Month: April 2025

Tulip mania at Dyrham Park – but we beat the hordes and found the prize.

I can’t claim too much about the plant in the photo except to say that I’m almost certain it’s a wild Tulip, Tulipa sylvestris – hiding in plain sight among hosts of dandelions and what will soon be equal numbers of Oxeye daisies and Rough Hawksbeard. Talk about a needle in a haystack! I’ve sent off some more photos and measurements to the Magisterium for confirmation but I’m fairly sure of my ground.

Our discovery was purely accidental – we arrived back from our holiday on the Lizard and 24 hours later Madame was in hospital having a Knee replacement. It’s essential to exercise (sensibly) after the operation, so we took ourselves off for a very short walk in the Park and in the absence of any mown paths so early in the year I took the opportunity of scouting around for special plants. Later in the year we’re almost certain to find Bee orchids, Early purple and pyramidal orchids too, but this year has already been strange – climatically – so an early expedition made sense and almost immediately I noticed this plant which stuck out like a sore thumb amongst its neighbours.

Until I’d spent a few hours with the AI apps and then the field guides I had no idea either that a wild tulip even existed. However it escaped from a garden in the 17th century and has set up shop in a sparse set of locations across the south. I hesitate to use the word rare, but it’s certainly uncommon. However the bad news is that my specimen was badly infected by Pulcinella (probably) rust fungus and may well not flower this year. Richard Mabey says (In Flora Britannica) that it often fails to flower in any case so I’m not holding my breath. I’ve been visiting an equally unusual Mullein plant on the Canal for almost a year now waiting for it to flower, so although patience is not a virtue I possess much of, I’m used to waiting.

The supreme irony, of course is that the Park was overrun with visitors to the formal gardens which were hosting a Tulip Mania event. Dare I confess that I’m not overly fond of tulips but clearly thousands of people are, and the car park was completely rammed. However our favourite parking spot was empty as ever and we barely saw another human being as we discovered the ancestor of all those blowsy showoffs down in the formal gardens. It looked like a modest and rather sickly leek, but a single sniff confirmed that it wasn’t a member of the allium family.

So there it is – we await the verdict of the Magisterium whilst drifting spores have infected the most important non-exhibit in the show. I really hope it flowers because it’s very pretty in the modest way of wildflowers compared with their steroidal and silicone plumped offspring.

Today Madame and i went to have her dressings taken off, and we both received our Covid boosters. We should get the campervan back this week after the new engine has been fitted and then the summer stretches out before us like a magic carpet. Summer never felt so inviting!

St Georges’s Day – April 23rd; traditionally peak dandelion day.

A very long wait rewarded!

Madame holding one of our faintly miraculous crop of cauliflowers

It’s been an extremely odd few weeks, what with the campervan van engine blowing up after a service error which was meant to keep it on the road. “All repairs will be under the warranty”, the nice mechanic said, after he realized that I wasn’t going to scream at him. Then there were the two weeks in Cornwall during which we identified over a hundred new-to-me- species and then, on Monday morning we bowed to the inevitable and shipped up to the local hospital for Madame’s second knee replacement. We reported at seven and by eight the same evening we were driving home again clutching sticks, an embarrassingly obvious commode and a bag of pills – most of which looked either dangerously addictive or dangerously laxative ……. who knew?

And so I straightened my nurse’s hat and buckled down to a routine that only fitted our quiet and orderly lives where it touched. It turns out there’s a very short distance between tired and tetchy and in pain and tetchy with a fuse that can be lit by the most innocent roll of the eyes. The drug routine was so complicated I had to make a spreadsheet to explain all the timings, and we soon abandoned a couple of the drugs which made Madame puke. We are model patients – eschewing the morphine in favour of a couple of paracetamols and a scant diet of pride and anxiety – chewed over fifty times and swallowed painfully. However progress has been good and today I appointed myself chief occupational therapist and we went to the allotment to see how things are going. And they are going very well indeed. Not least the cauliflowers which we’ve been growing for over fifty years and never really succeeded with. Today every plant carried a perfect small cauliflower – just right for the two of us. It was like a botanical Easter egg hunt except it was me crawling around and Madame directing the search from her comfortable chair.

So in between nursing duties I managed to complete the plants spreadsheet having trawled through 17,000 photos, most of which were useless – lacking useable data – and boiled it all down to 6oo verifiable records and 400 species; in terms of bang for buck I think it would be hard to justify! I was chatting late last year with a retired recorder who though he and his wife might complete 1,000,000 records this year. Awesome!

Getting old is a bit of a pain. Bits drop off and long relied upon faculties like hearing and sight start to deteriorate, but all the same it gives you time to think. And I think a lot about this current fashion for “being in nature”. It does seem to me that if 100,000 people passed Moses’s burning bush in tourist buses – in all probability not a single one of them would have seen what he saw that day. I’m more and more convinced that there’s some kind of hierarchy in the simple act of noticing something. As a first draft I’d venture – first passively looking; then noticing; then seeing (perhaps for the first time); then contemplating and finally beholding. The truly life-changing bit of being in nature doesn’t come without some real effort and concentration and to behold nature is to relinquish all control and become part of what some call The Tao. As any half decent artist will tell you, you don’t reach your best work by learning tricks, you reach it by stepping aside.

A hedgerow Elm in seed on the Lizard; a memory from living in Wiltshire more than 50 years ago jolted me into recognizing an old friend I thought had died.

Reaching for a century

You may call it a filed – I call it a pollen machine!

This is going to be a short one. With internet speeds in the dizzy 2Mb region, even with a good router and aerial; not to mention raging hayfever – see those trees above – it’s been a struggle to carry a chair down the garden. I’m wondering if searching for wildflowers in the open is the best occupation for me at the moment. Anyway, nothing daunted and looking like a man who’s just been told his dog has died – eyes and nose running with snot – we’ve ventured out each day in the warm sun and found a blessing in every verge. So far we’re up to 92 species with a couple more botanising days to go. This is paradise! Luckily the place we’re staying at on the Lizard is – as it were – at the hub of a series of wonderful spokes, each comprising a footpath, bridleway or hidden lane. We walk down one and come back up another. It’s more than enough for us since Madame is about to have knee replacement surgery next week in any case.

Botanising like this isn’t all about wandering through bosky dells in a tweed jacket and smoking a pipe. I photograph anything and then spend hours checking ID’s using AI apps, books and very very slow internet searches. If I’m on form I can securely name about ten species an hour. Then when we get home I’ll have to spend yet more time recording everything on the big spreadsheet/database – often even slower than stage two. Here’s my favourite find so far – a pencilled cranesbill- absolute stunner, growing with half a dozen other naturalized neophytes

As an occasional and not very good botanical artist I marvel at the subtlety and complexity of the flower and would struggle to paint it.