With Christmas behind us, Covid doing its worst, dark mornings, short days, heavy snows and floods it is sometimes hard to see past the the doom and gloom we hear on television. With the media taking joy from infecting us with ‘Blue Monday’ tales a plenty there comes a time when you just must close your ears to this, take a step outside and infect yourself with nature to find your own joy. Even a few short moments can be uplifting and give you the power to embrace the positives with a fix of awe and wonder that the earth provides.
It is always an absolute tonic to me when signs of Spring appear and the reassurance of the green shoots of the early flowers reveal to us that they are waiting in the wings and ready to put on their show no matter what.
Ever since I was a child my favourite of all these has been the Aconite, first to come onto the stage with its burst of vibrant yellow and green, its beauty and perfect timing that never fail to please. Today was no exception when I saw the familiar ‘head of golden hair’ peeping through the grass at my childhood home. What makes this extra special is that this little aconite was planted by my Dad when I was about 7 years old. So, when it flowers it also evokes special memories of him, another one of his many gifts to us all. There is a story to tell about how this came to be.
I went to a tiny village school and the curriculum was abundant with nature topics that all our learning revolved around. We kept a diary of the changes that happened to the playground sycamore tree each season, we collected wildflowers and learned nature poems by heart. One poem that I still recall probably around 45 years since I learned it is this one.
The Aconite by Jan Struther.
Earth has borne a little son
He is a very little one
He has a head of golden hair
And a grave, unwinking stare
He wears a bib all frilled and green
Round his neck to keep him clean
Though before another Spring
A thousand children Earth may bring
Forth to bud and blossoming-
Lily daughters cool and slender,
Roses passionate and tender,
Tulip sons as brave as swords,
Hollyhocks like laughing Lords-
Yet she’ll never love them quite
As much as she loves Aconite:
Aconite the first of all,
Who is so very, very small;
Who is so golden-haired and good,
And wears a bib, as babies should.
This was most definitely one of the first pieces of writing that inspired my creativity. Perhaps because of my personal love of nature, it had me hooked and I could just picture the Earth as the Mother idolising her favourite little one. I learned that day that words could be powerful and still every time I look at the flower, I can see a baby’s face beaming up at me.
Our task was to write out the poem, using a fountain pen in our best handwriting and then to illustrate it with a drawing. Mrs Chapman asked if for homework we could find some aconites and bring them to school for still life specimens. Unfortunately, not one of us knew where to find any. I reported this aconite drought to my Dad, of course to me there was nothing my Dad could not do. He had that look in his eye that told me he had a plan and the next day he came home from work with an aconite plant in a bucket and we planted it together in the garden. So, one happy little girl could not wait to get to school the next day but before I could share my news Mrs Chapman took us all outside to the foot of the sycamore tree to show us a beautiful clump of aconites. She winked at me when she said, “I have no idea how they got there” and I just smiled secure in the knowledge that nothing was impossible for my Dad.
My old school closed a long time ago and was made into a house. I cried at the time when they chopped down that beautiful sycamore tree that so many children had observed over the years but every January underneath the place where it stood the earth brings forth those beautiful little babies complete with their bibs just as they should.
