And along came Spring

Spring

In contrast with the horrendous weather in last week’s post,there were also mild Decembers, more like Spring.

“Such a Christmas day a Monday, in point of temperature, has been rarely (if ever) known, with the thermometer at 60, a southern breeze, and sunshine, rather resembling May than December.”

The Stamford Mercury, 29th December, 1837.

“The present season, as compared with the severe winter of last year, offers perhaps a striking contrast as could be produced from any page of the annals of our chageful climate. Last year, look wherever we would, we met the frowning and chilling evidences of the universal dominion of frost and snow. Nowe, it is true, the forest trees are naked, but our shrubberies are as luxuriant and flourishing as in sommer, while the roses, sotkc, polyanthuses, rosemary, &c., still look gay in the garden. The hills and fields are full of interest for the Botanist. One would almost imagine that Spring, born before due time, was lifting her infnat voice to call back Autumn, that they might together banish the rugged Winter – for the plants of both seasons are thickly scattered amidst the rant and verdant grasses. Aged-looking buttercups (we call them by the name that brings back happy chilehood, and eschew the harsh names of science) are actually found surrounded by new daisies, opening their beautiful begemmed faces upon us wherever we tread, The large crimson thistle still lingers, and on the same ground the new buds of the bright yellow furze are unfolding into blossom. The small plants common to each season, – the primrose, the groundel, the white and red archangel, the chickweed, and the dandelion, – are rank by every hedgerow where these is any shelton. The lichens are, in general, rotted with the wet, but nothing can equal the velvety beauty of the mosses, to which the birds resort to pick their insect food: in gact,. so plentiful is the ground food of the feathered tribe, that the red fruit of the hawthorn and dog-rose remains on the bushes almost untouched.”

The Stamford Mercury, 5th January, 1838.