What is a Bluebell?

Bluebells are in the Asparagus family, their Latin name is Hyacinthoides non-scripta.  It’s no surprise that they’re relatives of the garden hyacinth, they share the same heady scent.

They are monocots; a division of plant that includes all the grasses, lilies, orchids, and tulips.  Shared characteristics include leaves with parallel veins, the distinct growth pattern of a seedling from a one-grained seed, fibrous roots, and flowers without differentiated sepals and petals.  These in-between structures are known as tepals.

Monocot plant variety with seedling in centre

Bluebell Hyacinthoides non-scripta

The native Bluebell can grow up to 30cm tall.

It has glossy green strap-like leaves which are 7 – 15mm wide, with a pointed tip.  They can be 45cm long and there tend to be 3 to 6 leaves per plant. These start erect, but may flop and twist as the plant grows.

Illustrating a Bluebell leaf

The flowers are all on one side of the stalk, which often curves and droops at the top.  When mature, individual flowers dangle; as buds they can be more erect, often flushed with green.

Sketchbook study of Bluebell flowers

The flower shape is bell-like, but with parallel sides, and only opening at the mouth of the flower.  Each flower has 6 tepals, and tepal tips are strongly recurved which gives the plants that distinct frilly appearance.  They tend to be a deeper, darker blue than other Bluebell species.

Bluebell flower Hyancinthoides non-scripta

Anthers and the pollen they produce is a pale cream.

This matters because there are other species of Bluebell which can be confusingly similar.

Spanish Bluebell Hyacinthoides hispanica

The Spanish bluebell has flowers that grow all around the stem, and which point upwards.  They are often a far paler blue than H. non-scripta.  At maturity they gape with a much wider mouth than the native species.  Anthers are dark blue.  Leaves are significantly wider, up to 35mm across.

Spanish bluebell Hyacinthoides hispanica

Hybrid Bluebell Hyacinthoides x massartiana

Recently botanists have come to the conclusion that most flowers sold, and grown in gardens, are not Spanish Bluebell at all, but various hybrids.  This is because there is so much H. non-scripta pollen in the air that cross-fertilization, and back cross-breeding is almost inevitable. (Cumbria Botany – Telling Bluebells apart)

Hybrid Bluebells have erect stems with flowers growing all around them.  The mature flowers may droop, but don’t dangle vertically down as with H. non-scripta.  

Flowering spikes of native Bluebell H. non-scripta vs  the Hybrid Bluebell H. x massartiana

The mouth opens wider than the native species, but less wide than H. hispanica.  Tepal tips don’t curve back on themselves as much as with H. non-scripta, and anthers and pollen vary in colour from blue to dark grey, to a dirty pale yellow.  The flowers have a far weaker scent than the native Bluebell.

Hybrid bluebell Hyacinthoides x massartiana

For more on this, check out these useful guides to telling Bluebell species apart: Webidguides, and Cumbria Botany.  My Telling bluebell species apart blog, may be useful, although readers should substitute “Hybrid Bluebell” for “Spanish Bluebell”.

Flowers of H. non-scripta and H. x massartiana

Other names for Bluebells

Bluebells and Bluebell woods have been a part of the landscape in Britain for hundreds, or thousands of years.  They have a vast array of alternative names including English harebell, Wild hyacinth, Cuckoo’s boots, Granfer griggles, Witches’ thimbles, Lady’s nightcap, Fairy flower, and Cra’tae (Crow’s toe).  In Welsh, it’s Clychau’r Gog which translates as “Cuckoo’s bells” and references the fact that Bluebell flower around the same time that the first cuckoos come in from over-wintering in Africa.  (It’s important to note that the true Harebell Campanula rotundiflora is in a totally different family, it’s not even a monocot!)

Ancient oak woodland with Bluebells

Folklore of Bluebells

These flowers have long been associated with fairies and folk lore.  It’s said that if you pick a Bluebell flower the fairies will lead you astray, and you will be lost forever.  If you hear a bluebell ring, a bad fairy will visit you and you’ll die soon after.

Native Bluebell H. non-scripta

On a happier note, in the language of flowers they represent humility, gratitude, and constant love.  If you can turn a Bluebell flower inside out without it tearing, you will capture the heart of your one true love.

