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The Magic of Spring, and the Allergies That Come With It

Photo © Will Clark

Will Clark, creative writer and member of staff at Idle Valley's Visitor Centre, discusses the abundance of willow seeds this spring, and how nature isn't so different across the world.

Have you noticed how, over the past couple of weeks, the air has been completely overrun by fairies? 

If you know what I mean by fairies, great. If you don’t, “fairies” are the name a lot of people I know give to the small fluffy things that start flying around in spring and summer. They often resemble dandelion puffs without the seeds hanging from them, and they come in a few different size. Most common right now are ones about the size of an apple seed. 

They’ve been especially noticeable this year because of their sheer number. More than once I’ve looked outside to see something like confetti blowing along with the dust in the wind. Even that’s nothing compared to the local woodland, where the layer of white fluff over the floor, plants, and trees make it look like Shelob moved there from Mordor. 

Willow seeds Idle Valley

Photo © Will Clark

But what are fairies, and why are there so many of them? 

It all starts with willow trees. In this context, that means most trees in the salicaceae family, though that name isn’t very important outside of that. I’m sure everyone has seen a willow tree once or twice in their life even if they don’t know that they have. Aside from a few distinct species, like weeping willows, the distinction between them and most other trees are something called catkins. 

Named after the Dutch word for “kitten”, catkins grow in spring and are most recognisable in their pollen stage when they’re bright yellow, dangling cylinders that will leave pollen on you if you brush against them. However, catkins can also be green before flowering and, most importantly to us right now, they can be incredibly fluffy. 

Fluffy seeds on tree

Photo © Will Clark

The fluff on these catkins are what become “fairies” when they’re blown free. Just like the dandelion puffs they resemble, the fluff on catkins are also seeds. Their size and shape mean they catch the wind and fly somewhere perfect for growing a new willow tree (if they get lucky). 

That explains what they are, but why have they taken over Idle Valley and its surroundings? Well, the first reason would be where willows like to grow. As trees that require a lot of water, willows are often found near rivers and lakes, just like the river Idle. And more willows mean more willow seeds.  

For the second reason, we need to look a little further afield. After all, it’s not just Idle Valley that suffers from air chock-full of fluff particles. One place that famously suffered the same problem is Beijing, China. Starting in the 1960s, the government wanted to make the city greener. Poplars and willows were chosen as the lucky trees to be planted due to their hardiness against cold and fast growth rate. Years down the line, this means that spring in Beijing is a nightmare for a hay fever sufferers, difficult to navigate, and even full of fluffy little fire risks.

Catkin fluff on the ground

Photo © Will Clark

Idle Valley has never been that bad, luckily, but this year is worse than I’ve ever seen. Surely the number of trees couldn’t have changed that much in one year? They haven’t as far as I can tell. It’s probably the dry month we’ve been experiencing is a large reason why the local paths look like they’ve experienced a snowstorm.

You see, in Beijing, they have a few ways of dealing with willow seeds. Altering the gender of the trees, since only female poplars and willows release seeds, is one. Another is pruning the branches with catkins on. The most interesting option to me is hosing the trees down. Not only is it the most immediate solution, as the others take a lot of time and effort, but it’s one that could occur in nature. 

What happens is that the water soaks the seeds weighing them down so they can’t fly. Rain does the same thing. It’s even recommended by the Chinese government to only go out when there are fewer catkins in the air, like after rain. Since we’ve had very little rain this year, the seeds are free to move wherever the wind takes them and stick to everything they can. 

I’m sure in just a few short weeks, catkins and the fluff they drop will be distant memories. For now though, isn’t it interesting to think how Beijing, a city on the other side of the world from the small market town of Retford, experiences the same type of nature? A particularly dry spring here has given us a taste of what people we’ll likely never meet experience every year. Just for a little bit of time, we’re all seeing the same thing. It may not be important to everyday life, but I find it a comforting thought. 

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