A spring morning and slow walk through our small Devon wood to savour the new growth

Early April 2021. The stronger sunlight has brought new energy and life to our small Devon wood. At this time of year changes can be rapid and frequent. Plants appear out of bare ground overnight. A  plain twig in the morning has a leaf bud in the afternoon. A  dead looking branch of blackthorn one day has suddenly developed small white flower buds the next. So this morning was a good time to walk slowly around with a more observant eye than usual. 

Less so in the cold dormant winter, more so now as the woods come to life, the closer I get to the woods, the more my  fear of harming it surfaces. The now well-estblished paths minimise potential harm, if you keep to them. Where feet have trod little grows as the ground gets compacted, save for where the resilient wild garlic refuses to be downtrodden. But, to stay within the confines of the paths risks missing many of the small changes taking place as they occur all over the woods. So carefully stray from the paths, however risky, one must. 

This April morning, I took the usual route straight up the path from the bottom hazel gate towards the north-east corner alongside the hedgerow. Gazing ahead as I walked, yellow primrose flowers mark the route. Those lovely blooms will continue to delight for many weeks to come though they will increasingly have to share the light with other plants as the sunlight stengthens. Eventaully they will be overwhelmed by nettles, campion and dock. But for the time being it's their time in the sun. Half way up I heard the distinctive sound of a bumble bee coming from the foot of the conifer trees. I follow the sound. She (for it must be 'she' as only she will survive the winter) is close by but moving quickly and it is a while before I catch a glimpse of her broad black abdomen and orange tail. At this time of year she has just emerged from her long hibernation and is urgently looking for somewhere to nest, only pausing briefly to visit a primrose flower. Flying just inches above the ground she's investigating the bases of the conifers, her powerful wings causing the young leaves of the chickweed to tremble in her wake. She alights and briefly disappears from view. I tread carefully over the emerging forget-me-nots,the flowering primroses, new growth of the self-heal, and other seedlings to see what she's up to. In flight she is magnificent. Her wings move so rapidly they are a blur. Her manoeverability enables her to hurtle, to weave and even to hover. Once on the ground, wings folded she is ungainly and waddles, but waddle she must in order to explore a potential nesting site. She clambers clumsily over the moss and briefly finds her way into a small cavity at the base of the larch tree, but soon emerges and takes flight once more. Off again, her buzzing becomes fainter as she looks elsewhere. As carefully as I approached her, I return to the path reflecting on how lucky I had been to see her. I'm also reminded how much more careful I need to be lest I inadvertently disturb her nesting place sometime in the future wherever it may be.

The hedgerow should provide plenty of choice places for her. So should the banked areas of the woods as these are seldon walked upon. Both have numerous cavities caused by rotting branches, dislodged stones and wood mice activity. Slowly I continue my way and turn my attention to the ground layer of the hedgrow. A chaffinch sings from a nearby hazel tree. Further off a great spotted woodpecker drums purposefully. I read the drumming is to attract a mate. I always thought it was to search for food. Perhaps it is both.

When there are few flowers on the plants the amateur naturalist like me will only be able to identify a few common species of flora as leaves can look broadly similar when young.  I look down and see lots of green but having the benefit of seeing the area in bloom over the last year I'm fairly confident of some positive ID based on the young leaves alone. One of the easy species is the wood forget-me-not. It thrives on the margins of woods and we also have it all over the garden. I love the tiny sky blue and pink flowers with their bright yellow centres which will begin to appear over the coming days and weeks.

I catch sight of a one foot high alder I planted back in the autumn. The planting disturbed the ground and this seems to have jolted some bluebell bulbs into life which I'n sure weren't there last year. I can clearly pick out their slender dark green leaves standing erect amongst the wild garlic. The casual, over-eager forager could easily sweep up the bluebells along with the intended garlic. Ours are the native English bluebells. They do seem more abundent this year, perhaps helped by my diligent bramble clearing. I like to think so. These two can also be confused at this early stage of growth with the leaves of the Lords and Ladies. It is poisonous so best pick the wild garlic leaves carefully. To the casual looker, all three would appear when young to share a similar shade of green and shape. Only when the plants mature and begin to assume their final shape are the differences more pronounced and unmistakeable. Of course, the experienced forager will not be so easily misled.

I notice too the leaves of the common stinging nettle. I try hard to love this familiar plant as it is an important food plant for some species of butterfly and in the spring I'll be diverting myself with making cordage from its stalks. I've already made wild garlic and nettle soup this year and last year we harvested nettle from the garden to make a liquid fertilizer for other plants. In the woods we leave the nettle to it’s own devices. However, despite its usefulness and versatility, it does pack a punch and so demands respect.

Not far away are the delicate leaves of the Town Hall Clock plant. It's common here and easily overlooked as the flowers are so small. I was not familiar with it before moving here and I spent enjoyable time looking it up. Just one foot or less tall it has abundent clusters small, pale green leaves. In a few weeks it will produce very tiny flowers on stalks arranged like the four faces of a town hall tower clock. I've long thought how important naming things is to our connection with the world. A plant without a name is just somthing that grows. Find or give it a name and it becomes individual, has an existence, becomes part of our shared world. Now when I walk though the woods it always catches my eye and I can't help but feel pleased with myself for knowing about this lovely little plant and sharing the woods with it. The downside of course is that there is another living thing I have to avoid treading on.

The Bugle is a common woodland plant and starting to show. In no time at all it will form an erect plant of about 6 inches high and show off it's blue flowers partially concealed beneath it leaves. This year it's particularly good.The square stalk are interesting. Opposite sides and are smooth or hairy.

Bugle stalk

Bugle

The ground ivy, also known as hoof ale is also peeping through. Another small plant, it will, like the plant it shares its name with, creep along the woodland floor rooting as it goes. It has small violet flowers. Crush the leaves and they will have a distinctive smell which I find difficult to describe. It was apparently used to flavour ale. 

The flowers of the celandine are unmistakable and I've noticed over the last few weeks one or two sporadically appearing. The leaves have been showing for a while longer, stealthily spreading over the ground. For me they are a true sign of spring. Like other early flowering woodland plants, such as the violet, they enjoy the sunlight allowed to surge into woodland unhindered by the yet to appear tree foliage. This is how things are. Each takes its turn. Already the celandines are giving way to the buttercups. Foxgloves are shooting up and the nettles threatening to take all the light. In a few short months the ground layer of the woods becomes shaded but by then the celandine will have thrived, flowered and spread a little more. The job of the woodlander is to carefully manage in such a way so as to allow the different species at ground layer, understorey and canopy the conditions to thrive. Nature will not always, left to its own devices, foster diversity. Go to places where the hawthorn dominates to see first hand how the light and nutrition starved ground is bare and lifeless save for the occasional bramble. Even that stuggles to establish a foothold there.

The unmistakable flower of the celandine

Cleaver or goosegrass is a common plant that rises early in the spring. As children it was the plant we unknowingly took home with us stuck to our socks and jumpers. Its long stalks bear groups of 8 narrow leaves fanning in tiers around them like ruffs. A small white flower will top it off. They are edible though I’ve not tried them.

I don’t seem to have travelled very  far on this walk. The dogs sit patiently, noses to the wind as I kneel to peer at the ground. This stage of the season is fleeting. Blink and suddenly everywhere is green and deep in growth. Carefully, we make our way back for a coffee and the ritual dentasticks.

The beautiful dog violet