Bluebell Hyacinthoides non-scripta in pencil

Finally, if you wear a wreath made of bluebells, you will be unable to lie.  Worth remembering.  (All these folklore facts come from the Woodland Trust’s website.)

Uses of Bluebell

Bluebells have been put to some unusual uses over the years.  In the Bronze age, arrow flights made of feather were glued on with Bluebell paste. Bookbinders used glue made from Bluebell stems.

Starch-rich Bluebell bulb

Elizabethan times saw enormous ruffs and collars which had to be starched.  Bluebell bulbs did the job perfectly.

Although Bluebells contain poisonous glycosides and can cause contact dermatitis, they have been used medicinally in the past.  They are diuretics, causing an increase in urination; and styptics too.  Styptics stop bleeding.

Pencil illustration of native Bluebell with specimen

The perfume industry sells perfumes claiming to be Bluebell scented, but the fragrance has proved too delicate and complex to reproduce commercially.  Bluebell perfumes are derived from their cousin, the hyacinth. (Premierpeu).

Bluebells and the law

When you walk through a woodland in April or May, it seems extraordinary that Bluebells need our protection.  But they do.

Bluebell wood with Redstart

Since the 1981 Wildlife and Countryside act, it has been illegal to dig up any bluebell bulbs in the UK.  It is also illegal to trade in H. non-scripta seeds and bulbs.  Although not against the law, it’s unnecessary and destructive to pick hand-fulls of the flowers.  Not only does this deprive insects like butterflies, bees and hoverflies from early spring sources of nectar, it also damages the leaves.  Once trampled, leaves struggle to recover and can no longer photosynthesize.  So tread with care!

Bluebells as indicators

The Bluebell is an indicator species, growing in areas which were once ancient woodland.  If you see native Bluebells growing in a field or by the side of a road, it’s proof that the area was once wooded with broadleaf species like Ash, Oak, Beech, and Birch.  They thrive in woodland over 400 years old, and are invaluable for ecologists trying to map habitats, and habitat loss.

Illustrating a Bluebell (bulb illustrated from 18th C engraving)

Kew gardens has been tracking the first opening of a Bluebell flower for 50 years, and use this data to help understand climate change.  Bluebells are opening 2 weeks earlier than they did 30 years ago.

Conclusion

Despite threats of habitat loss, climate change, and hybridization; Bluebells remain a firm fixture of the British countryside.  With over 50% of all native Bluebells growing in the UK, Bluebell woods are a visual treat to savour, and be proud of.

Bluebell Hyacinthoides non-scripta

The post Bluebells appeared first on Lizzie Harper.

This one of the Cow parsley,  Anthriscus sylvatica, was recently done for FOR in Sweden.  It accompanied a large sheet of sketches of the same plant.  To learn more about Cow parsley, and how to identify it, check out my blog.

There’s also a Youtube film that accompanies this blog; please find a link at the end of this blog, or click here to access it.

You’ll notice that this habit sketch is less accurate than many of my illustrations.  This goes with the territory.  There’s only so much detail you can cram into a 20cm tall illustration of an entire plant, and individual petals and leaf veins don’t get a look in.  However, if you want to show a whole plant, rather than one portion of it, then a habit sketch is the best way to do this.  Alternatively, you can use a much larger format and work on a plant portrait which will be more accurate and less impressionistic.

Completed habit sketch of the Cow parsley

Habit sketch:  Pencil rough

The first thing to do when confronted with a habit sketch is to learn as much as you can about the plant.  I gather lots of specimens, and consult various botany books.  these include A Flora of the British Isles by Clapham Tutin and Moore, The Wildflowers of the British Isles by Garrard and Streeter, the pen and ink drawings of Stella Ross-Craig, Collins Flower guide by David Streeter, and (in this case) the BSBI Handbook: Umbellifers of the British Isles.

Once the plant and botanical information is collated, I draw up a pencil rough that shows each important element to its best advantage.  I use mechanical Pentel P205 pencils with an H or HB 0.5mm lead.  I draw directly onto my watercolour paper, in this case hotpress Fluid 100 by Global Arts.

One of the reasons why I use Fluid 100 is because it’s quite good at allowing you to erase your pencil lines after you’ve painted on top of them.  Various papers will, or won’t be good for this.  The way I paint means that it’s important that a paper will give up the graphite but not the paint pigments once I’ve completed an illustration.

