The spectacular display of bluebells, this most quintessentially English of plants and indicator of ancient woodland, starts immediately upon entering the wood and, following weeks of expectation, it does not disappoint. The blue against the green of the woodland floor is one of English nature’s greatest shows, something that no-one, given the chance, should miss out on. The plants beside the path are individually discernable, with their delicate bell flowers hanging from one side of the stalk, causing the distinctive curve, as though suggesting humility and diffidence – the invading Spanish bluebell, which sadly is crossing with the native plant, is discernable by its more robust flowers and erect stalk, caused by the flowers being more evenly distributed. Happily, the bluebells here are entirely unsullied. As I look up it becomes harder to identify individual plants, until it is impossible for the eye to separate one from another, and it is just a gently shifting mass of sun-drenched blue, becoming a misty blue haze, something more experienced than seen, for the eye and brain cannot cope with the sensory overload. The blue continues beneath the trees, washing against the trunks and fallen logs until it is lost from view. The fragrance is carried on the breeze, heady and at the same time as delicate as the flower itself. Unfortunately, the display will be all too brief, but it is all the more magnificent for its fleeting appearance. And the sight of bluebells in dappled sunlight has the effect of lifting the spirits and encouraging one to believe that the approaching summer will be one of long sunny days and balmy evenings. Bluebells also feature quite prominently in English folklore and it is believed that to step on these delicate flowers growing beneath an oak tree is to risk the wrath of the woodland fairies, who’s revenge will be to cause the perpetrator to become enchanted and die soon after. It was also believed that the bells rang out to summon fairies to gatherings and that any human hearing the bell ring would also die. In some parts of the country it is thought unlucky to take bluebells into the house, although it is actually illegal to pick wildflowers. However, not everything associated with this beautiful wildflower is quite so forbidding; in the language of flowers, the bluebell stands for constancy. ‘Oh, to be in England Now that April’s there…’ Robert Browning’s (1812-1889) evocative opening lines from his poem ‘Home Thoughts From Abroad’ come floating into my mind on a blue haze. They so wonderfully capture the longing of a weary traveller for his homeland with the coming of spring, with the birds singing and the flowers blooming. The English countryside of Browning’s day may have been very different to that of today but whom, upon seeing a bluebell wood, a haze of misted blue in dappled sunlight, could fail to be moved by his sentiment.
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After a few years of volunteering here are the significant lessons I have learnt that make volunteering a happy, productive and worthwhile experience and which ensure the day passes with the minimum of casualties. 1: Never Become Separated From Your LunchIf volunteering outdoors teaches you one important lesson it is that leaving your lunch in the ‘alleged’ safety of the task vehicle is to play straight into fate’s fickle hands. Never assume that the vehicle is going to be there when you want it. And it is no good blaming someone else for your misfortune should you have left your lunch in the car, which is now somewhere in the far distance, on the mistaken belief that you would be returning to it before the end of the day. You have been warned. 2: Safety! Safety! Safety!As we all know safety at work should be of the highest priority and falls into three categories: safety of self, safety of work colleagues and safety of members of the public who inadvertently come within range. Always be wary of hazards and other people, who will often do what you least expect when you least expect it. Always look before acting, and keep looking. Just because the area around you was clear when you started felling that tree, does not mean that it will still be clear when that same tree comes crashing down. Mentally access the risks and never act without thinking, and bear in mind that as people get tired towards the end of the day that is when accidents are most likely to happen. More importantly, the experienced volunteer will assess their colleagues to determine which ones are best avoided, especially those in a position to fell something large and heavy into a space you already inhabit. Enjoy yourself, but above all be safe. 3: You Cut It You Drag ItYou may have been macho enough to bring down the large tree everyone else was avoiding but remember that sending it crashing to the ground is not the end of the job. It still has to be cut-up and dragged to where it can either be disposed of or stacked neatly out of the way. Your colleagues will not take too kindly to this part being left to them whilst you eye-up your next victim. 