Vaucluse Dreamer

Over the years, I’ve almost become fanatical about looking for the first signs of Spring here. Those little things that lift my heart after the short, cold and drab winter days, promising lighter evenings and warmer days to come.

The first sign here is always the little clump of Siberian Irises along the lane, which start to show their pale purple buds in mid January, the remarkable, delicate blooms appearing despite the freezing temperatures and bringing the first splash of colour to the verges.

I am always delighted to see them, but I know there is then a lull; a moment, when Mother Nature draws her breath, uncertain of whether to throw herself wholeheartedly into the new season. The buds on the almond trees start to swell, but almost seem to stop, as if they are waiting for a signal announcing the right moment to throw all their energy into opening, and showing the first of the year’s pale pink flowers to the world.

There are two almond trees on the old road between Apt and Bonnieux, which are always the first to flower, and each year I wait to see the pale pink haze appear around the bare branches, visible from several bends down the road. Bizarrely for the last 2 years, it has been 3rd February, when I have spotted the first tentative blooms on the south-facing branches of the tree. As if this is the day to announce that Spring has arrived (and yes I appreciate that it is a bit odd to keep track of the days like this)

It’s always the pink blossoms that appear first, with the white flowers (on a tree about 100m further down the road) following its neighbour a few days later.

These tentative, early blooms seem to be the catalyst for everything else to throw its energy into the new year. The verges start to be dotted with colour, with the pale yellow, velvety faces of the Field Pansies smiling from between the grasses

Together with clumps of purple violets..

With an occasional display of the white version for variety..

The bright flowers of Speedwell open, creating vivid spots of sky-blue amongst the fallen leaves.

And the first Field Marigolds bring splashes of sunshine yellow to the landscape too..

Yesterday, even the first royal purple Flag Irises were in flower on a particularly sunny bank, at the top of our afternoon dog walk. So early, but so beautiful.

It’s not just the flowers that I look for, but I eagerly await the changes in birdsong too. Throughout Winter the area is quiet, with little noise from the birds that dart between the bare trees. But at the end of January, all that changes and the first tentative dawn chorus’s start again, as if the birds too are singing in delight to celebrate the lengthening days.

The rapid staccato rhythm of Woodpeckers break the silence of our morning walks and the muffles seem to be removed from the air, the birdsong travelling between trees, rather than tumbling quickly away to the ground, as if the notes don’t have the energy to get any further in the heavy, winter air.

Our dog walks are now in the light, rather than the half-light of early and late mornings, and I have to be out of bed and throwing the shutters open a little earlier each day, to watch the sky-blue-pink of the sunrise too.

But then of course, there is the biggest sign of all. The number of layers that I have to wear, when we head out for a bike ride. In the depths of Winter, it takes me quite a while to get ready to go out on the bike and the whole process is akin to wrapping a gift for a ‘Pass the Parcel’ game at a well-attended children’s birthday party. One-by-one the thermal and practical layers get added to the point that I look like the cycling version of the Michelin Man and I’m almost exhausted by the time we head out, but at least (for the most part) I’m warm.

I love the first days that I can leave a layer or two behind; not wear a snood and even feel comfortable with opening the top of the zip on my jersey. It feels as if I am being released from a heavy winter corset and can start to breathe freely again. And that has happened over the last couple of days.

Firstly, I found myself stopping half-way up a hill to take a layer off and tie it around my handlebars, but yesterday I simply left them behind and it was a joy. I know its ridiculous, but it seems easier to turn the pedals, and with each turn my grin becomes a little wider.

I know there is still a chance that Winter will come back and bite us hard, as last year we woke to heavy snow on 27th February, so I won’t pack everything away again quite yet.

But for the time-being I’ll keep enjoying the little bit of spring I have in my step now, watch for the early Orchids to appear and listen for the first sound of the Hoopoes too.

It won’t be long now