Cow parsley pencil rough (with basal rosette and stem details)

Are leaves alternate or opposite?  Are upper leaves noticeably different from lower ones?  is there a basal rosette of leaves?  How are the flowers carried on the stems?  What does the root do?  All this information needs to be given by the illustration.

Habit sketch: Leaves

Once the client has approved the roughs, you can start adding colour.  I begin with the leaves, outlining them in green.  Winsor and Newton are my favourite watercolours, and I use pans topped up with tube colours.  I mix sap green, some cobalt blue, and a bit of cadmium yellow light together.  I keep the paint quite thick and dry at this point.  Carefully, using my trusty Series 7 sable brush (size 1), I follow the pencil lines of the leaf edges.  This approach is the same as I use when painting ferns and bracken.

Outlining the leaves

I observe my plant carefully, and add some variation to the green hue.  The central leaf is a little paler and brighter green than the others – I add yellow to the mix and outline it with this new colour.

Different greens are used to outline the leaves

Habit sketch: Top washes on leaves

Once these initial lines are dry, I add water to the greens to make them lighter and more dilute.  Then, using the same brush, I pop blobs of this watery green onto the leaves.  I love the crisp edges watercolour gives if you allow very wet paint to dry, and this is the effect I’m after here.

Watery green top wash is applied very wet

Because of the midrib veins and the way the leaves are structured, you’ll often see one side of a leaflet is darker than the other.  This needs to be included in the habit sketch.  You can either do this by going over the darker, shaded side with two layers of top-wash; or you can use a different and brighter colour for the top-wash on the lighter side of the leaflet.

Putting the first wash onto only one side of each leaflet

In this case I’ve done both.  I added some yellow to the top-wash, and covered the entire leaflet with this mix.  (I’d made sure the first and darker wash was completely dry first.)  Allow the paint to dry completely.

Two different colours of top-wash used on the leaflets

Habit sketch: Painting the stems

I actively enjoy painting stems because it’s so easy.  Mix up the right colour (as always, check with the plants in front of you.  It’s so important to keep referring to the plants you’re illustrating if you want to get details such as form and colour right).  This is a sap green plus a little yellow ochre, perhaps a touch of blue, and plenty of a clear bright yellow such as Cadmium light.

Then just outline the stems, following the pencil lines.  You can apply a little more pressure to one side of the stem than to the other.  This helps suggest a light source, and shadow.  Traditionally in botanical illustration, the light source comes from the top left, so the heavier lines are to the right of each stem.

You can also add ridges, furrows, or textures with simple lines if that’s appropriate for the species you’re working with.  With Cow parsley, the stems are ridged, prominently so towards the base of the plant.

Outlining the stems

Once the illustration is completely dry, dilute the colour you used for the stems with plenty of water.  Then simply put this watery wash over your stems and allow it to dry.

Putting a watery top-wash onto the main stem

Habit sketch: Painting the flowers

With habit sketches, the precision and detail of each flower is compromised in an effort to represent the entire plant.  So there are no individual petals to portray, just the frothy mass of flowers that constitute each umbel (or flowering head).

Illustrating white flowers is really hard – you need to show their form without making them look like they’re another colour.  For more on this subject, check out my blog or my Youtube film.  In this case, the shadows cast by each umbel are going to be key, and will be what we use to represent some tonal depth.  As with the leaves and stems, out light source is from the top left; so the shadows will fall from the right hand side of each umbel.

To ensure the flowers look clean and white, I mix a light blue.  Cerulean blue is light and bright enough.  Dilute it to a very pale tone, then pick out the shadows with the tip of your brush.

Adding shadow to the flowers

I work from the top of the plant downwards.  this helps me avoid resting my hand in wet paint and smearing the illustration.  Series 7 brushes are expensive, but they justify their cost by holding their tips.  When you’re applying tiny amounts of pale paint to the nooks and crannies of an illustration, the accuracy you can get from your tools is really important.  For more on my choice of paintbrushes, click here.

Applying blue to show shadow in the central flowers

Habit sketch: The root

The root tends to be included in a habit sketch, specially if it’s an important diagnostic feature of the species.  Please note that it’s illegal to uproot flowers in the wild – I happen to have cow parsley growing in my Aunt’s garden, and she was happy for me to unearth a few plants to get at the roots.

