Loveliest of trees

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I’ve been trying to maintain my daily walking habit despite the less than favourable weather conditions. On many occasions, this has meant walking the same stretch several times over so as never to be further than a half a mile from home; a bit dull, granted, but better than being caught in some of the torrential storms we’ve been experiencing ~ even good waterproofs have their limits! I’ve found the almost constant gloom of latter weeks very oppressive, I know it’s a tricky time of year but it feels like everything needs the lift a little sunshine can bring. No question, then, on finally waking to clearish skies, no rain or wind and a very welcome hint of soft sunshine, it was time to head off for a longer morning walk.

It’s cherry blossom season and I always find the fluffy green haze of new green leaves interspersed with the sugared dusting of white flowers in woodland and hedgerow make for a magical landscape. Having taken quite a battering from Storm Pierrick, which snatched the blossom from our garden cherries in flurries of limp confetti, I wondered just what would be left on the wild trees; not for the first time, I’m thankful that our blossom is staggered so that we do at least stand a chance of some fruit from the later varieties. The morning was chilly with patches of silvery frost on the grass in places and an atmospheric mist rising from the neighbouring ponds. With the sun on my back, the sound of joyful birdsong ringing in my ears and the promise of quiet lanes and woodland tracks to wander I headed off, the grey gloom literally dissolving in the sheer beauty of the morning.

The first part of my walk was a gentle rise, passing through a small hamlet and then climbing more steeply towards the wood. I stopped to pay homage to a single oak tree which always leaves me feeling bittersweet. It was part of a long row of mature trees that was recently felled in order to turn several small traditional meadows into a large prairie-style field of monoculture. Why this particular tree was lucky enough to be left, I have no idea; it’s very possibly on borrowed time, but I like to see it as a symbol of hope. It might be the last tree standing but at least it is still there.

Entering the wood, it was immediately all about the cherry trees, so stunningly beautiful decked out in their delicate white blooms. Being a Shropshire lass myself, I am possibly a little biased when it comes to agreeing with A.E. Housman’s poetic opinion of this ‘loveliest of trees’ (actually, Houseman hailed from neighbouring Worcestershire, but let’s not split hairs) but I think he knew what he was talking about and a reading of his famous poem can be found here for anyone who is interested. I’ve written before about how I am naturally drawn to trees that have a light and open, airy character and the wild cherry is a perfect example; not that it means timid or petite, mind you ~ some of our local trees are enormous.

I suspect that May will always be my favourite month but there is something slightly bewitching about these weeks leading up to it, the sudden headlong rush of growth and activity that heralds true spring. I’m not in the least surprised that the Japanese custom of shinrin yoku or forest bathing has become so popular as an activity deemed to promote relaxation and well-being and this must surely be one of the most engaging times of year in our latitudes to spend some time with trees. True, there is something unquestionably majestic and awe-inspiring about a full summer canopy but I love the sweet youthfulness of tender new leaves unfurling, soft as silk, each one exquisite in its perfection. It’s easy to wax lyrical about the myriad shades of green and yet there is also gold, copper, bronze, topaz, amber . . . a treasure trove of colour to delight the eye.

I must remember to look downwards, too, where the woodland floor is springing into life, the new shoots of ivy and honeysuckle lifting their eyes upwards, the silvered ferns and spongy mosses resplendent in fresh plumage. I love moss-coated rocks like this, for me there is always a whisper of something ancient about them and on close inspection, they are like miniature magical worlds in themselves. I particularly liked one set against a backdrop of brooding holly, still flaunting a few scarlet berries as if its dark evergreen presence should not to be forgotten in all this talk of spring.

There is a special quality to the light at this time of year, it is more diffident than the strident brightness of high summer; morning shadows are long, reflections muted and the gentle diffusion of sunlight through petals brings a demure luminosity softened at the edges. So beautiful, and well worth getting out of bed for.

Onward along the track and another tree I always stop to acknowledge, the largest pear tree I have ever seen in my life. There was nothing I could use to give an idea of scale in my picture but suffice to say, it towers hugely above me: truly a grandmother tree worthy of my respect. The blossom is dense, waxier than the cherry flowers, but sharing a similar subtle perfume and just as busy with visiting insects.

I love walking: it seems to me to be one of the simplest and most fundamental human things to do, and after so many bleak months of reduced mobility, I am delighted to be able to move with relative ease at last. The gift of walking is one I shall never take for granted again. It is an economical activity, too, since all that is really required is some comfortable footwear ~ and contrary to what the inevitable adverts would have us believe, that doesn’t mean wildly expensive hiking boots. When we lived in Asturias, we had several elderly neighbours who happily walked miles on steep mountain roads wearing their carpet slippers! It’s always a privilege to walk in stunningly beautiful places (I’m currently ‘in training’ for our trip to the wilds of the Spanish Pyrenees later this year) but I also love the fact that I can walk from home without ever feeling bored; I’m very blessed to live where I do and when I see a path like this one, I am automatically drawn down it. Who knows what adventures might follow?

