On the Forthcoming Bluebells

The Penglais forest that borders the housing developments on the north side of the A487 (Penglais Rd.) is a more scenic way to campus. It is out of the way, but on days like we've been having, a few minutes out of the way to be surrounded by newly budding foliage is worth it. Especially in the spring when the forest floor becomes covered in bluebells. This is in no way a hyperbole: the things will spread and cover the forest floor, and, as the website linked above indicates, dominate the ground foliage.

That said, the bluebell is difficult to keep alive. As Conservation Volunteers of Northern Ireland note, "Humidity is a key requirement. It is intolerant of trampling, heavy grazing, water logging, deep shade and does not compete well with vigorous grasses". Essentially, these plants need the perfect amount of sunlight, but not so much that grass can grow. It needs to grow in a place where people and animals don't go. And there needs to be a fair amount of moisture in the air. Like the giant panda or the ficus tree, this is yet another species on the planet that seems to want to die.

Sadly, I was early. The bluebell shoots were fully bloomed, and it seems like a matter of days or so until the first blossoms start to materialize. The forest was still quiet pleasant: quiet, removed from the traffic of the street, and just starting to show signs of life. Some of the more prickly bushes had already blossomed, but these dense, angry plants tend not to shed their leaves and thus can blossom earlier.

The walk through Penglais Forest took me through PJM, my old stomping grounds from last year, and this was a sort of melancholy happenstance. As it was, my mind was in a retrospective mood, remembering how much I liked walking through that forest last year. When I lived in PJM, I tended to use the forest path to get down to the town, saving myself the hassle of clouding my lungs with the car exhaust of the A487. There is a lot about that forest that I had forgotten about: the neat clusters of gnarled trees, the gently rolling path, and the quietness of my surroundings.

Then, as I was walking through the parking lots around PJM, I thought of how I would relay this to Erika. And I was washed over with sadness. That forest held some importance in my relationship with Erika. I arrived her in January, and used the changing of the seasons to demarcate the time I had spent away from her. She came to visit me around this time last year, and the arrival of spring signaled the arrival of the woman I would later ask to marry me. One of the first things Erika and I did once in Aberystwyth was to walk through that forest.

There are some days I don't think about Erika at all. And then, like today, there are days I am constantly reminded of her; days where everything I see reminds me of her, or I see things I want to tell her. But, like with the bluebells, I was left disappointed in this regard as well. More than likely, I won't ever tell Erika anything ever again.

But there is another way to read this metaphor (which is the nice things about metaphors): every year, for several hundred years now, the bluebells have blossomed, lived, and then died. Every year, though, they come back, carpeting the forest floor. It would seem, then, that all good things return eventually. This loneliness (separate from my life with Erika, and a life filled with bluebells) is only temporary. It's not something that can be rushed, but with patience and persistence, I will then be rewarded with an amazing experience.