Illustrating these tap roots couldn’t be easier. In exactly the same way as you tackled the stems, outline the root.  I mixed some Vandyke brown with yellow ochre.  Remember to pick out the texture and root hairs, too.  Once dry, dilute the mixed colour and pop the watery top wash over the whole root.  Done.

Putting a top-wash on the Cow parsley taproot

Habit sketch: Adding shadows

Now the illustration is more or less complete, it needs shadows to bring it to life.  I favour a mix of purple and cobalt blue, sometimes with a dash of Vandyke brown.  Using this, and being really careful not to go too dark too fast, I pick out the darkest shadows.

This is an important stage.  Judicious application of shadows can help clarify muddy or messy areas of a sketch.

Adding shadows to clarify a leaf’s structure

I always put shadows below each flowering head, and frequently pick out the tips of leaves to help the eye find the edges of the illustration.

Again, because the scale of the illustration shows an entire plant, you’ll find it hard to accurately represent the shadow details on each portion of each leaf.  This is one of the drawbacks of a habit sketch.  I often find myself trying to pull in more detail than is possible.  there has to be an element of “giving the impression” of a plant when it comes to habit sketches.  I’ll admit to struggling with this looseness at times.

Fixing mistakes

Inevitably, sometimes when we paint we make mistakes.  Quite often I’ll think that a stem I painted is too wide, or perhaps a top-wash has overflowed an edge.  There’s no need to despair.

Using white gouache to fix mistakes

I use Winsor and Newton white gouache, permanent white, to fix my mistakes.  I use it really thick, straight from the tube or mixed with a tiny amount of water.  It helps sharpen up messy edges, or will hide a mistake.  It should be noted that using this is fine for your own work and for work that’s going to be reproduced (it doesn’t show up on scans); however, if you plan on selling your original artwork then the use of white gouache is frowned on.

Conclusion

And that’s it!  The illustration is finished.

Last step is to erase the underlying pencil lines.  If you’ve got a good hot press paper, you should be able to do this without damaging any of the paint (no, I don’t understand why this works either).  I’d suggest going easy on the rubbing out around the flowers as the only marks suggesting them are the pale blue shadows and the pencil.  A tougher approach can be used on the stems and leaves and root.

Hopefully, this illustration immediately suggests an entire Cow parsley plant growing in the wild.  Habit sketches tend to accompany much more detailed botanical illustrations which help clarify exact structures of stem, root, leaf, fruits, and flowers.  I find them pretty hard to illustrate, but exceptionally useful when it comes to identifying wild flowers in the field.

And now, I hope, you’ll have some idea of how to go about creating your own illustration of an entire plant; your very own habit sketch.

Completed habit sketch of Cow parsley with paint box

To see a real-time film of me completing this illustration and discussing the process, please check out the film below.  Thanks.

The post Habit sketch of Cow parsley: step by step appeared first on Lizzie Harper.

Sketchbook studies

All the botanical illustrations I do for FOR are in a sketchbook format.  I love working this way; it gives me the opportunity to include tons of details alongside a larger illustration of the whole plant.  Over the years I’ve figured out what elements I need to include for each plant, so can figure out the composition before getting started.  In general, details of flowers, fruits seeds, roots, and a cross section of the stem is needed.  These elements need to be accompanied by a habit sketch, a full colour image that shows the entire plant growing, and close ups of any unusual characteristics that the plant may have.  I always include written notes, as much to jog my own memory as to help the viewer.

Cow Parsley Sketchbook study Anthriscus sylvestris

Another appealing thing about the sketchbook studies is that you can leave parts of the illustration unfinished.  This gives me the opportunity to get into really intense detail on things like an individual leaf, or one bract.  The pressure to have the entire drawing completed in full colour is gone, which makes the process more relaxing.

Cow Parsley in the spring

For those of you who have been in the British countryside in early June, you’ll already know all about the Cow parsley.  If frothes up along hedgerows, spilling tiny white flowers out into rarely-used roads and paths.  At the same time, the May blossom is out, so you often have the wonderful sight of lots of white blossom curving down from the shrubs and trees, being met by the Cow parsley flowers growing upward from margins of fields and lanes.  It’s very beautiful.

