Early Spring Delights in Dartington

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Vicarage Hyacinths

I woke just before sunrise this morning and was indeed delighted to see a clear blue sky. Walking through to the living room, still warm from last night’s fire, I was met by the sweet scent of hyacinths…and our long haired tabby Serenity who can’t eat her breakfast until someone has walked up to her bowl and said “biscuits!” while looking meaningfully at her and then the aforementioned biscuits.

Once the sun was well up Ian and I set off for Dartington Gardens, which is a constant source of transformation and wonder at this time of the year. If you are reading this and live anywhere nearby…get yourself to Dartington gardens! As Walter de la Mare wrote

let no night 
seal thy sense in deathly slumber
till to delight 
thou hast paid thy utmost blessing

My first honey bee of Spring

Dartington Gardens has drifts of species crocus with honey bees. Hallelujah! The first honey bees of Spring! No doubt many of us are concerned about the bees and if you haven’t already signed the Avaaz petition to help protect them… please do it now at the link below

http://www.avaaz.org/en/save_the_bees/?copy

Robin at Dartington Gardens

Dartington also has…the first daffs, a robin at every turn, deep purple hellebores in full bloom, shocking pink rhododendron and camellia flowering amidst dark, shining foliage, more snowdrops then you can shake an intricately carved shamanic walking stick at….

and even an entire avenue of flowering witch hazel with the Goddess Flora at the end, waiting to bless and greet you! What more could anyone ask for? (And to see the rest of the photos, visit my ‘soon to be less neglected’ facebook page)

Dartington Camellia

In the face of such a bubbling up of Spring optimism and delight, I’ll return to my usual theme of light and darkness with the rest of Walt’s wonderful poem

Fare Well

When I lie where shades of darkness

Shall no more assail mine eyes,

Nor the rain make lamentation

When the wind sighs;

How will fare the world whose wonder

Was the very proof of me?

Memory fades, must the remembered

Perishing be?

Oh, when this my dust surrenders

Hand, foot, lip, to dust again,

May these loved and loving faces

Please other men!

May the rusting harvest hedgerow

Still the Traveller’s Joy entwine,

And as happy children gather

Posies once mine.

Look thy last on all things lovely,

Every hour. Let no night

Seal thy sense in deathly slumber

Till to delight

Thou have paid thy utmost blessing;

Since that all things thou wouldst praise

Beauty took from those who loved them

In other days.

Walter de la Mare