Galanthus

A day for mothers. It occurred to me that there are a number of small celebrations of fertility in the approach to Easter, the great spring festival of rebirth and renewal. St Valentine's Day is one, a celebration of sexuality hidden beneath bows, cards and pink chocolate. And there is Mothering Sunday, when mill workers were given time off to visit their mothers. It used to be associated with Simnel cake, I think, as Easter now is; so perhaps the generosity of the mill owners was a forced response to something older, deeper, one of the many pagan streaks running through British custom. In celebration we drove to Galanthus, an art gallery in the Wye Valley, to see the fields of snowdrops; Galanthus is the Latin name for the snowdrop family. A bright cold day, the light on grey tree trunks soft and dry. Herefordshire has many ancient trees and we drove past Moccas - a Welsh name submerged by English usage - which has some astonishing trees, squat toad-like trunks and amputated limbs lying next to the bodies. I have never lived anywhere with such beautiful trees.