Drawing the Cow Parsley

Umbellifers, like Cow parsley, are a real challenge to draw.  I’m sure I’ve moaned about the challenges before in blogs on Hogweeds.  The problem is that the plant is often really tall and leaves spread widely from the stem.  However, each element of the plant is tiny.  The flowering heads are made from hundreds of tiny individual flowers.  the outermost ones are zygomorphic, meaning their outermost petals are a different shape to those of the internal flowers.  The leaves are divided, or pinnate.  Sometimes divided several times over, as with the Cow parsley.  This results in very beautiful and feathery leaves.  But combining the size with the detail is very difficult, hence my aversion to all members of the Apiaceae (or Umbelliferae) family.  I love the way they look.  I live in fear of being asked to illustrate them!

This commission came in at the height of Cow parsley season.  I spent a morning gathering perfect plants, taking photos, and considering the best approach to the illustration.  Once home, I pinned an entire plant up against the trampoline in the garden, with a sheet behind.  I always take photos at the same time, sadly plants don’t live forever and some wither within hours of being picked.

Cow parsley set up to draw in the garden

Cow Parsley: Flowering times and leaves

Identifying Cow parsley is easy, mainly because of when it flowers.  It’s the earliest of these white-flowered umbellifers to bloom, especially in the southern UK.  And it’s certainly the most common.  Look for it from early April through June; by July all you’ll see is some basal leaf rosettes and seed-heads.

Cow parsley sketchbook study done back in 2015

The leaves set the plant apart from other common and similar species, such as Hogweeds.  They are 2-3 pinnate, which means they’re divided into leaflets, then each of these leaflets is sub divided.  It gives them a feathery, fern-like appearance. They tend to be a muted spring green, although can be tinged red or yellow when stressed by drought.

Cow parsley leaf variety and plant overview to show difference between small upper and large lower leaves

Leaves either grow from a basal rosette at the bottom of the plant, or alternately up the stem.  Lower leaves are borne on long, broad stalks, higher up the plant the leaves have far shorter and thinner petioles.  The big basal leaves can be up to 30cm, with individual divided lobes measuring 10 – 30mm

Cow parsley: Stems

Stems are gently ridged, and hollow.  They don’t have blotches of colour like some other Apiaceae species.  The stems can grow from 50 – 150cm, making this quite a tall plant.  Stems tend to be slightly downy at the top, and hairless down by the base of the plant.

Cow parsley stems

Cow parsley: Flowers

The frothy flowering heads of this plant family are umbels; these are lots of little groups of flowers carried on stalks or rays.  Each umbel has 6 – 12 of these rays which are about 2cm long.  The arrangement of flowers has males in the centre and hermaphrodite flowers around the margins.  Unless you’re inclined to get your hand lens out, this won’t be immediately obvious, although you’ll certainly see a difference in size between the inside and margin flowers.

Cow parsley flowers and detail of a small umbel seen from above

Each flower has 5 white petals and is 3 – 5 mm across. A whole umbel measures 10 – 60cm, but there’s plenty of variety.

There are no bracts right below the flowers, but some appear lower down.  Sepals are there but are so tiny as to be inconspicuous.  There are 5 stamen and 2 thin stigma.

The outermost flowers are zygomorphic which means their petals are of different sizes.

Cow parsley: Fruit

Fruit are 6-9mm long and carried in pairs.  They start green and become brown at maturity.  Each one has a short beak-like tip.

Cow parsley seeds

Conclusion

Why do I love Cow parsley so much?  Well, it’s a combination of factors.  The delicacy of the frond-like leaves is visually very pleasing.  The mass of scented flowers smell of the countryside.  And the way Cow parsley lines lanes and hedges is a harbinger of warmer days, and long golden hours spent revelling in an English summertime.  So, for all of these reasons, and despite the issues with detail and scale, I’m happy to go on learning and drawing this gorgeous plant.

Illustration completed for FSC guide to Flowers of Walks & Waysides

Please see my step by step Youtube film below

The post Cow Parsley: All about an Umbellifer appeared first on Lizzie Harper.

Hawthorn Crataegus monogyna is one of the commonest trees in the British countryside, ranging from the far south to all but the most northern areas.  Although there are tons of mature hawthorn trees, both in woodland, fields, and uplands;  you also see it in hedges and scrub-land.