I often see hares and roe deer when walking this route (Roger met a very large bristly boar on the same morning, I’m quite thankful not to have had that experience when on my own ~ they are huge and not to be messed with) but this morning it was the birdlife that dominated. How quickly we become reacclimatised to the call of the cuckoo, the warbling blackcaps and swooping swallows! The woodpeckers, too, were making quite a statement beating out their staccato timpani and I love the way each different tree responds with its own resonant note. Finally reaching the end of the woodland, I passed beneath another majestic cherry and an arch of trees sketching a latticed dome against the blue sky.

The next section of my walk took me along lanes in open countryside through arable farmland, the fields of oilseed rape flowering in startling patches of acid yellow amongst the green. This landscape is what I think of as ‘traditional’ northern Mayenne with small pastures, ponds, hedges and woodland ~ true bocage. Sadly, much of it is being eroded in places to give way to huge treeless fields better suited to monoculture crops and monstrous machinery but it does me good to keep things in balance. I rant and rage at the ripping out of hedges, the felling of trees and the interminable crop spraying but it’s important to remember that the traditional beauty still exists around us and, despite everything, the wildlife hangs on in there, too.

It’s a time of year when the roadside verges start to unfurl their glorious pageant of colour and next week, I’m planning a long walk with Roger along a lane that is notorious for its riot of springtime colour. I saw no orchids along this route but there were plentiful carpets of bluebells, stitchwort and cowslips to enjoy.

There was another lone pear tree, too, a mere whippersnapper in comparison to the one I had admired earlier, but every bit as beautiful for all that.

Is oilseed rape beautiful? It’s a crop that seems to have a similar effect on people as the taste of Marmite, love it for its bright cheerfulness or hate it for its screaming brashness and hay fever-provoking habit. I’m not sure what I think of it, to be honest, although I’m definitely not a fan of the rubbery rotten cabbage stink that will follow once the flowers have faded. What is interesting, having walked along two sides of this field, it that I didn’t see a single insect working the flowers: maybe, like me, they prefer the dainty cherry and pear blossom to this forthright flower?

Turning off the lane, my walk took me through another stretch of woodland, this time along a grassy track where carpet slippers would have had a good soaking! This is one of the best places I know for finding a wide diversity of fungi in autumn but the wood certainly has a very different feel to it at this time of year.

At the end of this track, I turned into our own coppice which is part of a much larger tract of woodland. Up until fifty or so years ago, it was a working quarry and the lower part is held within a bowl of rock; the abundant growth here is an optimistic reminder of just how brilliantly nature heals a space where human activity has ceased. The rock walls create clever acoustics so that the bird song is amplified and reverberates in rising and falling notes and melodies and I revelled in taking a few moments to close my eyes and simply listen. Roger has just fashioned a wooden bench from scrap timber which we must now take and place deep within the trees, our own tranquil little seat just perfect for a spot of shinrin yoku in the months to come.

Dragging myself away from the wood, I returned down the lane, through the hamlet and home again, stopping for a final blast of cherry tree therapy along with the honey bees. If I knew Roger (and let’s face it, I ought to by now), he would have coffee beans freshly ground all ready for a post-walk brew. He is up at five most mornings and heads off for a much longer walk than me, but it’s part of the ritual to enjoy a coffee together and chat about what we have seen along our different routes before getting stuck into the busyness of the day. Walking, coffee, chat . . . such simple pleasures but a very wonderful and precious start to my day. 😊

29 thoughts on “Loveliest of trees”

    1. Yay, at last! 😊 It’s actually gone from winter to summer overnight here, I’ve been zipping about the garden all day and it feels so good to enjoy some warmth and sunshine ~ the plants are loving it, too. Mind you, I’ve just realised that my grotty old gardening shorts are the only ones I have to hand, I haven’t got round to digging out my summer clothes yet. I look a right scarecrow, thank goodness we have no neighbours! 🤣

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  3. Gorgeous photos Lis!

    And seeing your bluebells has reminded me! Our mystery plant is a bluebell! 🥰

    We planted a big bunch of bulbs 4 years ago- gifted from friends- and they haven’t appeared until now! As you know they are one of my favourites- especially as it means May – and a birthday 😉 – are just around the corner!

