Welcome, Spring

I revisited another old favourite of a walk today, taking in Wickerstreet Green, Kersey Vale, Hadleigh Heath and Polstead. In the clearest sunshine, I took the bridlepath from Cox Hill in Boxford towards Bower House Tye, up the long, South-Downs-like hill with views on either side, past the sheep field where I sometimes see a barn owl hunting and left on to the footpath towards Wickerstreet Green.

The weeping willows are just putting on their first veil of lime green. To me, this always signals spring has finally arrived. The blackthorn are well into their flowering season, but they often get off to such an early start that their promise of spring is rarely reliable. The old expression "blackthorn winter" is apt to describe those days in March which turn out bitterly cold, sometimes snowy, just when you think winter has ended.

The track to Wickerstreet Green starts off as a wide swathe of grass, still soggy in places from the recent rain, then narrows and narrows until it becomes a tunnel through overhanging trees.

Here and there, primroses grow in perfect little posies. It might sound whimsical (which surely I must be allowed in early spring), but they seem to be waiting for a passing bride to pick them up, already arranged for a walk down the aisle.

I dashed along the road through Wickerstreet Green, keen to get back on to the footpath and away from the interruptions of traffic. The path towards Kersey Vale has lost its signpost, but for anyone wanting to find it, it is a right-hand turn about 100m beyond the last house, over a particularly muddy patch and along the side of a cultivated field. A left-hand turn over a wooden footbridge is still marked by a yellow arrow. The path continues along another field and out on to the road at William's Green.

A right turn, then right again took me to a track on the left which heads off across more fields towards Hadleigh. For some reason, I always find this track has a strange atmosphere. Perhaps it's because there is a "secret" turning to find, on the left, marked by the remains of a post and a just-about-visible yellow sign, or perhaps it's because I once found myself inexplicably lost here, heading along the side of a field I didn't recognise. For a weird five minutes, I couldn't find my bearings at all - there was no sun on that day to give direction and the sweetcorn crop was shoulder high. It might as well have been the Amazon.

Today, there was no problem; the secret turning appeared in its usual place. The path ducks through another tunnel (a big thank you to the landowner who, since my last visit, has removed a large fallen tree which was blocking the path). I emerged into another field, on a grassy verge with the field boundary on my right. I knew I had to find a gap in the hedge with a wooden step down into the continuation of the field I was in before the "secret" turning.

Going left, I paused to admire the distant view of Kersey church, shining almost white in the bright sunshine. The path leads past a plantation of shrubs, cover for game birds, then down across the middle of a field of growing rapeseed and into the valley. The pale, sandy soil, still ridged by the traces of last season's plough, stretched towards a vanishing point which seemed much further away than it really was in the bright light.

Left along the stream, then across another wooden footbridge over the stream, which has recently been cleared of all its undergrowth. Some steep steps lead up to a sloping field, the path running along the bottom, next to the stream. Sometimes I continue my walk here by turning left and following the stream along a small road to a turning on the right on to a wide, grassy verge. This route takes me eventually to Aldham Church, a longer walk which I have written about before in this blog. Today, however, I didn't trust that the long, ploughed hill I would have to take towards the A1071 would be passble, so I turned right instead, up the very steep (for Suffolk!) track towards the road, emerging nearly opposite Coram Street.

From Coram Street, I took the cinder track on the right, the rooftops and shiny-scaled church steeple of Hadleigh spread out in the valley below me. At the four-way crossroads, I took the path towards Hadleigh Heath and the Halfway House. Rather than go back on to the road here, I followed the footpath along the top of the field and was surprised to meet several other people, walking and running. I don't think I have ever encountered anyone here before, as the path is not easy to find and it is some way from Hadleigh and Polstead.

The field at the end of the path had recently been ploughed. It looked like a brown sea, with waves frozen in the act of breaking. Luckily, the mud had dried to a crust, so I didn't have to extract my boots after each step, but I found myself hopping like Peter Rabbit from the top of one furrow to the next.

Turning left at the road, then right towards Polstead, I left the road again on the path to the left, shortly before the road towards Polstead Heath. The sky is wide and open here and in places no buildings can be seen. Some wispy clouds had appeared to add interest. It felt a long way from anywhere. It could have been a real wilderness.

Turning right, I followed the path along the edge of the field, then took the strange little path along a ledge by the side of a stream. It leads to a pond which suddenly appears, totally unexpected.

Left at the pond, along the side of a garden, takes you back on to the road towards Polstead Heath. Here I took the path across the fields, which I sometimes avoid at this time of year because they are difficult to cross when they have been ploughed. Having already tackled one ploughed moonscape today, I was ready for another, but instead I found a dry, sandy path through a winter cereal crop.

Back on to Potash Lane, then right, along a hedgerow said to be 800 years old. Its many species of plant were still lost in winter leaflessness, although the blackthorn was well out in flower, along with the odd hawthorn leaf, impossibly green and vulnerable-looking against the tangled black and brown branches. A long, but unavoidable haul along Holt Road, dodging the frequent traffic, led me back to Whitestreet Green.

My first walk of real, early spring, my favourite time of year, when the whole of nature is just powering up to renew life on Earth. Powers in the human world in recent years have formed a habit of betrayal at this loveliest time of year, but at least we can rely on one governing force that doesn't let us down.

This is a hand-drawn map of my route, but if you have access to Ordnance Survey online maps, you can find a downloadable version of the full map. Look for "Womanwhowalks" routes.