Annually, the UK is treated to the mesmerising spectacle of patches of woodland bursting into blue. Usually a signifier of ancient woodland, these delicate flowers with intricate petals drooping in the shape of dainty bells, erupt as if out of nowhere before reverting back into ‘hibernation’ a mere month later.
Along with the salutations from the cherry and apple blossom and the heady scent of wild garlic wafting from those lush green leaves that are often adjacent to the bells, spring is just such a pretty month. Fresh, floral and hopeful.
For me, this love began during my newfound obsession with travel and exploration which began in 2013. I needed something to reignite the waning fire within me, to burn those fizzing embers that were almost extinguished, but not quite.
My inspiration soon exploded once more and I became at the behest of the beauty that this world has to offer. Beaches with looming palms, turquoise water, parks with cascading fountains and peaceful benches for knitting and reading.
And bluebell woods.
I had wanted to visit a bluebell wood simply to meander through, taking in the serenity of the unique shade of blue that the usual tawny and earthy greens and browns morphed into temporarily. To enshroud myself in the safety of nature and feel connected to from whence we came. I wanted peace and quiet and a moment away from it all. Nothing urban. Just wild untamed ancient woodland, a direct connection to our ancestors and to be enveloped in the free theatre of nature.
And I did just that finally in 2020 during a lockdown walk. I had been in lockdown, barely leaving the house for more than a month and it was mid-May just when the wild garlic is starting to flower. I live half an hour’s walk from a beautiful bluebell wood in West Yorkshire but the three years prior upon moving into this area, I hadn’t found time to visit those ephemeral flowers. I would see them in a blurry purple haze as I went past on the bus because my route into town goes past one of the sections of the wood.
Even that fleeting sighting had looked impressive, so when I finally reserved a sunny spring day to go and enjoy them. It was worth the wait.
Since that day, I’ve been hooked. I’m absolutely in love with the purple-blue sea I witness before me every spring for one month. They are everything I love about nature; reliable, beautiful, pure, fragile, innocent, inspiring, peaceful – they make me want to create art and they make me want to do things I’ve never done before.
They elicit magic into a world that often seems sinister. If a year doesn’t go to plan for example, I can always rely on April and May to bring me hope and joy, it is completely free and I see it as a day out – going to see the bluebells at my local wood, sitting among them, spending time with them, appreciating their beauty. How they look at different times of day, how the flowers respond to the evening light as the sun gradually sets, how they look reflecting the intensifying spring sun, creating twinkles akin to a Disney film scene.
To strengthen my bond with them even further, bluebells gifted me with serendipity. I had a difficult two years that knocked me off-kilter and by happenstance, I found myself at the bluebell wood during two significant life changes. The flowers became almost life-affirming and I could imagine them saying, ‘Everything will be ok because we are here to provide comfort and peace.’
It made me realise that there is always something to hope for and look forward to as long as there is the bluebell wood every year. This became like a mantra for me and I found myself with a great source of comfort from bluebells and spring in general. This then turned into inspiration and I began creating art around these ideas with the bluebells at the epicentre.
It came very naturally and feels magical, it has brought a sense of enchantment to my life having a favourite flower like this because it feels like I have something unique that no one can touch. Like they will be there whatever life throws my way.
As there are a dozens of spectacle shows that the bluebells bring depending on the time of day and the weather, there are a million different modes of art I can create. I began to write poetry heavily inspired by these flowers and I have subsequently completed a book of poems with bluebells as one of the main themes. They are threaded throughout the entire book and, looking back upon my visits to the woods and what I was experiencing during these times, it makes such sense to me that this came about. They have provided a catharsis that I needed.
Bluebells are said to be the symbol of humility, constancy, gratitude and everlasting love and all these qualities are thought-provoking and provide a framework for me to visit the bluebells with – connecting them with what has already been and what is to come in my life. What do we have to be grateful for? What constants do we have in our lives that we can rely on and garner strength from?
Bluebells are integral to the natural heritage of the UK and massively add to our culture. They are a protected species and it is illegal to pick them. The conservation of the native species involves keeping the invasive foreign species ‘Spanish bluebells’ under control. This species was introduced as a garden plant during Victorian times and are now becoming hybridised with the native species – an occurrence that the wildlife trust are working to prevent.
All of these aspects of bluebells make them even more alluring, the fact that they are so celebrated and special. And with this in mind, I am always careful when visiting them to not tread on or damage them – we must be humble just like they are.
And humble I certainly am when I am lucky enough to spend time in the ancient woods, carpeted in violet-blue.
It is and always will be my very favourite thing to do.
