It only takes a few days for the butterbur to turn into the plant from the little shop of horrors. Within a week to path through the woods at Lionmouth has become impassible to all but girraffes and stilt walkers. So it was with intrepidation that I set out this morning with my mothers slasher and ploughed a furrow through the fibrous umbrellas. I am pleased to say that the path is now accessible right down to the river, over the garlic plain and up past the monks bathing pond. To boot, it's a stunning mix of sparkling garlic flower heads mixed with iridescent bluebells, feathery sweet cicely. Well worth a trot round
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