This tree provides one of my favourite sights in mid-winter.  A branch of hawthorn, still heavy with crimson berries, festooned with the pale ashy greys and greens of lichen is a thing of real beauty.

The trees can live for hundreds of years, often all that’s left of a long-vanished hedgerow.  Sometimes growing in harsh climates, their twisted and gnarled shapes make individual trees into landmarks.

Identification: Tree shape

Hawthorn trees are a modest 2 to 10 metres tall.  They have a straggly habit, often with emergent branches.  They often appear alone, perhaps on a limestone outcrop, or in the middle of a field of grazing sheep.

Having been used for centuries as a hedging plant, they frequently appear along field margins; both within hedges, and as remnants of hedgerows which have long since been neglected.

They’re easily identified by their spiny branches.

In winter, these can be confused with the branches of the Blackthorn Prunus spinosa which also bear spikes, although Blackthorn branches tend to look darker and more condensed than the hawthorn.  Also, the buds of Blackthorn grown on the spines themselves, whilst those of hawthorn emerge from the same point as the spines.

In summer and autumn, it’s hard to mistake a hawthorn for any other species.  The distinctive leaves, white flowers, and crimson berries make it a simple tree to identify.

Identification: Leaves

Hawthorn leaves start out as a vivid, pale, spring green.  They become tougher with age, ending up a dusty dark green colour.  Undersides of the leaves are paler.  The leaves are deeply divided, and toothed.

They’re about 6cm long and are often asymmetrical from the main rib.  Leaf shape is highly variable, even between the leaves on one branch.  Leaves turn yellow in autumn, before falling, leaving the berries behind.

Identification: Flowers

Flowers are white or pink, with five petals.  Anthers are a pinkish colour, turning to purplish or brown.  These flowers appear in May (hence the hawthorn’s other name) and form frothy masses in the hedgerows.  They grow in flat-topped inflorescences.

Their smell is sickly sweet, and flies love it.  Lots of people think it smells a bit unpleasant, and reminiscent of death.  This is no surprise, the chemical trimethylamine appear both in corpses and in hawthorn blossom.  In fact, people used to say that the flowers smelt very similar to the stench of bubonic plague.  This probably accounts for the custom of never bringing hawthorn inside the house.

Identification: Fruit

The berries of hawthorn are crimson, with yellow-orange flesh.  They’re referred to as “haws”.   Each one has one big pip in its centre.

The haw skin is shiny, and can be anything from vivid scarlet to an almost purplish deep crimson in older berries.  The fruits are a great source of vitamin C, and can be made into jelly.  More importantly, they provide vital nutrients for birds such as Redwing and Fieldfare, especially in the depths of winter.

Identification: Bark

Hawthorn bark is grey brown, with lots of small scales.  As hawthorn is so prevalent, you may well see it in hedges and waysides where the plant may not be large enough to have a proper identifiable tree-trunk.

Similar species

The Midland hawthorn Craetegus oxyacanthoides can easily be confused with the common hawthorn.  Differences are that the Common hawthorn has flowers with only one stigma, whereas the Midland hawthorn bears two.  And (logically), the Common hawthorn has only one seed per fruit, whereas the Midland hawthorn has two.  Berries of the latter are a brighter red, and more rounded.  Midland hawthorn leaves are rounder, and less deeply cut.

Habitats vary too.  Midland hawthorn is more of a tree than a hedge species, and is more tolerant of shade.  It likes chalky soils and is often found deep within shaded woodland.

Most garden cultivars are Midland, rather than Common hawthorn.

History: Folklore

Hawthorn is thick with foklore and superstition.

I have a friend from Ireland who was furious when I put a hawthorn log on the fire, and opined that the “wee folk” would come and get me.  He was dead serious, and from the look on his face that was NOT something one wanted to happen, so I took the log off again.

There are many tales of Fairy queens and supernatural beings living in hawthorn.  To damage any part of the tree, especially of a lone tree, could bring down their fury with disastrous and fatal results.

As mentioned above, the smell of hawthorn is similar to that of a corpse, so it was not brought into the house.  To do so would be to invite illness and death in.  There’s a possibility that this referred especially to the Midland hawthorn, which was more prevalent in the 16th – 18th centuries and has a stronger smell than the common species.

