There's something about bluebells

If one wild flower is recognisable above all others then it is the bluebell. This is no doubt helped by its habit of flowering in large numbers well before any other wild flower has fully set out its stall. It's not the first wild flower of the year. It shares its arrival with others. Dandelions and daisies - yes, scattered across the open park, but not in such clustered company as bluebells. Speedwell and ground ivy - yes, but not shy and sheltering in new grass growth, but singing like a choir amidst the woodland.

And that is its secret of its impact. It shouts colour in the shadow of trees, forming a blue spray around their trunks, where for the last six months of autumn and winter, there has only been a dull brown carpet of death and decay. The arrival of the bluebell cheers the heart and lifts the spirit, stating quite clearly a signal, to all other woodland plants, that says that its now a time of growth.
And so, it is here, in the parkland. In Ivas Wood and other patches of woodland, that fringe the estate, they are there.

There was a buzz about the place today, especially about Longbarn. The Duke off Devonshire and some of his garden team were making a visit. Little was seen of them by me, apart from a conspicuous group making its way down to the Serpentine Bridge as I was walking back up to the house at the end of my patrol.

Another floral debutante is announcing its arrival. Outside the ranger room were two glorious examples of rhododendron of striking colours. As I looked up at them through the window, the impact was as if I had spotted an weird stranger looking in at me. I caught my breath.
Ian was away today, so the birds once again became a challenge. I heard a call that I made a great attempt to remember. I thought my strategy for future recall was quite marvellous. The bird made a sound that I equated to a movement one might make when washing hands and the subsequent removing excess water after the operation. Two strong shakes of each hand, followed by several smaller shakes, slightly less vigorous. As it turned out, it was a wonderful aide memoire. I had no trouble in identifying the bird I heard but could not see. Not quite the rarity or new summer visitor that was new to me.

It was a blue tit. I am not despondent about failing to recognise a bird I see each day in my garden. The bonus is it becomes a sound I can hear, recognise and dismiss when next I hear it. That helps pave the way to allow recognition of something fresh. Elimination helps identification. Bird identification is, like I have said before, only like police work.