The syringa (Philadelphus) is another foreigner, which early shows autumnal tints—yellowing on 27th September. Then follow some native trees: the beech and birch both turning yellow on 1st October, and being followed by the maple on 7th October. I like the motherliness of the half-grown beech, who refuses to drop her dead leaves in autumn, hoping (as I imagine) that they will shelter her tender leaves in the chilly springtime. The older beeches give up this anxious care, and
doubtless laugh among themselves over the fussiness of young mothers. They forget, no doubt, that in the scrub at the feet of their own boles the habit persists.
With regard to the fall of leaves, the sycamore begins to lose them 2nd October; birch and cherry, 8th October; maple and walnut, 12th October; aspen, 13th October; beech and elder, 13th October; ash, 14th October; Lombardy poplar and Virginian creeper, 18th October; honeysuckle, 22nd October; hazel, 26th October; elm, 28th October; whitethorn, 30th October; plane, 3rd November. Judging by a single observation of Blomefield, the larch is the last performer in the drama of autumn. It turns yellow on 8th November, and its leaves fall 15th November.
Blomefield [3] records that on 29th November the trees are “everywhere stript of leaves,” so that some sort of colour-drama has been in progress from the middle of September to the end of November. It may be objected that what has been said of autumn is but a catalogue of names and dates. And this is true enough; but when we realise the glory of autumnal decadence, it seems (however baldly recounted) to be a fitting prelude to the great outbreak of new life—green leaves and bright flowers that spring gives us.
In Blomefield’s “Calendar” the difference between December and January is exaggerated. For, as it stands, it suggests that plants know that a new year has begun, and all burst into flower
on 1st January. But that careful naturalist points out [4a] “all those phenomena which are referred to 1st January, as the earliest date, may be considered as occasionally showing themselves in December of the previous year.”
The plants that bloom in winter, i.e. December and January, are few enough. The Christmas rose gives us its white or pink flowers in December, and the primrose may flower in the first days of January—indeed, I seem to remember it in Kent before Christmas, but I will not answer for it. According to Blomefield, the honour of being the first plant to awake must be given to the honeysuckle (Lonicera caprifolium), which unfolds its leaves between 1st January and 22nd February, i.e. on 21st January on the average. This bold behaviour is all the more to its credit since it is said by Hooker [4b] to be a naturalised plant.
Then follow in order the flowers of furze, hazel, winter aconite (Eranthis), hellebore (H. fœtidus), daisy, and snowdrop; so that the winter flowers make a most pleasant show, and tempt us to raise January to the rank of the first month of springtime—but we must allow the credit to be justly due to winter. In winter, too, we must be grateful to the ivy of the bare hedgerows shining in the sun, its leaves glistening like the simple jewels of a savage.
With February, we are agreed that spring comes in, but it is a springtime that keeps something of
the graveness of winter: though, when the silver sunshine begins to be decorated with the singing of birds, we must call it spring.