However, boughs of May (hawthorn) would be put outside houses, and decorated with wild flowers.  Having the flowers outside was clearly not seen as a bad thing.

Before the Gregorian calendar was introduced in 1752, the month of May arrived a little later than it does now.  The timing of the hawthorn blossoming probably dove-tailed more accurately with the start of the month, and with May day.  The old adage, “cas’t ne’er a clout [vest] til May be out” refers to the blossom, not the end of the month.

History: Religion

There are many associations with pre-Christian religions.  Westminster Abbey is built on a site called “Thorney island”, after a sacred grove of hawthorn that grew there.

It’s the sixth tree of the Celtic Ogham religion, associated with love, protection, and the heart.

The flowers, coming as they do in the full burst of spring, have long been associated with fertility.  The Hawthorn tree was the precursor of the maypole.  Blossoming occurred around the time of the Celtic festival of Beltane.  Weddings often occurred at the same time, and there are records of boughs of Hawthorn being put on the beds of newlyweds to bring love and fertility.  How this tallies with the fear of inviting illness and death is unclear.

On May day, the May queen and the Green man would unite and bless the land with fertility for the coming year.  Hawthorn blossom played an important part in the ceremony.

Interestingly, the link between faith and the hawthorn did not stop with the onset of Christianity.  The crown of thorns and Moses’s burning bush are said to be hawthorn.

There’s also the legend of the Holy thorn of Glastonbury, planted by Joseph of Aramathea, who owned Jesus’s tomb.  He was also Mary’s uncle, and happened to be travelling with a chalice of Jesus’s sweat, and one of Jesus’s blood.  As you do.  Stopping, he thrust his staff into the ground where it grew into the Glastonbury hawthorn.  This plant (not, of course, the original tree) still grows on Glastonbury tor, and flowers twice a year; once in May and once at Christmas.  What Joseph used to replace his lost staff is lost in the mists of time.

History: Food & Medicine

Hawthorn leaves were eaten, referred to as “bread and cheese”, and haws were used for jellies and wines.

Medicinally, it was used in tincture to aid a whole slew of complaints: heart-trouble, anxiety, and loss of appetite.  In traditional Chinese medicine, it’s used to lower blood pressure.

Uses

Hawthorn has been used since the 16th century, when land enclosure first took off, as a hedging plant.  It forms spiky, impenetrable barriers.

It’s wood is hard and pale, and is used for wood-turning, veneers, and tool handles.  It burns at high temperatures, so is good for fire-wood and charcoal.  As long as you’re not worried by the folklore and superstitions, that is…

Young leaves are edible, as are the berries.  Berries are best made into jams and ketchups as they may cause mild stomach upsets in some.  Buds are delicious in salads.

It is a wonderful plant for both birds and insects. Not only can birds feed off the berries in winter, but the growth habit and thickets makes a perfect space for building nests.

Long-tailed tits Aegithalos caudatus in amongst Blackberry and Hawthorn blossom

Over 300 species of insect rely on the Hawthorn.  Moths relying on it range from the Lappet moth Gastropacha quercifolia, which resembles dead oak leaves as an adult, to the Light Emerald Campaea margaritata.  The latter turns up in my house on late summer evenings, and is a beautiful animal.

Bees, flies, and wasps pollinate the flowers and rely on the nectar.

Small mammals such as the Dormouse also eat the berries, which are packed full of anti-oxidants.

Hazel dormouse Muscardinus avellanarius with berries, (but not Hawthorn berries)

Hawthorn is a popular and wise choice for those wanting to encourage wildlife to their gardens.

Threats

Increasingly, hedgerows are being grubbed up to allow access to more efficient farm machinery.  Old hedges, which need a lot of maintenance, ore often replaces with barbed wire.

Hawthorn can be affected by fire blight, gall mites, and aphids.  However, there’s no suggestion that the hawthorn is about to disappear from out landscape, which is a big relief.

Conclusion

Hawthorn is common, and easy to recognise.  It’s flowers and berries make it a well loved tree and shrub, and it’s usefulness in hedging can’t be underestimated.  Providing a haven for wildlife, a wealth of history and folklore, and bearing edible leaves and berries; there’s a whole lot to recommend this tree.  It’s also very beautiful.

Sources for this blog include websites of The Woodland Trust, Trees for life, the Green Parent, and Naturespot.

