Of men and logs

 

Nigel went down to a four-day working week. The idea is to find the activities with which he will one day enrich his retirement.

His top pick was volunteering for the Woodland Trust at Heartwood, our local forest. There are hedges to be laid and trees to be planted.  The first time, Nigel took only a spade, but he has now added a camping stool, thermos flask and sandwiches to his accoutrements.

It all sounds like healthy outdoor fun - rather like a camp for superannuated scouts. Meanwhile, at home, I have a lovely quiet day.

On Sunday, we went together for a ramble at Heartwood and Nigel showed me what he’d been doing. 

‘In the woods, folk tend to trample the bluebells which then take a long time to recover. We’re using logs to edge the path and encourage visitors to stay on the straight and narrow.’

Next, at the edge of the woods, we saw an impressive pile of logs.

‘Look! Those are the logs we use to edge the paths.’

Quietly, I imagine the partners of the energetic Heartwood volunteers ringing one another secretly to arrange that there is a great big pile of logs available, enough to keep the working party busy for hours.

While we have another lovely quiet day at home.

I guess you had to be there

I always visit the bluebells with my walking buddies. 

Except last year the Lockdown rules kept us apart. We WhatsApped eachother photos of blue woodland floor, but it wasn't the same.   

However, this year we were able to gather for the stunning annual flooding of the woods with a tide of bluebells.  Carol led us to a small, far-flung wood that was not infested with other bluebell-peepers.

And so we were able to add one more photo to the already high stack of pictures of 'Us with bluebells'. This year's variant was 'Us with too-long hair with bluebells'. Our priority had obviously been getting out to the woods, not booking a hairdresser.

There is also an annual event we don't aim for but which happens anyway. More often than not, I am with my friends when we spot the first swallow. It happened again this year and as the wispy dark shape sped over our heads, we made the annual joke about 'one swallow doth not a summer make'.  

I guess you had to be there.  

And that's the point - after a long Lockdown, now we can be there.

Passive aggressive bluebells

I am still on crutches, but this weekend managed to clump as far as a lovely bluebell wood within the new forest of Heartwood.

Increased numbers of visitors have meant that the magical narrow tracks which once wound through the hornbeams are now flattened muddy runways. 

The Woodland Trust has clearly decided that gentle nudging is the way to prevent further damage.  Lining the path was a series of wooden posts.  On each was a rhyme:

“Help us beat the bluebell blues,

a problem caused by boots and shoes.

Keep to the path, enjoy the view

and let the new green leaves push through.”

or

“As leaves unfurl and buds hang free,

they hint at beauty we’ll soon see;

but if dogs or walkers go off track,

we may never get that beauty back.”

Having seen young families running amok in the woods, I’m not convinced they will be sensitive enough to respond to this.

I have emailed the Woodland Trust to suggest they stop shilly-shallying and protect the bluebells with electrified barbed wire.

I think the rhymes on the posts could also do with being just a tad more direct:

“When you’re in the woods,

spare the bluebells’ life;

Or we’ll cut your ears off

with a rusty knife.”

(There was a second verse about posting the severed ears to their mother, but I couldn’t make it scan.)

However, in spite of all this, it was lovely to be out again, back in the woods, and I took special care not to whack the bluebell bulbs with my crutches.

photo by Rosie