A spring in our step, at last.

Each month we've been out on one of our favourite local walks, partly because we like it so much, and this year, just for fun, to track the seasonal changes. You can follow our previous months' walks by clicking for January, February and March if you want to. We were a little later walking it this time, in April, but perhaps the extra week provided more of spring than if we'd headed out at the start of the month when it was still absolutely freezing.

The most apparent thing this month was the curious combination of winter and spring - sprinter perhaps? Maybe climate change will bring more of these seasonal combos.

The trees are still bare.

The view up the Bybrook Valley is resolutely remaining much the same as it has for previous months this year. You could be forgiven for thinking that I am reusing the same old photo.

The Bybrook Valley, 7 April 2013.

March 2013

February 2013

January 2013

Thankfully there are signs of new life. 

The woodland floor is carpeted with wild garlic or ramsons, and thanks to our handy Onya bags, we picked a bagful for our supper. It's virtually impossible for any foraging foul-ups on this one - the smell of garlic wafts through the air where it is growing, and if you're still not sure, breaking a leaf will release a garlicky aroma. 

Primroses are growing.

Son's favourite 'lying on the ground' style of photography.

My more traditional style...

The daffodils are out.

And the birds are singing. We saw a willow warbler and a dipper flying down the river. I was especially pleased to see the willow warbler as I had only just read here that although the cold weather may result in a spectacular late spring, it may also have resulted in many summer migrants, including willow warblers, perishing on arrival here in the UK.

Best of all, it was finally warm enough to linger. Warm enough for playing Pooh Sticks.

Warm enough for some members of the party to have an extended paddling session.

And warm enough to sit by the river for a cup of tea and a piece of Simnel cake.

"...and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea." (Mole sitting by the river in The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame).