We seemed to spend last weekend dodging rain showers, but given the brief sunny interlude on Sunday morning it seemed churlish not to get out of the house and go for a walk. We took a route that I’d discovered with a friend last week, mainly on account of the vast carpets of bluebells, but also because it affords some amazing views over the local countryside and I really wanted my husband and kids to see it all for themselves.
There is something so magical about seeing our native bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) growing in the wild, and the ones we saw did not disappoint; great ribbons of blue cutting through the dappled shade, their tiny fairy-hat flowers delicately scenting the air.
There were foraging opportunities aplenty too; my son came home with a couple of fistfuls of wild garlic and we’ve earmarked a spot where wild strawberries grow in the hedgerow and hope to return to pick some soon. That is, if the birds haven’t got there first.