4: Never AssumeWhen you don’t know what you are supposed to be doing never assume that anyone else is any the wiser. If in doubt ask the task leader for guidance – that way you will always be able to blame someone in authority when it goes horribly wrong. Four additional rules apply here: 4.1: With age does not necessarily come wisdom. 4.2: Despite its name commonsense is not always common 4.3: Often there will be at least as many suggestions on how to proceed as there are volunteers employed in the task. 4.4: It is not wise to assume that any of these suggestions in 4.3 is correct. 5: You Have The Right To ChooseThis as a contentious rule and I do know of some who believe that it is a myth thought up by volunteers just to be awkward. However, as a volunteer (i.e. someone who offers their self or their services for an undertaking by choice and without request or obligation) you do have the right to choose which tasks you wish to involve yourself in, which sites you wish to visit (or not) and when you wish to do so. Hopefully, a sense of team-spirit and fair-play will ensure that you don’t always leave the worst tasks to your colleagues. At least, that’s what they’re hoping. 6: The Law Of HolesYou will at some point be involved in digging a hole, either for installing signposts, fence posts, gate posts, benches, information boards or width restrictions. These holes will vary in depth and size and will rarely be easy. There are three basic laws relating to the digging of holes: 1: No matter how many times and by what method you measure the exact position of a hole it will always end up in the wrong place. 2: The last hole of the day will always be the hardest to dig, regardless of the evidence provided by the preceding ones. 3: Wherever a hole has to be dug will be the exact location of: - The largest collection of flint on the site, if not the county. - A block of concrete so large that it defies all attempts to determine its dimension, purpose or how it came to be there. - A utility pipe, the position of which defies logic as it does not appear to run between two obvious points. - A power cable, despite the fact that you are in a large open field. - All of the above. 7: Engage Passers-by In Conversation At Your PerilAt some point during the day you are likely to become engaged in conversation by a member of the public. Passing members of the public will generally fall into one of 4 categories: 1: They will assume that anyone working in pouring rain or intense heat must be serving a community service order for some unspeakable affront to society and will treat you with a combination of loathing, contemp and deep suspicion. 2: They will approach you only to berate you for destroying 'their' beautiful countryside, on the grounds that only they know what’s best for the natural environment. 3: They will engage you in their life story, defying you to get away without resorting to extreme violence or suicide. 4: Just occasionally someone will go out of their way to thank you for the difference you are making, and these are the people who help to make everything you do worthwhile. Passers-by should also note that the converse is also true and engaging the ‘wrong’ volunteer may result in many an hour spent with someone whose enthusiasm far outweighs their actual knowledge. 8: The Weather Forecast Is For Entertainment OnlyAs any experienced outdoor volunteer knows, the weather forecast is a work of fiction devised purely for entertainment and to fill time in otherwise dull news programmes. Regardless of what the weather girl with her lip gloss and you-can-trust-me smile assures you, the seasoned volunteer will know to pack for every possible eventuality, from heat-wave, to snow, to hurricane winds, to rain of biblical proportions, all of which could be experienced in a single day. 9: Look After Your ToolsAfter a good day’s use tools should always be checked and where necessary dried, cleaned and oiled, sharpened and set and any damaged parts replaced. They should then be stored safely and securely. It is often said that a bad workman blames his tools, but the true sign of a bad workman is someone who does not adequately care for his tools - a clean saw takes less effort to use than a dirty or rusty one. If you are selecting your tools from a pool always take the time to find a good one and then never let it out of your sight. Better still, use your own, the one way you can ensure it is properly looked after and that it doesn’t go missing the moment your back is turned. 10: Never Forget The AlternativesAccept that there will always be occasions when you feel fed up with your lot. To overcome this it is always worth taking time out to remember how privileged you are to enjoy the beauty of the countryside and the changing of the seasons. How much worse it would be to be sitting in an office, subjected to artificial lighting and recycled air, with no view of the outside world, trying to deal with an email in-box that fills faster than you can empty it and having to decipher the latest corporate doublespeak. My advice is to abandon ‘working smarter, not harder,’ ‘singing from the same hymn sheet,’ ‘getting with the programme’ and ‘getting all your ducks in a line’ and to get out with your local group, preferably prior to the day they find you at your desk babbling incoherently and dribbling into your overpriced, skinny, double-shot, macchiato.
