Bluebell Woods by Jennie Hart

 Bluebell Wood                                                             Photo: Jennie Hart

The bluebells adorn the woodland glade with a soft glimmering sheen. Their beauty is in the blueness and a subtle enveloping perfume. These are English bluebells not the strong-growing, upright Spanish type. Their tiny bells hang delicately on one side of the flower stalk, not all around, and the tip of each spike tilts gently over.

  We came to these bluebell woods last year for the first time and last week we came when the bells were barely open. Today, the flowers are fully blooming in the dappled glade.

  Despite the cold wet winter, the ground where we walk is hard and dry with just a few boggy patches. It’s a lovely walk, pleasantly warm with splashes of sunshine streaking through the newly clothed branches of birch and hornbeam. Few sun’s rays penetrate the dense beech canopy; much of the forest is dark and atmospheric but never gloomy. Even so, the clearings are a surprise and a contrast from the shade.

  Some leaves have not yet unfurled. The soft white blossom of sloe appears before its foliage and oak is still in bud, much less advanced than hornbeam. Bracken still lies dormant in brown crispy drifts with no green fronds uncoiling yet. Some holly berries still hang precariously on branches, but will soon fall.

  Spring is magical in the forest but that first freshness lasts only a moment.

February Dales by Kay Yedole

The Kings Arms welcomed us in inclement weather.

Nestled in beneath the hills and beds of scented heather,

a welcome fire and friendly faces greeted our arrival

and prompted us to wine and dine to ensure survival.

settled in our cosy cottage, oh so sweet,

we carefully chose the paths to suit our feet.

Our walks would need to be safely planned,

as February can bring a cruel and soggy land.

Next day we trekked along a trail,

managing to dodge the rain and hail

finding welcome signs of food and beer,

where we rested weary limbs, and found good cheer.

Next day, muted sun struggled to appear.

Again we set off hopeful without fear.

Through the grey veil of mists in Swaledale

And white wisps of wool from Wensleydale.

The weather prevails but we carry on

knowing once the day is done,

once more we 'll warm ourselves in front of fire

and sip more beer and wine and food of Yorkshire.

Another day,  we climb the gentle slopes and dale

To gain yet  another view of misty vale.

We return to sup some beer and good pub fare

cosy now and red-faced from fireside glare.

The warmth of this place, its people too,

will stay fondly in our hearts and on our stomachs too.

We'll travel home contented and full

Snugly wrapped up in Yorkshire wool.

Pontesford Hill by Jennie Hart

The view from Pontesford Hill                                                  Photo Jennie Hart

There were vicious sprawling briars either side as we climbed the long steep track. We saw a good few dark bright brambles that were mostly small but very sweet. They displayed themselves tastefully on the tips of  branching prickly stems amongst dark green leaves whilst further back along the straggling branches, were many leaves that were brown and crumpled, the colour of red sandstone.

Pontesford Hill is a nature reserve and a bird sanctuary. Amongst the tall trees there are kestrels and sparrow hawks, buzzards and woodpeckers, but although we heard indistinct birdsong, we didn’t see the songsters. When there are no humans encroaching on their territory these beautiful birds must fly from tree to tree, occasionally descending to feast on the succulent fruit.