We associate spring with warmer, sunnier days, birdsong and a general air of optimism

4:55pm Friday 11th April 2008

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Though March 21 is firmly established as our official first day of spring, it has been difficult over the past few years to determine exactly when winter has ceased and the new spring commenced. Defined, in my dictionary, as “the season in which vegetation begins to appear, first season of the year in the northern hemisphere”, it can be seen that either the entry will need revision in the near future, or that the date will need adjustment. This, however, is not quite as simple as might first appear, because the season is also defined as the period between the vernal (spring) equinox and the summer solstice, which have astronomically fixed dates. This latter fact would make it certain, from both a scientific and official point of view, that the date will be retained, but we only have to look at the changing countryside in late winter to see that the natural world is no longer synchronised with the calendar or the dictionary.

Clearly, the definition associated with the appearance of vegetation is now quite inaccurate, and it is no longer unusual to see species not only emerging, but flowering well outside their “normal”" season. Individual meadow and hedgerow plants now grow throughout the year, an interesting example being the small clump of cowslip which bloomed for much of the autumn and winter in our lower field.

Opinion among family and friends suggests that we associate spring with warmer, sunnier days, birdsong, the greening of the countryside, and a general air of optimism. I actually carried out a modest survey when asking the question, to determine which plant they most associate with spring, and found daffodil, snowdrop and bluebell to be the leading contenders, in that order. Strangely, primrose was hardly mentioned, and I attribute the single response of wood anemone to the fact that the respondent lives near a copse now carpeted with the those flowers. This brings me to consider my own views on the subject, and I suggest that snowdrops would be better described as harbingers of spring, as they have usually finished blooming well before the official start of the season. Primroses also now flower well before that date, though mild conditions will ensure a succession of beautiful blossom throughout the early spring weeks. Daffodil, bluebell and cowslip have probably taken over as the true spring flowers, but I must put in one vote for the lesser celandine, a small and generally unrecognised plant which can transform a drab patch of roadside verge into a mass of glowing golden colour in the space of a few hours at this time of year. Though not commonly identified as a buttercup, it does belong to the ranunculus family, and is related to numerous species as diverse as water crowfoot, meadow buttercup and hellebore. It is ever-present as an anonymous low-growing cushion of heart-shaped leaves, but its bright outward curving flowers open at the first hint of warm sunshine. The eight to 12 narrow petals give the appearance of being freshly varnished to welcome the new season. Lesser celandine has dozens of traditional and country names, as varied as butter and cheese, crowpightle and foxwort, but was earlier known as pilewort, the juice of its roots having been used to relieve that painful ailment. It was also called figwort, and, though not remotely similar to the plant we now know by that name, it shared its reputation as a cure for the Kings Evil. To add to the confusion, lesser celandine is not even related to the greater celandine, which is a member of the poppy family, its only connection being derivation from “chelidon”, the Greek word for the swallow, whose arrival was said to coincide with the time of flowering.

Overall, local names, the behaviour of the flora and fauna, and the seasons themselves have all changed over the centuries, and naturalists, from professionals to amateurs like myself, continue to be fascinated by what they see and learn every day. By way of comparison, it's also good to know that some of the seasonal highlights continue in much the same way, and we were again entertained by the frog chorus in our pond during the later weeks of March. We seem to have had more splashing, croaking visitors than ever this year, and, as the vast amount of spawn has now turned into a wriggling mass of tiny tadpoles, the future of the North Herefordshire frog population should be assured.

John Wesley