I can enjoy them even when their season is past. So if you are aware of plants then come with me on my travels and see what plants are around and how noticing them can boost mood and sooth spirit.  Scarlet Elf Cup Fungus Bracket Fungus I live in the west of ...