It had been a very long, bleak winter. Storms had battered the west coast of Scotland; day after day of rain, bitter cold and wind strong enough to knock down power lines, I’d had my fill of winter. We had been lucky enough to have a good load of snow for a few days, but being on the coast it usually melted soon enough. Everywhere was always dark and miserable – the daylight too short and the nights too long. And yet, without fail, Spring always catches me by surprise each time. The clocks are put forward and I wait with bated breath, as if expecting the sun and every creature to burst out in full bloom. But the rain persisted, and just as I had lost any hope for any signs of spring… the leaves began to unfurl. Tentatively. Like dipping your toes into the sea just to check how cold it was.
Before I knew it, Spring had leapt in.
I found myself getting completely overwhelmed with how fast life had managed to emerge after such a grueling winter. Even the most battered of trees from the Winter winds had soft, velvety leaves softly uncurling in the growing warmth. Celandines and Daisies soon peppered any patch of green grass, tilting towards the Sun sat within a piercing blue sky. Every walk with Roscoe was slower as I took my time to admire each sign of life. I pause at each tree adorned with fresh leaves to run them between my fingers. The leaves haven’t hardened yet – still that soft, satiny feel that feels like you’re gently rubbing the ear of a lamb.
Everywhere I looked there was suddenly signs of life filling every gap. I was so used to months of dead bracken, grey skies and mud puddles, that to see so much colour was mind-boggling. Something I appreciate so much about Spring is the sweetness of seeing everything return to its fresh, green warmth, regardless of how cruel of a winter it was. Lambs soon filled the fields, bounding and tripping over lush green grass. To my sheer excitement one evening walking Roscoe, a fleet of Swallows sat along a phone wire overhead. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, blinking up at them and rubbing my eyes to see if I was correct, and soon enough they took off, their forked tails silhouetted against a Cerulean sky.
Of course, I always tend to see the best views and wildlife when I haven’t got my camera with me. And with the incredible weather we have been blessed with and the return of all the best that Spring has to offer, my camera has been attached to my hip 24/7. It’s stuffed into my work bag even on a closing shift incase there is a sunset worth photographing, or if I’m lucky the resident dog otter may make an appearance down the pier opposite.
I don’t know what isn’t to love about Spring. People seem infinitely happier too – trips into town are filled with the smell of perfume and sweat, a flurry of summer dresses, shorts and ice cream. Seagulls in their hundreds, perched like feathery assassins preying on anyone taking their eye off their chips long enough for an attack. Buskers perched at each street corner, music and laughter filling each crevice in the cobbled streets. God, I love it.
The nights are long enough now that I don’t even want an early bed – which is unheard of from me. On nights off Roscoe and I disappear down to the beach with our Crabbing kit about 8pm to see if we can catch anything. As it stands I haven’t yet, and Roscoe keeps eating all my bait. Sitting on the rocks, waiting to see if anything takes, the water laps at our feet and a Cuckoo calls from the forest opposite. Despite my bad luck, the nights themselves are glorious. The setting sun creates a shining golden warmth, and at the right angle the rays just catch the ends of the Silver birch branches, making them Auburn in the dying light. Bluebells have even started to slowly emerge, but they seem a little more hesitant to fully unfurl and relax, similar to the ferns that coil tight still like Ammonites.
I always put myself under a subconscious pressure to enjoy this part of the year. Winter always feels so long, especially on the West Coast which is infamous for constant rain and grey clouds. It seems to drag forever, and I get lost in the slow days and weeks before suddenly it’s almost May. And the Swallows have arrived, and the Lambs and the Cuckoos. Then we’re almost half way through the year, and everything is at its peak for what seems like a second before the fresh green leaves start turning brown in the dying warmth.
I’ve made it my mission to investigate every single scrap of sun and life Spring is offering this year, Roscoe and camera in tow. It’s so easy to let it slip by you in the usual day to day, especially on days after late work nights where sometimes I really can’t be bothered to be out with Roscoe. But I force myself to crane my neck up and notice all the fresh leaves and birds. The Swallows eating up all the damn midges (our unsung heroes here in Scotland), the calls of the Cuckoos and the Corncrakes flying overhead as they make their way over to more rural islands. I can’t bear the thought of all this life eventually dying away, as is the cycle of the seasons. If it was up to me, we would stay in Spring permanently. Where the sun isn’t too hot and all the migrating birds stay, and the flowers and lambs remain within the lush green fields.
I know that’s impossible, but the thought is nice. For now I’m perfectly happy with just keeping my camera with me as often as I can to admire all that this Spring has to offer.
Tide Notes 