The post Trees: Hawthorn appeared first on Lizzie Harper.

The first step is to draw up a pencil rough.  I use a mechanical pencil, such as the Pentel P205, and draw directly onto watercolour paper.  I use Fabriano Artistico hot press paper, which has a high cotton content, and a very crisp and smooth working surface.

It’s always easiest to work from live specimens as you can examine them, turn them over, and put them under a magnifying glass.  Although it’s autumn there are still dog rose hips and leaves to work from.  (It’s worth noting that leaf colour is often compromised in autumn, as the chlorophyll is less in evidence, thus allowing the yellow and red pigments to be more dominant).

I also use books such as David Streeter’s Collins Flower Guide, the brilliant illustrations of Stella Ross-Craig, the Hedgerow Handbook by Adele Nozedar, and my own sketchbooks for reference.  (See my blog on working without specimens for more on this).

I email the rough to the client who will suggest alterations and changes where appropriate.  In this case it was good to go without tweaking.

Painting the darkest areas of the leaves

First, I paint the leaves.  Mixing greens is notoriously tricky, and you should never trust a green straight from the tube or pan; they simply don’t echo nature’s palette.  I tend to favour Winsor & Newton watercolours , and always use a Winsor & Newton series 7 brush as no other brushes on the market hold their tips as well.  Mostly, unless doing minute hairs on stems (a 000 size brush) or a big watercolour wash (a number 2 or 4) I use a number 1 brush.

The green of the dog rose leaves is based on a hooker green light, mixed with cadmium yellow light and some yellow ochre.  It also has some blue in; to be honest I don’t keep a clinical eye on what colours I use; but will be sure there are some warmish purple-blues and some cooler green-blues on the go in my paint-box.   I guess a spot of something like pthalo blue does the trick.

I block in the areas of shadow on the leaves, examining my specimen the whole time.

Next, I’ll soften these areas by lightening the green mix, adding a little water, and a little bit more yellow.  I apply this wet mix over the area I’ve painted, ensuring that the lightest areas remain white.

Next, I mix up a yellower green which is used between the dark areas of the leaf and the lightest regions.  With a little more water and perhaps more of a brownish yellow (indian yellow or yellow ochre) I also use this mix for the stems.  I only paint one side of the stem, the one furthest from the light source (convention dictates this is the right hand side of the plant).  Then using a watery version of the same mix I’ll fill in the rest of the stem, thus giving it some depth.

More work on the leaves follows, working into the darkest areas with a mix of hooker green, pthalo blue, and a purple.  This sharpens the edges such as the dentate leaf margin, and gives extra depth to the shadows.

Illustrating the rose hip

After so much green, I can’t resist some scarlet – the rosehips.  This vibrant colour is a mix of alizarin crimson, opera rose (more of which later), and cadmium orange light.  Again, I plot the darks first, then a brighter area, and finally an oranger and paler third layer of paint.  Again, leaving the white paper to show shine and highlights is vital.

Painting the Rose petals

The petals are next.  I’ve been driven mad in my attempts to get the colour of a dog rose right.  It’s a cool pink, and in the past I’ve made the colour too orange, then too blue.  My third error was to mix the pink in with white which gives the right hue, but a thick and utterly un-petal-like consistency and feel.  Opera rose paint has been a life saver here.  Watered down, mixed with the tiniest touch of cobalt blue, it provides a passable colour match.  I build up the petals by painting on the veins and surrounding areas of colour with tiny repeated brush strokes.

Although it’s important to keep the colour of such delicate petals pale, it’s also vital to give structure to the illustration.  Getting this balance right is exhausting.

The petals cast shadows which need to be plotted; a good mix for these is a watery cobalt blue mixed with a purple or violet.  As the shadows are plotted you can ensure that the two roses are clearly separated.

Adding the details

Last up is the anthers, stamens, and central reproductive organs of the flower.  Brownish yellows ans pale greens play the main role here.  A little more tweaking of shadows and crisping up the edges, this time with a violet and vandyke brown mix, and we’re done.

End of the day

The last photo shows my desk at the end of the working day.  There’s always room for improvement with a natural history illustration.  There are always areas which haven’t worked as well as one might’ve hoped.  However, as a decent depiction of a good rose, for someone looking to identify and eat it, I think this’ll do.

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