I set off on this mild, gusty morning with a sense of purpose.  I’m confident I’m going to find my quarry in the woods today as there were early signs last week. In the denser areas of woodland, I look upwards and see the tantalising glimpses where the hazel stems have reached patches of sunlight.

There’s lots of hazel in these woods and it seems to do well wherever light can break through the tree canopy. It’s really a bush rather than a tree and has been valuable in history because it sends up new shoots from close to the ground when the main trunk is damaged.  The damage can be caused either naturally by animals browsing or deliberately as part of woodland management when it’s called coppicing. The new poles have been used for centuries and still are to make fencing and to peg down thatch.

In the meadow clearing, I find a smaller hazel sapling next to the well-worn wooden bench.  The branches still have a few mummified nuts.  And finally the first few pale but perky yellow catkins which as kids we called “lambs-tails”. A tease of spring.

Catkins are the male flower.  The female flowers are tiny and little more than miniscule crimson tendrils exploding volcanically from a small fat bud.  I look carefully but can’t see any.

These first catkins may have peaked too early – like a group of lads on a night out who are already drunk before the girls turn up.