11. Moss from old woodland

Today was misty, drizzly and milder than of late - a west coast 'soft' day. To shake off a stressful morning I headed for the old woodland to look for signs of spring.

What I immediately noticed were sounds, not sights - beautiful birdsong from all directions, the sound of the woodland waking up again. Visitors to the Gardens often comment on the wonderful birdsong, the combined voices of robins, tits, blackbirds and many other species that will strengthen by the day until they reach a crescendo at the height of the nesting season in May.

The 'ship' ash tree

With no feather to be found as my natural object I picked some moss off one of my favourite trees in the wood, an ash that appears to be growing out of pure rock. Its trunk rises out of the limestone boulder like the mast of a ship sailing through the woods. The bottom of the smooth, grey trunk is clothed in moss, the same moss that many birds use to line their nests. A damp climate has some benefits and soft, green moss is one of them.

10. Hazel flowers

Miniature hazel flower

One of our February spring flowers is so tiny most people don't even realise it exists.

Catkins get all the attention at this time of year, but look carefully at a hazel twig and you can also see miniature red whorls on top of tiny round buds. These are the female flowers, and when fertilised by pollen from the male catkins the buds will grow into hazel nuts.

Brigit's Garden is close to the wide, spectacular landscapes of the West coast - mountains, bog and ocean - but the Garden itself is different. It is sheltered and green, with fertile soil and tall trees. It invites a more intimate connection with nature, a gentle noticing of stone and water, mossy corners and meadow flowers. It teaches us to slow down, open our senses and become aware of the wonderful detail in nature - and of small miracles like the hazel flower.

Multi-stemmed hazel trees with mossy glacial boulder

9. Spring crocus

If the name had not been applied elsewhere, spring crocuses could be called sunflowers. 

These crocuses in the Imbolc garden are like drops of distilled sunshine, wonderfully vibrant and bright in the sunken garden where everything else is still in winter browns and greys. Their narrow, cup-shaped flowers look as if they are reaching and stretching upwards, seeking the sun.

The crocus is not native to Ireland and does not feature in Celtic mythology, but I can't help noticing the links with the Brigit tradition. The pre-Christian goddess Brigit was strongly associated with the sun and fire, and St Brigit is sometimes depicted with a pillar of fire coming out of her head. The crocuses' yellow colour is reminiscent of butter, and the old Celtic festival of Imbolc in early February, now St Brigit's Day, is resonant with the symbolism of milk and cows, birth and maternity.

I imagine St Brigit strolling around her monastery garden in 5th century Kildare on a fine spring day, and the joy she would have felt had she seen a clump of yellow crocuses, the bright, sunny flowers proclaiming that life and spring had returned.

Apart from the crocuses, most of the Imbolc garden is still resting

8. Corkscrew hazel

Hazel catkins

It's catkin time. Yellow hazel catkins against a blue sky are, to me, pure joy. The first ones are just coming out, and soon they will clothe the many hazels around the Gardens.

Having spotted some catkins near the entrance I set out to walk to the old woodland and look for more, but ended up walking only five yards and found myself staring at our corkscrew hazel just outside the Visitor Centre.

Corkscrew hazel is a completely mad plant. Unlike most sensible trees whose branches grow relatively straight, or perhaps in gentle curves, the branches of corkscrew hazel spiral, loop, turn and double-back on themselves.

I bought this tree as a baby plant in 2003 because it made me laugh. We were creating the Celtic gardens at the time and the tree looked the way the process felt - it took all sorts of unexpected twists and turns, going this way and that way and sometimes even going backwards, but overall there was progress, a reaching towards the sun. Planting the corkscrew hazel and watching it grow reassured me that we would get there in the end.

Corkscrew hazel

In Celtic mythology hazel is the tree of wisdom, so maybe there is wisdom in the madness.

7. Mossy stone

Today the Garden was quiet, grey and windless.

The path through Esker Wood

I wandered through the young trees of Esker Wood;
trees we planted in the first community action on the land exactly 15 years ago. I am proud of this small wood of oak, ash, hazel and alder. It sits in the hollow of an old gravel pit and is one of the quietest spots in the Gardens.

But today I walked with a heavy heart as I had heard of the death of a friend. I wanted to find an object that had an eternal quality, that transcended the short span of human life. I found some beautiful, mossy stones and picked one up. It was a piece of Connemara granite, formed almost 400 million years ago in an ancient  volcano. The stone fitted in my hand, and although it was crystalline and hard it was softened by the moss growing on it. Holding it was, somehow, comforting.

6. Pussy willow

There was snow on the Connemara hills this morning, just visible from the top of the stone chamber. The cold spell is still with us and winter and spring continue to tussle with each other. Last night winter was winning and we awoke to a frosty morning, the earth hard and white. But as the morning sun touched each twig and stem, each blade of grass, white melted to warm gold and it was spring.

The first pussy willow this year

 I walked past a pile of willow trimmings and saw that spring was here too as the first silver-grey buds of pussy willow were beginning to open. Pussy willow deserves its name - these gorgeously silky catkins are as soft to stroke as a purring cat.

In complete contrast to strong, solid oak, willow is supple, pliable and thin. Cut a stem and it sends out multiple new shoots, push the cut stem into the ground and it will root.  You can bend it and weave it, and make it into baskets and seats and cradles.

The living willow 'fedge' cut back for the winter

Willow is an important part of the weaving of the garden design in Brigit's Garden: the island shelter in Samhain; the woven basket swings; the 'fedge' (both fence and hedge) between Samhain and Lughnasa; and the living green tunnels for children to run through. Willow is a reminder that flexibility and adaptability can produce great beauty and strength.

5. Oak twig

Morning sun touches the earth woman in the Samhain garden

The old oak tree

Today was one of those bright, wonderful days when you can't help feeling the joy of early spring. Winter still crunched under my feet as I walked on the frosted grass but spring light illuminated the tops of the trees as the sun strengthened. The mossy old oak on the edge of the woodland seemed to glow in the low morning sun.

The oak is Brigit's tree, and this particular oak is a special tree. It has, like Brigit, a triple aspect - its trunk splits into three just a few feet off the ground. This is probably because it was nibbled by an animal as a young sapling several hundred years ago, but it gives it a symbolic presence. Oaks of course have been sacred trees in many cultures from the Mediterranean to the Celtic countries. They are associated with wisdom, strength, kingship and magic; druidic ceremonies were held underneath them, and St Brigit built her monastery in Kildare, Cill Dara, the Church of the Oak.

Frost on last year's oak leaves

As I walk I think about the notion of trees being sacred, a long tradition in Ireland but little thought of today. What have we lost? How would we change our behaviour to the environment if we remembered the sacred nature of living things? Standing under this beautiful tree I pick a twig and feel grateful for being here.

4. Rushes

Flooded rushes by the lochán today

The humble rush says a lot about the Brigit tradition.

Green clumps of rushes are a sign of poor, damp land and are disliked by farmers, yet the rush is central to an ancient and sacred tradition - making Brigit's crosses. Simple plants are transformed, with intention, into meaningful objects.

No silver or gold or precious jewels in these crosses, just the products of nature woven by groups of family or friends around the fire and hung in the home for good luck and blessings.

My bunch of fresh-picked rushes

The relationship between people and the land is at the heart of the Brigit tradition - and of the Celtic calendar, which celebrates the seasons of the agricultural year. The Brigit's cross is an ancient symbol for the sun, and Brigit's Day on 1st February heralds the growing strength of daylight and the first animals coming into milk.

However many crosses I make, the simple ritual of picking the rushes and weaving them together always brings with it a precious sense of connection to the land.

The finished cross