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    1. Ah, mystery solved! Those leaves looked so big but it’s hard to get a scale from photos. Are they Spanish bluebells or the native English (Welsh! 😉) ones? I think we should negotiate a birthday swap one year just so I can experience all that light, warmth and general gorgeousness of early May! 🥰 xx

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      1. They came from the gardens of a very old house near where we used to teach together 🥰

        I’ll definitely swap birthdays if it means I get some of your birthday mince pies! 😋🥰

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  4. Dear Lis, I’m just popping in for a moment as I’ve been feeling unwell today. It’s to let you know that I came across your email yesterday! For the last while, I haven’t been checking my emails and then, yesterday, I decided I needed to do some deleting. I had no idea I would receive so many notifications from WordPress, and your email was lost in among them. I’m so sorry!
    The photo you sent was beautiful and her bouquet was outstanding. I apologise for this quick message.

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    1. Please don’t apologise, Willa, I totally understand! I don’t check the email address I use for WP very often but I was lucky to end up with a lovely blogging email pal during the darkest days of back pain and feeling totally miserable last year; I’d managed to prop the laptop up on a pile of pillows in bed and decided on a whim to check through the WP stuff which I hadn’t done in months and there was a most unexpected invitation to become friends. I felt terrible as it seemed I’d ignored the email for many weeks but it all turned out well in the end! I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling unwell today, please rest well and take care. I hope that maybe there are a few hopeful signs of spring to lift your spirits a little. 😊

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      1. Thank you for your kind reply, Lis. I’ve got a chest infection and, on top of the cancer, it’s got me feeling pretty weak. We’ve had a few dry, bright days here and I’m itching to be out in the garden . . . hopefully not too long.

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  5. Thank you for letting me tag along on your lovely ramble! I am a huge fan of Trees, and recognize their spiritual qualities. We live amongst Oaks mostly…In fact, we have three huge post oaks that have grown into one, giving them the name, The Three Sisters. I have a very special tree, though, that I am especially fond of when I take my walks down by the lakes and Woods: a Honey Locust. Though I fear it is in decline…

    I still visit it almost every time. Walks, I believe, sharpen our senses and powers of observation…and sensitivity to this beautiful, natural world

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    1. Lovely to have your company, Nancy! Oaks are a very common tree here, mainly the English oak (Quercus robur) and we are lucky to have some beautiful mature ones in our garden. We don’t have Post oaks here although I would recognise one as an oak tree, unlike the Honey locust which is totally unknown to me! I’ve just been doing some reading about them, they certainly look to be majestic trees.

      I think you have summed up the essence of walks perfectly! 😊

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  6. A beautiful walk, lovely to see blossom on the trees and the contrast of the new green leaves against a blue sky. Our plum was covered in blossom so hoping it will fruit this year, but it’s been a very wet and wild spring here too.

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  7. Lovely. I don’t have any nice walks nearby. I really miss just stepping outside and being surrounded by beauty. Sigh. We’re still waiting for any green really. First few flowers are out here and there. Grass still brown and trees still bare. Everything is rather grey and brown. 😩 another cold front on the way

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    1. I take my hat off to you coping in such an extreme climate, I think it would drive me crazy! Even after such a wet and gloomy winter, it does at least green up quickly here and the trees are bombing out now, probably a couple of weeks ahead of normal. I hope something spring-like comes your way soon! 🤞

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      1. It’s been a very different March/April so far. Weather gods are very moody it seems. More annoying than the weather is the location I’m living in. It’s just not the least bit pretty. Most Finnish small towns (exceptions proving the rule) are ugly. Plain and simple. We’re surrounded by farmland. Everything looks the same. Most accessible woods are a drive away (or super long walk which is not an option when you walk with a diabetic small child, as she would have a hype before we made it half-way to the woods). I have a car for the time being and plan to do a few more trips but it’s not really the same. Requires planning and additional effort.

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      2. Mmm, it’s very hard and I feel your pain! We are surrounded on three sides by full-scale industrial agriculture, the air currently stinks of spray because the first day of nice weather meant they were all out drenching the grain crops with chemicals BUT we do at least still live in a spot where there are still woods and small pastures so it’s not totally depressing, especially as we can walk out from home in several directions. Weirdly, one of our biggest problems is dogs running loose: in general, French dogs are kept very much under control because owners can face huge public liability charges if their dogs cause damage but we seem to live in an area where people are happy to let their animals wander and we have to run the gauntlet with them in order to walk along the lanes. It seems nowhere is perfect!

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  9. Perusing the lines, I find myself close at Lis’s heels, my eyes taking in all the colours and hues, my ears feasting on the birdsong, my nostrils being greeted by blossom fragrance, and my skin being caressed by the fresh air. Reading your English is not only a linguistic banquet but also a fantastic getaway to an exotic land.

