28. Cowslips

The first wave of summer colour has washed over the meadows.

A sea of cowslips in Little Meadow

It is the vibrant pale yellow of cowslips and I am thrilled to see them. Cowslips are one of our lovely meadow flowers that have been in sharp decline due to modern farming practices. When nitrogen is added to a  meadow the grasses grow vigorously, the flowers cannot compete and a bio-diverse tapestry of colour is changed into a uniform green.

In our meadows we are doing the reverse and the cowslips are spreading and thriving. We actively reduce the fertility of the soil to encourage the wild flowers. In Little Meadow and parts of Esker Meadow we removed some topsoil with a digger, and every autumn  the meadow is mowed and the cuttings removed. It is working, and that is why I am so happy to see the cowslips. Ten years ago we planted one handful of seed saved from my home garden, and now they are popping up everywhere, bringing delight to the eyes and adding to the biodiversity. Welcome, cowslips!

Cowslips and plum blossom in the meadow area of the Imbolc Garden

27. Ash flowers

Fluffy ash flowers

Ash is one of the last trees to wake out of its winter slumber. This week the bare branches of the many ash trees around the Gardens have sprouted masses of dark, fluffy structures. They are the flowers of the ash, which, like blackthorn blossoms, come before the leaves.

Tall and elegant, with pale grey bark and curved twigs, ash is known as the Lady of the Woods. In summer its distinctive pinnate leaves create a delicate tracery against the sky, giving it a distinctly feminine appearance. But these trees are tough ladies - they are vigorous growers and prolific seeders.

Celtic Buddha under the ash tree

Many sacred trees near holy wells are ash. The tree has a rich mythology, with its roots in the lower world and its branches reaching up to heaven.

In the glade behind the Celtic Gardens the beautiful 'Celtic Buddha' sculpture by Linda Brunker sits under a magnificent ash tree with twin trunks. Buddha is supposed to have found enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, so perhaps ash is the Celtic equivalent.

In the midst of a busy day I imagine the kneeling figure, quiet and still under the spreading ash, and feel a sense of peace.

26. Tulips

Summer has come early this year and the Garden basks in April warmth. The stunning pale green of new birch leaves catches my eye.

And then I notice the tulips in pots at the front door - open, beautiful, reaching upwards - and I wish I was a tiny fairy that could fly into them and lie out in my orange hammock, soaking up the sunshine.

25. Burren pebble

The low, limestone hills of the Burren lie 15 miles south of Brigit's Garden, on the far side of Galway Bay. A closer look reveals an intricate landscape where human and natural history weave together, a place of fertile soils and stunning flowers dotted with sacred sites from megalithic dolmens to Christian churches. It was a source of inspiration for Brigit's Garden and today I re-visited some of my favourite places.

At the foot of Abbey Hill lies Corcomroe Abbey, a small monastic settlement from the 12th century. It is a beautiful and peaceful place. The ruins seems to be part of the landscape itself, as if the local rocks had gathered together and re-arranged themselves into walls, archways and gables. It speaks of a spirituality rooted in simplicity and nature.

On the other side of the hill is a holy well, and next to the well is a rag tree - a hawthorn in a sacred spot on which people have hung prayers and intentions for generations. It is still used, adorned with ribbons, personal mementos, and even the plastic lids of coffee cups carefully hung from the branches. My friend suggested making Brigit's crosses, so in the absence of rushes we made them out of montbretia leaves and hung them in the tree. It was a simple act, and a reminder of the connection with nature that is at the heart of the Brigit tradition and the Garden.

Later, I picked up a sea pebble from the Flaggy Shore, looking north across the bay to Connemara and the Garden. The pebble is like the Burren in miniature - rounded and made of limestone, the pale lines of fossilised sea creatures like the horizontal contours of the hills. I held it in my hand and felt grateful for this beautiful and special place.

