Wood anemone heralds spring as a carpet of stars in ancient woodland
The wood anemone is a beautiful species that may carpet a deciduous woodland in spring with its beaming, star-shaped flowers. It’s one of the first to bloom in March, taking full advantage of the open canopy and volume of light arriving at the forest floor. Indeed, by May, as the ever-expanding foliage of the forest closes up, the wood anemone is finally deprived of light.
It seems to display a human trait, appearing happiest when the sun is shining, for its flowers droop gracefully until awakened by the sun’s light. English poet John Clare summed it up rather nicely in his poem of the plant’s name. Here’s an excerpt: the ‘petals’ on view are in fact modified sepals (typically offering protection for a flower in bud) which have assumed the characteristics of petals. As with other members of its genus, the wood anemone is also known as windflower. The naming relates to the ancient Greek wind god, Anemos. The Greeks believed that Anemos sent anemones in early spring to herald his coming. Pliny the Elder, the Roman author of Naturalis Historia, later wrote that the flowers were so named as they wouldn’t open until the wind blew. Ultimately though, it’s very much the sun that controls the wood anemone, not the wind. Humans also play a pivotal role in its conservation, as traditional woodland management practices like coppicing help to ‘open up’ woodland to provide the essential sunshine required to create a carpet of stars. For wildlife information and advice, contact the Sussex Wildlife Trust’s WildCall service: 01273 494777 (weekday mornings) or wildcall@sussexwt.org.uk manicuring, and pruning. Since September, the only thing I have trimmed is my beard, and I am now dreading the time when the longer, and sometimes sunnier, days mean that my lawn will soon resemble a miniature Sherwood Forest. Even mowing our averagesized lawn is something of a drag for me and don’t get me started on strimming. My aversion to gardening is puzzling because there are plenty of green fingers within the Tapp clan and I spent my childhood traipsing around garden centres, which were pretty much the only things open on a Sunday when I was growing up.
I am just about old enough to remember the final days of our local rag and bone man, not to be confused with the modern-day musician with the tattooed face, and the excitement it caused in our street when his two horses left steaming deposits in the road. My Old Man would race into the road with his shovel to claim the freshly laid manure, proudly boasting that ‘it’s great for the roses son’. Like many kids of the ‘80s, large parts of holidays and weekends were spent visiting the vast grounds of stately homes, while my dad, who was also a keen beekeeper, attempted to educate me about the importance of cross-pollination, One of my earliest memories is of embarking upon an epic journey in the family’s Mark II Escort to visit the Shropshire home of Percy Thrower, the legendary gardener. My enduring memory of that day is of an immaculate lawn and a sense of crushing disappointment at not meeting the man who famously cultivated the Blue Peter garden. Not even this brush with horticultural genius could inspire me to take an interest in bedding plants or anything green that climbs walls. While our garden is neat and reasonably tidy and boasts some colour during the early summer months, it is, by design, easy to maintain. There is little doubt that the hardworking Mrs Tapp would prefer it if she had a husband who spent his spare time turning our spartan beds into an oasis of bright blooms, but she is stuck with the guy who huffs and puffs his way around the lawn with the Qualcast. Maybe one day, I will learn how to use a trowel properly and appreciate the healing powers of getting one’s hands dirty – in a recent interview Queen’s Brian May described gardening as therapy – a pastime that helps him overcome his darker days. I’m sure he is right and there is little doubt that it has helped many through what has been the toughest, not to mention unpredictable, year of our lives. There is the very real hope that summer 2021 could be one that will live in the memory, probably because we’ll be endlessly attending barbecues in the wellkept gardens of family and loved ones. If that doesn’t inspire me to get weeding in the coming weeks, then nothing will.