    This post took a longer interval to come. I checked both the inbox and your site a couple of times. When I saw no updates there, I asked myself if Lis had been taken ill or if she was too busy with gardening to write and post.

    Wearing carpet slippers on the hike is no bizarre thing to me. In summer, I sometimes hiked my good old path wearing my sandals. Some sections of the path are cobblestoned, and I even took off my sandals and walked on the pebbles barefooted. What a massage! A colleague of mine once saw me coming off the walk with sandals on, and she simply could not believe such idiocy. Well, only those who know the taste will understand it. I finally find a sympathiser in Lis.

    The moss-coated rock in this post is strongly reminiscent of my rock, the picture of which I shared in the post The Tenth Anniversary of My walking Programme. That rock with the moss never fails to calm and soothe me in this madding world.

    An interesting phrase in this post caught my eye: notorious for its riot of springtime colour. The word “notorious” and “riot” here have no negative connotations at all. It evokes a vivid picture of all colours bursting out in that place.

    Yes, here in my urban neighbourhood the trees and hedges are unfurling their tender shoots, too, especially after a light rain. The soft greenness instils hope and optimism into my heart.

    You passed through a small hamlet on the way out and back. I was wondering if anyone was living there. Are the dwellers farmers or gardeners?

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    1. Thank you for your company, Shengliver, I’m glad you enjoyed the walk! The beauty specific to this time of year is so fleeting: the blossom will be over within days, giving way to hawthorn and apple, and the soft, glossy new leaves will grow and mature at a hectic rate. In the verges, bluebells, orchids and cowslips will also fade away to make space for the summer flowers and tall grasses. I think it is essential to catch each moment when I can.

      My blog posts tend to become less frequent now that the busy gardening season has arrived and I often find my photos and news well out of date by the time I have a chance to sit down and write. I’m also trying to do a bit of daily French study again ~ in this I have been truly inspired by you! ~ and of course, it all takes time. I’m currently listening to podcasts and watching videos about permaculture/ecological gardening, no subtitles or transcripts allowed! By the way, it always fascinates me to see my own language through your eyes . . . it’s interesting how we use so many words in different ways, often in direct opposition to their true or original meaning. Does the same happen in Chinese, I wonder?

      The hamlet along our lane has nine dwellings, seven of which are occupied full-time. The inhabitants have a mixed profile in terms of age, occupation and attitudes to life; there is one smallholding with sheep and poultry and only one vegetable garden that is visible from the lane, so gardening in general doesn’t seem to be a top priority or interest. In general, many traditional potagers seem to be disappearing locally as the older generation dies out which is why I was so delighted to chat to a young man in the charity shop who is setting out to create an organic garden and also by the number of younger people who are active in growing their own food and sharing their ideas. That brings me hope for the world!

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  10. What a lovely walk Lis! So sorry to hear about the torrential storms you’ve had there. Glad some perkier sun came out for your walk. I hear you about learning to appreciate the ability to walk! I feel similarly. That oak tree in the field is indeed very impressive…towering so tall above the other trees. In our area, trees get cleared for more and more human dwellings. With property prices what they are here, there is a tremendous pressure on people to maximize their property value with more buildings. We’ve tried to resist this pressure and our property now sits as a larger open space amidst ever more built up housing. …. Wow, that pear is incredible. We don’t have wild trees quite like that here, nor your magical lanes lined with old trees whispering of the ages. A wild boar! Goodness, I would be frozen in my tracks if I came upon one on a walk. Apparently they are here in the wilder parts of Northern California too, but happily, I’ve never encountered one. I’m off to read what else you’ve written since I last checked in. Happy Spring! lisa

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    1. Thank you so much for your lovely comment, Lisa! One of the things I love about France is the feeling of space ~ it’s about two and a half times bigger than the UK with roughly the same population. Even with all the ranting and raging I do about how some of the land is treated, it’s still generally far quieter here even compared to rural parts of the UK and it’s lovely to be able to walk in such peace. The verges at the moment are stunning with wild flowers (photos in my next post!) and I can wander for several miles without seeing a soul. Bliss. I tend to leave my morning walks until it’s reasonably light as there is less chance of meeting a boar!

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      1. What an interesting fact–I didn’t know that about the size and population ratio of France compared to UK. How lovely that a nice long walk can be found sans other humans. I grew up in the midwest of the US where the same was possible, although one might have to navigate a rattlesnake crossing the gravel road, or wondered about the intentions of a particularly large raccoon at close proximity. Mountain lions were also possible, although I never saw one. They say you rarely do, but they may see us. A neighbor saw a mountain lion crossing our property here once some years ago during early morning. I prefer to pass on the boar and mountain lion encounters. 😉 I’m with you and avoid meanderings during dawn and dusk when the larger creatures might be about.

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