The bluebells are now starting to flower here at Sun Rising, a sure sign that summer is a hop, skip and a jump away.  With the first of the hawthorn blossom, the bird cherries in flower, the air is filled their sweet warm scent.

English Bluebells

Bluebells are, of course, also problematic.  The English bluebell, above, is a deep purple-blue, the bell flowers tending to fall to one side giving the stems their iconic droop.  They also have that wonderful fragrance.  At Sun Rising, most of the bluebells are English.

However, the majority in our gardens are now Spanish bluebells: these can be larger, the splay of the bells being wider, the colour more of a pale lilac, the stems standing up straight, the leaves thicker and broader.  They are also invasive.  They not only take over a good deal of ground, but they hybridise with the English bluebell, gradually wiping it out.  The real frustration is that most bluebell bulbs sold now are either Spanish or hybrids (labelled as English) …

Needless to say, at Sun Rising we are doing our best to keep to English bluebells, which means over the past week and the weeks to come, we will be removing any bluebells that turn out to be Spanish.  We’ve noted the graves that we’ve removed them from, and in October will plant some native English ones instead.

Our plea is, please, do not plant bluebell bulbs unless you are positive they are English – you may have to wait a few years for them to flower, and then it will be disappointing if they then need to be removed.  At our Planting Day in October, we will have plenty of English bluebell bulbs to share, which of course will be available to those who can’t make the day itself.   If you have any queries, let us know!

In the back of my mind, I recall young Dickon in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden calling daffodils ‘daffodumdillies’.  It’s a word that has stayed in my mind – it is so full of spring sunshine, energy and appreciation.  As I’ve not read the book in forty years my memory may be wrong, but what is certain is how strong the daffodil is in our English consciousness, how powerful it is as a signal of spring, of the sun returning, of hope and new life.

As a nature reserve, the only daffodils allowed at Sun Rising are the native Narcissus pseudonarcissus, the Lent lily.  These have pale yellow petals with a darker yellow trumpet, fine grey-green leaves, and in height they are usually no more than 6 – 8″.

Lent Lilies beneath Memorial Trees

As a burial ground, it’s hard to stop families planting daffodil bulbs.  We supply many hundreds each October, but some cultivars still creep in – sometimes large blousy daffs, sometimes the beautiful little golden ones.  Sadly, to keep the integrity of the nature reserve, we do remove them, and this is a task for late March and early April.  This year we’ve been more fastidious than previously, and for the first year we have removed every bulb that flowers to show it is not the native Lent lily.  It is wonderful to look around and see nothing but the wild daffodils.

And in October, ever cultivar removed will be replaced with one of the beautiful native ones …  As the years go by, there’ll be more and more, as spring comes, with all its promise of new beginnings.

As the days grow warmer and longer, some of the creatures who have been hibernating at Sun Rising are waking.  Here’s a beautiful picture taken by David of a small tortoiseshell on goat willow catkins, taken by the pond.   This butterfly is in great condition after its winter sleep.

Small Tortoiseshell on Goat Willow

The air doesn’t quite smell of spring yet, but we’re almost there …

Many ask why we named the burial ground Sun Rising.  Our answer is, of course, that it is a local name: the part of the Edge Hills escarpment behind us is called Sun Rising Hill, and the name felt appropriate, suggesting the promise of dawn after the long dark night of grief, the promise of spring after the cold of winter.

In reality, we have so many wonderful sunsets at Sun Rising, but very seldom do we have the special light of sun rise – the hill being so high that, by the time the sun breaks its horizon, it is already broad daylight.  However, now and then, in winter, the light that creeps over the hill is golden.  Here’s a view of the roundhouse on a day of thick frost, just as the sun is breaking over the hill.  The teasels (out of focus in the foreground) are still offering the occasional seed to interested goldfinches, but these will soon be cleared.

The Golden Light of the Sun Breaking Sun Rising Hill

The first snowdrops are now flowering at Sun Rising.  Most are little white droplets, but the sturdiest are opening their petals.  If you look carefully, you’ll see primroses in flower as well, and the catkins on hazel and silver birch.  A new year of growth is just beginning.

A rather beautiful creature has been seen at Sun Rising over the last few weeks of the Christmas period: a perfect white dove.  This little fellow has brought real delight, with many families telling me wonderful stories – of the dove sitting on the top of the roundhouse, or landing by a grave, or on the path before them.  In many ways, on cold grey difficult days, such a sight can seem magical, a sign of peace, a miracle.

White Dove on the Roundhouse

You can see the dove puffed up here in the photograph, trying to keep out the cold.  Of course, this is not a wild bird.  There are a good few organisations that offer ‘dove release’ for special occasions; some use trained homing pigeons, strong birds in good condition which, when released, circle two or three times to get their bearings before heading straight home.  Others, however, are not so reputable.  This lovely white bird is the only survivor of three that were released at Sun Rising before Christmas, and I’m amazed that he is still alive.  Our birdfeeders are certainly helping, and perhaps the good will of all those who have seen him at Sun Rising, giving thanks for his calm quiet presence.

The transition into winter has crept in slowly this year, perhaps because the dry cold of November allowed autumn’s leaves to remain on the trees longer than usual.  Now, however, there’s no denying it: winter is here.  After clear starry nights, the white of deep frost remains, lingering throughout the day in areas the sun doesn’t reach.  Not long after three in the afternoon, the silence of dusk descends over the landscape.

Frosty Leaves in Young Woodland

At Sun Rising we’ve been tree planting.  Over half of our memorial trees have now been planted, and a new copse planted near the top car park.  The frosty ground has meant it hasn’t been too muddy, and beneath the top few inches of cold ground the soil is perfect for planting.

On clear winter days like these it is easy to find beautiful moments: frosty leaves, the fieldfare eating rose hips, the dunnocks and wrens visible in the bare hedgerows where they’ve been hidden all summer.  The trick will be to continue finding those beautiful moments when the clouds return and the days become damp and grey …