Hawthorn

Photo © Roger D Kidd (cc-by-sa/2.0)

What are those hedges and small trees covered in white blossom?

If it’s late April or May, there’s a good chance those white blooms are common hawthorn. At this time of year the hedgerows and woodland edges burst into creamy white, sometimes pinkish, blossom. The common hawthorn – or Maytree – is in flower.

Normally hawthorn blends in, just a mundane bush, hedge or solitary weathered tree. But for a few weeks in mid-spring, the showy ‘May blossom’ or ‘Mayflower’ fleetingly decorates country lanes and woodland edges, as if white garlands have been set out for an almighty wedding. Thanks to the widespread distribution of hawthorn as a hedgerow plant the sheer volume of its blossom transforms the landscape, turning it ‘white with May’, something which always amuses me to see on satellite maps.

A tree for the seasons

Hawthorn is also one of the first trees to burst into fresh foliage in early spring, rapidly tipping the balance from drab, slumbering landscape to lively, green and hopeful. By autumn the flowers have turned to bright red berries called haws, a good food source for birds. Winter reveals once again the fissured, often twisted bark of old trees and, of course, the thorns.

Bittersweet Symbolism

With its serious thorns, overflowing white blossom and widespread distribution, the hawthorn is associated with complex meanings in folklore including fertility, renewal, death, hope and as a portal to the fairy Otherworld.

Its blossoming usually coincides with the traditional May Day celebration, or Beltane, which used to take place 11 days later in the season before the calendar was reset in 1752. But the timing does vary depending on the weather and location. Around where I live, the mayflower and May Day coincided this year (2025), thanks to a warm spring. 

But despite featuring centrally as part of the spring celebrations, when it was twisted into garlands, it was thought to be bring bad luck to bring hawthorn into the house. In some areas, it was even called mother-die. This may be because of the heady smell of the flowers which resemble the smell of decomposing bodies, thanks to releasing the same chemical.

Queen Guinevere's Maying by John Collier (1850–1934), Bradford Museums and Galleries