I’d never been in a bluebell wood before.
This weekend, the weather has been a bit wild. Or more precisely, wild in spots. We’ve had grim skies crowded with dark clouds. Rain has bucketed down. As has hail. And there’s been sunshine. Mad, beautiful sunshine breaking through and making everything shine. It’s been hard to know what to expect.
We also had the promise of a school-free Monday which made the weekend feel long and lazy. On Saturday morning, the Spouse wanted to explore. Friends had mentioned a wood north of town where bluebells grow in the spring. There would be carpets of them, they said, and great den building. My kids are all about den building. It looked a little far to go by bike, so we pulled out the city bus maps and sorted a route. A quick stop downtown to grab picnic ingredients and away we went. Parts unknown ahead.
The bus took us up through the suburban fringes of the city, and as we got closer to the woods, the skies looked threatening. Once we got off the bus, hail started. Blue collected hailstones – for his pockets, he told me – but he soon let them go when he discovered how cold they were to touch.
Plum was reluctant to walk, so I helped him climb into his stroller. I wished he was still small enough to cuddle up under my raincoat and doze the rotten weather away, but now he likes to run and wants to have the stroller along so that when he gets tired, he has the option to ride. I told him this time that was fine as long as there was a sidewalk, knowing full well that wouldn’t be very long. I worried about soggy shoes and miserable kids.
The sidewalk led us to a gravel pathway beside a row of houses, across a small stream and then into a field with horses. On the map, it was marked Castle Mound, but I must confess that the horses distracted us from taking a proper look for any castle remains. Like us, they were wearing raincoats and seemed ready for lunch, nosing towards us insistently. The kids were nervous, but the footpath led right through the field, and we continued on. I’ve since discovered that you can see the mound where an ancient castle once stood, though now it is covered with camouflaging bushes. I even found mention of a story of the Devil himself creating this mound of earth, though the reason when and more importantly why seems to have been lost somewhere along the way. Perhaps in the bushes. Or nibbled by the inquisitive horses.
Beyond the horses, the hail stopped and the wind began to die down. We found the pedestrian bridge leading up and over the highway, then a path through another field where the whole wide world opened up. The sun shone through a break in the cloud, and suddenly the grass was impossibly green. I’m not sure who took off their raincoat first, but it seemed like a good idea and we found a spot not yet in the woods where we could lay them down like make-shift picnic blankets and tackle lunch.
Then, up and into the woods which were as blue as promised. Sun-dappled blue. Spring-awakening blue. Stained-glass window, Presbyterian blue, surprising like robins’ eggs or blue as eyes.
Blue as new.
Yesterday morning, I was chatting with a friend at church about our walk and how beautiful everything was. She smiled and told me that those were the woods she loved as a child. Always carpets of blue in the springtime. Always space to run.
It’s beautiful how one person’s memory can be another’s newness. Maybe beauty works that way. Old streams for new pilgrims.
