There is in a very sheltered corner of a little lane in Essex that I came upon two very tall specimens of the “Ivy” tree. Owing to their position I could not make out the character of the original trunk round which they must have climbed. No foliage of any kind was visible except the small terminal leaves of the ivy and thousands of flower heads being fully open to the warm September sunshine.
It was the last day of the month — and musically murmurous with the delicious drone of hovering bees. The trees might be respectively 10 and 15 feet in height or more and the hundred thousand headed blossoms of silvery nectar formed such a solid rounded body that there must have been a good framework of branches for them to rest upon. Their vigorous luxuriance had killed the original stock and it was beyond all doubt now a pair of ivy trees that adorned the turn in the path..
I am writing now from the North of England in the second week of October and in a warmish temperature. To-day I saw the flower heads of the ivy peeping from the withered thorn and belated black berries of the hedge. But the lovely silver buds were tightly closed Not one yet had opened a lip to the bees.