Country diary: A Wordsworthian moment, golden and dancing | Kate Blincoe
Caistor St Edmund, Norfolk: Among bee orchids and incipient bluebells, I see a host of daffodils, and wonder if they’re wildThe warm weather and sunshine of the recent “fool’s spring” turned up the volume on the chattering sparrows in the yard and brought the first bees of the season out in search of nectar in the crocuses.A meadow on the far side of the road has dried out enough to tread across without sinking into mud. Yet I’m walking oddly, a sort of hop, skip, jump. Surely it’s a crime to stand on an orchid? I am surrounded by little clusters of unremarkable-looking green leaves. They are bee orchids, and there are uncountable thousands in this field. Continue reading...
Caistor St Edmund, Norfolk: Among bee orchids and incipient bluebells, I see a host of daffodils, and wonder if they’re wild
The warm weather and sunshine of the recent “fool’s spring” turned up the volume on the chattering sparrows in the yard and brought the first bees of the season out in search of nectar in the crocuses.
A meadow on the far side of the road has dried out enough to tread across without sinking into mud. Yet I’m walking oddly, a sort of hop, skip, jump. Surely it’s a crime to stand on an orchid? I am surrounded by little clusters of unremarkable-looking green leaves. They are bee orchids, and there are uncountable thousands in this field. Continue reading...