According to the calendar the first day of spring arrives on a precise date but the woodland is not governed nor influenced by man’s need to regiment and record time in order to impose some sort of arbitrary control. Instead, it arrives when it will and how it will, affected mainly by the ground temperature and amount of sunlight. In some years it seems as though it will never arrive, only to suddenly burst forth, buds exploding, plants flowering and birds claiming their territories with song. In other years it appears to happen in slow motion over a period of time. However it comes, one thing is certain, spring will come to the woodland, bringing with it a flush of new life. The gradual rise in temperature and the lengthening of the day triggers a great deal of activity, with the first, most noticeable change being in the form of the groundcover, as a host of plants force their way through the leaf litter to greet the new season. Many of these plants have been dormant through the winter, whilst others may have been dormant for years, now taking advantage of the opening up of the woodland canopy after the impact of the winter storms and snowfall upon the weak and elderly. Cascades of silver birch leaves flutter like limp flags above the hedgerow, beneath which yellow dandelions, the early purple flowers of trailing ivy – not at its best for another month - and the fleshy, hooded spikes of lords and ladies abound. Mustard garlic, commonly known as Jack-by-the-hedge, display clusters of small white flowers. The leaves release a faint aroma of garlic when crushed between thumb and forefinger. At the end of the hedgerow a large horse chestnut, bare a few weeks ago, is in full leaf, conical spikes of blossom standing upright from the green tips of its branches, like candles decorating a Victorian Christmas tree. The new leaves of a sycamore are soft and papery, having not yet obtained the hardened roughness of summer, while fresh green sweet chestnut leaves are straining to burst forth from their sticky translucent red casings. The gnarled frame of an aged hawthorn contrasts with the fresh green of new growth with which it is adorned, leaf buds opening ahead of the blossom that will truly herald the coming of spring. Dark green ivy abounds, winding around trunks and enveloping branches overhanging the path, upon which deep tracks tell of passing riders, both horse and mountain bike. Leaves are also appearing on the hazel stems and the trailing wild clematis. A blackthorn hangs on to the last of its blossom, now discoloured and lacking the brilliance of its short-lived glory. Meanwhile, the sooty ash buds, despite being surrounded by signs of new life, show no signs of wanting to join in. Saplings, especially ash, appear everywhere, showing just how quickly they can colonise an area. To follow the path along the hedgerow and into the wood is to be met by the obvious signs of spring replacing winter. Yellow archangel, a lover of lime-rich soil and shady spots and one of the most attractive woodland plants, with its short stalks of pale-yellow hooded flowers, is growing alongside a wooden fence. It is well-worth taking the time for a closer look at the brownish streaks that decorate the lower lip of each flower and the fine white hairs that fringe the lip of the hood like a row of delicate pale eyelashes. It is a flower often found in the company of ramsons, wild garlic, a lover of damp woodland sites, and almost immediately there is a distinctive waft of garlic. I pick a leaf from a dense patch beside a field gate. Unlike the subtle smell of mustard garlic, this is bursting with a pungent, earthy aroma. On the other side of the woodland path are the pink, streaked flowers of herb Robert, another aromatic plant and lover of shady places. The last time I was here the woodland was deep in snow; now the floor is a lush green, carpeted in fresh new growth. Dog’s mercury that has the major foothold here, rippling like green waves, stretching away under the trees, as far into the wood as one can see, beneath the twisted and gnarled trunks of trees that have seen the magical transformation of these woods through the seasons so many times before. To them this is nothing new, just a new awakening, as I awake each day. To me it is still something wondrous to behold. Ground ivy creeps along the floor; nettles, young and fresh, grow in dense patches, and yellow primroses, with their quilted leaves, and pale purple wood-violets, pepper the edge of the path, adding to the colour. The bright yellow petals of lesser celandine, another lover of damp woodland and one of the first flowers to appear at the end of winter, carpet the side of the path and adjoining bank. Alongside the nettles grow dock leaves, the juice of which will take away the sharp burning sting of its neighbour, should anyone be so unwary as to venture amongst it unprepared. Now that the plants have brought spring into the woods, myriad insects have emerged from hibernation over the past weeks to feed upon them. And this dramatic increase in the insect population has encouraged the birds to begin their breeding cycle and resident birds that have endured the harshest winter for years are joined by migrants that have travelled hundreds of miles to nest in these woods. To my left I barely glimpse a sudden movement, however the first I see of the roe deer is as it gracefully skips away, gliding over the fallen branches with effortless ease to disappear into the dense woodland. Only a few steps on and another one, this time to my right, springs away, the white tuft of its rear the only part visible through the scrub and vegetation. A rustling amongst the trees indicates a possible third but it is difficult to see, so well is it camouflaged. A mighty beech is covered in splitting buds and there is just a smattering of young leaves, appearing in clusters. The wood is noticeably greener and denser and the floor more dappled than a few weeks ago, although the canopy has still a way to go before its takes on the fullness of summer, when its shade from the heat of the day comes as a welcome relief. It is this lack of a full covering that makes spring the best time of year to see woodland flowers, when they provide a valuable food source for insects, bees and butterflies. As each creature and plant takes advantage of the change in conditions, they cannot help affecting the other life that surrounds them. Whether it is a caterpillar feeding on a leaf, a woodpecker drilling a hole in a tree or the canopy of leaves blocking out light from the ground plants, everything has its part