Meathman's Diary: Weeping Willow keeping us all in the picture
We've a weeping willow tree at the bottom of our front garden. At least I think that's what it is. And for 49, 50 weeks of the year it does bugger all really, just loafs through the seasons without putting in any effort and generally staying out of the way.
Then in May...Showtime!
At the same time every year, the buds on its bending branches sprout yellow dashes and then, with each passing day, the show of colour gets stronger, the weeping drops of yellow get richer and my forgiveness for the rest of the year when it just wasn't arsed fully blooms. Summer has arrived.
Sometime back in the early 2020s I took to dragging herself and the kids down to the tree for a family photo beneath its hanging, fragrant flowers. With half of the clan suffering hayfever the photos tend to be hastily convened affairs where invariably one craytor is looking for a tissue while the other is shooting a sullen glare at the camera through pollen puffed eyes.
I love the tree and our pictures and the silly tradition of it. "Nearly time for the snap, girls...another day or two and she'll be in full bloom." I've gone full old fart dad now, I know it, the kids know it and herself well knows it, but I also know beneath the teen rebellion and faux 'do we haaaaave to' replies, they like these annual stocktakes too.
Covid was a great leveller for that sort of thing. Capture the small moments when you can, you will want to savour and look back on them later and laugh at the changing height differences of parents and children - the shifting balance of power.
Yet this last year or two, this May garden gathering we do has also brought about a tinge of sadness for two reasons.
Every year we come together for the family photo beneath the flowering drapes, we've stopped to listen to the glorious drone of the bees filling their boots with pollen, drunkenly flopping from one bulbous blossom to another creating the most wonderful noise in the process. We'd pick a quick moment to dip our heads in for the snap before leaving the bees to their business.
However, and I'm not imagining it, the last few years has seen a distinct drop off in the number of amber and black visitors to our little pollinating oasis. The bee buzz cacophony is but a distant memory and the sight of just the odd bumbler with the tree to itself leaves me closer to weeping than the willow. Where are they? I miss them. We all miss them.
The second reason is I suppose is more straightforward. I know the time will come when my annual May Day snap won't be possible when the little people in our home become bigger people living elsewhere. I can take some solace in knowing that may not be for a few years yet and anyway, just like the bees, they'll always be welcome beneath that weeping willow tree at the bottom of our front garden.
Best not to dwell on that now, the sun is out, time to get that photo done.