The Secret of the Bluebells

Seeing this Beatrix Potter picture from Cecily Parsley's Nursery Rhymes recently, I realised that I have been falling in love with English gardens, bluebells & woodlands all my life without even knowing it!

Quite a funny thing to be enchanted by something you've never really seen.

And now, at last, I have a carpet of blue this spring down under the trees in my own back garden. 

Some are English bluebells, some are Spanish.

I really don't mind. 

I love them all.

There are even a few little white ones amongst them.

I have mentioned the valley in Havelock North before-the one at the bottom of Keirunga Gardens where great old oaks reside. This autumn I decided to "share" a few of my bluebell bulbs, in the hope that in years to come the dell may be full of the magic of their sweet presence.

Last week we went back to see what had become of them... 

And found some clumps of Spanish bluebells that others have already planted.

The council (caretakers!?) have made a terrible mess in the valley, doing some kind of massive earthworks for drainage. I'll have to make enquiries as it's most disconcerting.

I couldn't bear to see these fragile blue friends bulldozed over.

There are patches of forget-me-nots too.

Oh yes, over here are-the Spanish family.

There's a nice path up this side that leads past the wild violet patch.

I picked bunches of wild violets here just a few weeks ago.

These pretty evansia japonica irises, have naturalised well under the trees.

Looking across the valley I can see spring blossom & more forget-me-nots....so pretty & English.

Then back down the path toward the entrance.
 A funny mix of brand new spring leaves & all the old autumn shed ones still on the ground.

Here we spied the last few bluebell clumps, amongst them some pretty white ones.

And a lone straggler.

I have a dream that this valley could become a magical place, filled with the beauty of a "million bells waving bright bonnets of blue".
I plan to return each autumn to plant more bulbs & every spring to admire them & witness their progress of settling in to their new glorious purpose.

Bluebell Time – Poem by Fay Slimm

 Million bells waving bright bonnets of blue

Flaunting tall ranks of incredible hue.

Groundbreaking columns of stalks fill the shade

Assailing our senses from every dull glade.

Mid dapple-dim woods we tred without sound

Breathtaking armies of blue all around.

Sun shedding Spring over cold woodland dew,

Highlighting patches of mystical blue.

Sheer seas of colour all billowing there

Dance to perfection their Show of the Year.

~ Fay Slimm

Taniwha & the Daffodils

Every spring, just a half hours drive from home, (& a wee bit more) the Mabin family open their farm to the public for the season of the daffodil. 

 All through September, through every daylight hour there is, 

 people come in dribbles & droves, to pick bucket upon bucket of glorious, sunshiney daffodils.

 A turbulent month, it may be sunny or cold & windy,

 yet the magic is always the same.

 Waterways & walkways, 

 the supremely rare & unusual,

 the kind & familiar;

 tranquil & smooth

 rippling &

 peaceful

 ...but don't get in the way!

Snowflakes line pathways of grass green.

 Everywhere you turn there is more to pick

 sort & admire.

 Friends come

 & friends go

 & the beauty of the place drenches each soul,

 Always a pleasure..

  most especially the joy of the daffodils that herald spring with golden fanfare.

 They don't last a great while

 but their beauty is deeply admired, until next time & a new spring comes around once more.

Bewitched by Bluebells

Growing up in the foothills of Havelock North has left me with indelible memories of the magic of springtime. The alluring scent of the early prunus blossom trees called to me, as I made my way down past St Luke's Church & in to the village after school. I would always stop & pick a small sprig of pink frothy blossom & admire it until it wilted. The memory of the very first whiff of jasmine, daphne, grape hyacinths, freesias & jonquils come late winter/ early spring, has remained with me through the decades & befriends me just as surely now, as way back then.

 The arrival of the spring bulbs was always a delight to me & I learnt many of their names while still at primary school. I adored the riot of colour in the spraxia display & was endlessly fascinated by the strange, slim green flower & name of the ixias. The scent of hyacinths would send me in to raptures & I would sniff the little sprigs of wintersweet so long & so hard they almost disappeared up my nose. Funny thing is, I don't ever recall seeing a bluebell.

For the first four decades of my life I had no idea that Bluebell Woods in England had been enchanting walkers, wanderers & lovers for centuries.

Then...one day I found this old picture & so began my love affair with bluebells.

I will never plant enough of them or see enough of them in my lifetime.

To walk in woods carpeted with fragrant blue magic is a my unwavering aspiration.

To be immersed in blue as far as the eye can see...

leads me to romantic notions of pausing in the midst of such splendour; to drink in the beauty & fragrance of such a miracle. Seeing this scene in the movie Bright Star utterly overwhelmed my senses for days.

I do not know of any place in New Zealand where the woods or wild places are awash with blue carpets in spring, but I do know where an oak grove grows...out in the foothills in Havelock North near Keirunga Gardens. One autumn, not so long ago we discovered precociously blossoming trees,

tuis in ecstasy,

& highly premature jonquils in flower.

Yet, wander down the path & in to the valley & we found autumn quite clearly in command.

The light so beautiful..

joy sprang forth

bubbling in to awe & gratitude.

A special & significant place. A place to return to often.

A tiny seed-a dream, was unwittingly planted at this time.