Queen o' the May

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers,
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day,
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Part of a long poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson, it goes on a bit but these verses seemed appropriate to my escapade

True to intentions, the alarm went off at 4.45AM - Himself had to kick me several times before there was movement, then I was off - bird recorder extraordinaire, first washing my face in the dew (by the light of the moon) it being May Day. I arrived at Derreenataggart at 6.01, clipboard, binoculars, recording sheet, bird book - my annual bird recording morning for Birdwatch Ireland. It was a strange and solitary hour and a half.
I:
ambled down tiny lanes marvelling at the profusion of primroses;
spoke to a small family of cows and calves;
climbed over a steel gate
ducked under electric fences, resisting the temptation to touch
avoided bold looking cattle
climbed a small mountain
stomped through bog
waded through waist high gorse and bracken
slithered between barbed wire
strode through a stream full of mint
startled a pheasant
annoyed three dogs
and saw the odd bird! Wrens were the predominant species, very loud, very jumpy and all over the place. Humans met I none. Not even Morris Men - for proper May Day frolicking see Avid Lensman's wonderful goings-on at Old Sarum.

A shower, large breakfast and off to work where we've made scarecrow collages. The real one is giving us heeby jeebies as we keep on thinking someone is lurking in the school garden.

A quick trip into Bantry to find some loose leafed Darjeeling tea - more tricky than you might think. The big room are studying India and have discovered that I was born there. My father was a tea planter for a while, in Darjeeling, so I am taking in some ancient photos and instructing the in the fine art of proper tea making.

Bantry Bay was looking amazing - mercurial and blue.