A walk on the wildside
IN THE MONTH OF MARCH
When rosy plume lets tuft the larch and rarely piped the mounted thrush; Or underneath the barr en bush Flits by the sea-bluebir dof March.
The above lines were written by the poet Tennyson in memory of his dead friend, Arthur William Hallam, the poem was originally called, The Way of the Soul, but it is now better known as In Memoriam. The rosy plumelets he describes are the female flowers of the Larch, but not all poets were as fulsome in their praise of the Larch as Tennyson was. Of the tree Wordsworth said; Leaves it cannot be said to have, and consequently it affords neither shade nor shelter, but as someone much more knowledgeable than I said in riposte to the famous poet; surely we do not appreciate trees solely for the shade and shelter they may offer us.
In the woods at Gortroche, at Ballyhooly there are many magnificent species of this tree, I have often sat on the cone-strewn ground underneath, completely at peace with nature and with the world and found both shade and shelter. One of my own favourite sounds of the month of March is that of the chiff-chaff, these little birds announce their arrival, usually around the end of the month. There is no mistaking their repetitive call of chiffchaff, it is wonderful to see them as they flit merrily among the Hazel trees that abound in Cregg. The chiff-chaff is so similar in appearance to the Willow Warbler that it is almost impossible to tell them apart, but their voices clearly identify them, the call of the latter bird is not repetitive, it has a wistful, almost sad air about it, Willow Warblers also differ from chiffchaffs by building their nests in a well sheltered place on the ground, while the chaffs prefer a site on a small tree or bush.
A bird that we rarely see now and that was once very familiar in the country-side is the yellowhammer, their song has been described as; a little bit of bread and no cheese, and it is a very apt old country saying. March is the month when the Willow trees come into blossom; they grow in abundance along the banks of our rivers and streams. In one of the places where I love to fish in the Spring of the year, among the islands at Templenoe on the Blackwater, I have often watched in wonder as a gentle breeze ripples through them and they fall like snow-flakes into the water. There is a reference to Willows in the Bible in Verse 13 7 which goes; By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion, We hanged our harps upon the Willows in the midst thereof. Willows are commonly called Sally trees, and downstream from the viaduct there is a place that was once a very familiar swimming area for many generations of Fermoy people called the Sally Islands, due no doubt to the abundance of the willows there. Willows have a long association with healing, an old country remedy for colds was an infusion made from the bark of the tree, it is no coincidence so that the world’s very first synthetic drug, developed and marketed as Aspirin is used as its base. Like the hazel tree, the flower of the Willow is called a catkin; the following are a couple of verses from the poem, The Song of the Willow-Catkin fairy by Cicely M. Barker. The people call me palm, they do; They call me pussy-willow too, And when I’ m full in bloom, the bees Come humming round my yellow trees, Oh, you may pick a piece, you may So dear and silky, soft and grey; But if you’ re rough and greedy, why You’ ll make the little fairies cry.
Last week I spent some time walking by the river in a snow-clad winter wonderland, a deep silence enveloped the land, I thought once again of Bill Burke the man who planted the Crocuses all those years ago at Gamers Island. No sign of the Crocuses yet, but, as always they will come in their own time.