Wet in the Woods

There was dense icy rain in the Lanark Highlands all weekend, and the temperatures were only a few degrees above freezing, but off I went anyway in wellies (barn boots), waterproof trousers, a multitude of sweaters and a rainproof poncho — soggy or not, there was a compelling need to wander in the slowly greening woods for several hours.

Returning home on both days, I was bedraggled, soaking wet, weary and chilled to the bone, but bewitched and beguiled by the way Spring is progressing in my rain washed Two Hundred Acre Wood — there are small green leaves, ferns and tufts of grass coming up everywhere — there is a whole wild symphony of rushing water in the gorge below the beaver pond — there is a fine musky perfume composed of old wood, invisible roots, good fresh earth and deep composting leaf matter in every forest hollow.

Nights were chilly this week, and I didn't expect to encounter galloping rhapsodic Spring in the countryside, but on my rambles in the twiggy world this weekend, I discovered Wild Columbines (Aquilegia canadensis), grasses and ferns growing out of the steep rocks along the trail and the first clumps of blooming (but sodden) Dutchman's Breeches (Dicentra cucullaria). By next weekend, the hillsides in Lanark will be awash in colour. This too is celebration. ■