Yesterday saw us inadvertently exploring remote parts of Lincolnshire, our home county. We took a wrong turning in the car, which is easily done in our “outback”. Single track roads with no passing places are always entertaining when meeting the odd motorist daft enough to travel these ancient tracks and lanes.
The wonderful thing about this particular slice of English countryside is that I am instantly taken back to my childhood days of huge, wild hedgerows and small grassy meadows; a time before the fashion for monstrous open fields became the norm. And although it is not quite officially spring here in the UK, the world has a distinctly spring-like feel to it. The hedgerows are itching to burst into their unkempt green spring splendour; and the birds are twittering with excitement that winter is almost over.
Like most British rural counties, Lincolnshire has its fair share of sheep, and of course, spring lambs at this time of year. The ones in the photographs were spotted at Spridlington, close to my parents’ farm.
So it’s official in my midlife mind. The longest, coldest UK winter we’ve had for many years is over. And spring is here, with its snowdrops, crocuses, daffodils, lambs, birdsong; and the promise of green-ness. What joy.