Water in the holy well reflects a blue sky

24. Gorse

A heady scent of coconut wafts over the bog - the gorse is in bloom. Gorse bushes always have one or two flowers visible, hence the old saying 'When the gorse is out of flower, kissing is out of season', but in April they erupt in a magnificent show of bright, buttery yellow that spreads its exotic perfume over the countryside.

There is another side to gorse - the dark green, thorny spines that grow instead of leaves.  I am aware of them today, as one of our staff is seriously ill. In the midst of growing light the darkness intrudes; under the bright flowers are harsh barbs, the shadow side comes to the fore.

Gorse offers one more metaphor which may bring hope. If cut down to its roots or damaged by fire, it is extra-ordinarily resilient. It will come back strongly and burst into life again, with a proliferation of new, soft and, for the moment, thorn-free growth.

23. Blackthorn blossom

Blackthorn blossom

Blossom time has started, a joyous season when the whole Garden bursts with life. Blackthorn leads the way with cherry close on its heels, to be followed by apple, pear and plum until the hedges turn white with hawthorn blossom in May.

The Latin name for blackthorn is Prunus spinosa - it is a member of the plum family and is certainly very spiny. It grows wild in the hedgerows around the Garden and is easy to spot in April when the small, white flowers open on bare stems ahead of the leaves.

These blossoms will develop into sloes, the purple fruits like hard, miniature plums that my father collected to make sloe gin, the traditional country liqueur that warms the heart on cold winter days.  I look at the white flowers against a gorgeous blue sky and think about the meaning of 'blossoming' and the cycle of the seasons, how spring flowers lead to autumn fruit, and  how allowing ourselves to blossom now will surely result in a rich harvest later on.

Cherry blossom and daffodils in the Imbolc garden

22. Pasque flower - Easter

A perfect Easter Sunday with warm spring sunshine, no wind, and the Garden full of children looking for clues on our annual Easter Egg Hunt.  I think the Garden likes children, and they certainly like the Garden. One of my motivations for founding Brigit's Garden was to give young people a place to discover nature. Like many of my generation, I spent much of my childhood mucking about (as we used to call it) in the woods and fields and along the sea-shore.  It was an accurate term - we were happy, free and often mucky. In Richard Louv's seminal book 'Last Child in the Woods',  he coined the phrase 'nature-deficit disorder' to describe the problems experienced by so many modern children who are cut off from nature. It made a lot of sense to me and I always love to see kids having fun with nature in the Garden, whether it is fairy games in the wood or bug-fishing in the lochán.

Easter also means the pasque flower is in bloom. Also known as the Easter flower, this lovely creation of purple, yellow and silver-grey radiates colour in the Imbolc garden in April.  Easter is the time of resurrection, so my Easter wish is to banish nature-deficit disorder and resurrect nature-based wellness.  To fill our lives and our children's lives with pasque flowers, daffodils, clouds, wild storms, forests and all the joys, wonders and challenges of nature. To remember that we are all, in our true natures, wild at heart.

21 Wood anemone

A beautiful green carpet, starred with white, has popped up on the woodland floor under the hazels - the wood anemones are in bloom. I think they are my favourite spring flowers, bright and delicate with  yellow centres and finely-cut leaves. Wood anemones are sun-seekers, the white petals opening wide to embrace the sunshine and closing again when the sun goes in.

These lovely flowers are a sign of ancient woodland and suggest that our small wood may be a fragment of a much larger old forest. I like that idea. When we were looking for land to buy for Brigit's Garden I walked through this wood for the first time and felt a deep sense of rightness about it, that this was the place. We were very lucky to find land that was at least partly 'unimproved', where a small wood like this had been left standing.

Every time I take the narrow path among the ash, hazel and birch trees I find myself re-living that sense of rightness. This is a place to slow down and relax, surrounded by moss and lichen, smooth bark and rough bark, old stones, tall trees and tiny new ones. And, for a few precious weeks in April, stars around my feet.