to play in the complex inter-dependencies of a healthy, thriving bio-diverse environment, each striving to survive and reproduce, each needing the other. And this is never more apparent as it is during a woodland spring. By late spring, merging into early summer, with the coming of deeper shade, the woodland floor reverts to mainly green, as the plants set seed to await the warmth and sunlight of the next spring. However, today, the bright sun still pours through the open canopy to bathe the woodland floor, picking out the mosses and fresh growth and the wonderful flowers, such as the brilliant white of wood anemones and woodruff that lines the edge of the path. The air is filled with early morning birdsong, each bird competing with all the others to be heard. A robin perches on a high branch filling the wood with its melodic call. Meanwhile, a pair of male blackbirds are too busy squabbling to worry about my approach, unlike a startled wood pigeon that flies low across the path, expertly weaving between the trees, before disappearing. A gentle tapping comes from the rotting cavern in the side of an elderly beech, possibly a greater spotted woodpecker searching for insects. In the top of a nearby tree a crow is busy, perhaps building a nest. Unlike the other birds, it goes about its business in silence. The path twists and climbs slowly, becoming completely shaded by the overhanging vegetation, which forms a long green tunnel, at the end of which is the brightness of the sky. It passes beside trees and giant limbs that have fallen during the winter, including a huge beech, and that have been left to provide a habitat for numerous fungi, bugs and insects that will in turn support the woodland birds and small mammals. Their demise has also opened up a large area of woodland floor, allowing life-giving sunshine and warmth to encourage dormant wildflowers. It will be well-worth returning next spring to see what difference it has made to the flower population. A pile of jumbled branches, crushed by the weight of the giant tree as it fell, lie like a collection of bleached bones. A weighty limb, torn but still attached to its ravaged trunk, hangs down to the ground, trailing like a broken arm, its fingers splayed to grip the earth. Another tree has snapped near its base, its upper trunk and branches bent to the ground as though the tree is kneeling in supplication. Fallen trunks and limbs litter the floor in various stages of decomposition, some so covered with moss that they are virtually indistinguishable from the green of the woodland floor. Some are reaching the end of their cycle of absorption into their surroundings and crumble to little more than dust beneath my boot. The moss is like a smooth continuous emerald carpet, but closer inspection reveals a network of delicate fronds, whose mass formation gives a lusciously soft, springy layer, a layer that smoothes sharp edges and jagged tears, that hides gaping wounds and imperfections from the casual glance. The path passes though the green shoots of what will be a fantastic display of bluebells. There are also patches of white wood anemone, both plants of ancient woodland. The separation between bluebells and dog’s mercury can clearly be seen, as though a strict demarcation line has been drawn between the two territories that each could approach but neither dare cross, as there is no common ground where the two species mix. Only the lesser celandine seems to have been given a free range to mix with both, although it is noticeable that its foothold is not so strong amongst the bluebells, possibly because the removal of the canopy has deprived them of the damp woodland they prefer. And it is with the promise of the bluebell display to come that I exit the woodland. I used to think that walking was about just that, walking. However, I now realise that it is just as much about stopping, taking time to enjoy my surroundings, taking time to actually see and experience, rather than rushing on by. Do people obsessed with the modern phenomenon of ‘power-walking’ everywhere realise that they are missing out on experiencing the delicate beauty of the world around them? Their bodies may be the fitter for it but can the same be said of their spirit?
The past few decades could arguably be labelled the decades of consumerism and excess, where advertising executives in expensive suits have spent £millions to convince the rest of us that the only way to a happier, more rewarding life is to buy into the ‘consumer myth’: i.e. the more we own the happier we’ll be. So we go out and buy a bigger house, maybe with a bit of land that we don’t have time to enjoy because the mortgage dictates that we work all the hours we can to pay for it. Still, the children will enjoy the freedom to run around in safety, except that they are almost permanently plugged into the latest computer-based entertainment, which has taught them to communicate in a series of monosyllabic grunts. But still, we can always buy a flashier car or the latest gadget (and there is a bewildering array to choose from, from a massive plasma screen that necessitates the bigger house so that you have a wall big enough to hang it upon, to the latest phone that does all the things you never realised you had ever wanted to do but now can’t live without). They used to say that ‘necessity’ was the ‘mother of invention’, but no more; we live in an era where it’s the ‘invention’ that drives the ‘necessity’. Still, it all looks very impressive when showing friends and family just how successful you have become.
But guess what? We aren’t any happier or less stressed, in fact we’re probably more stressed, fretting over why we aren’t any happier. So we go out and buy even more ‘stuff’ that we never knew we needed, which requires us to work longer hours to be able to afford to make ourselves happy. And so the endless circle of avarice, need, want and insecurity continues. All that has happened is that the executives in their expensive suits have gotten richer and richer as we buy-in to their snake-oil solution. ‘Roll up, roll up for this once-in-a-lifetime cure for all ills and a sure quick-fire path to extreme happiness.’ It all reminds me of the story of the management consultant who visits a small Greek fishing village, where he sees a fisherman sitting outside a café, sipping a glass of wine and enjoying his grandchildren playing around him. He approaches the fisherman and asks him why he isn’t out fishing on such a beautiful day with the clear sky and the calm sea. The fisherman explains that he has caught and sold enough fish to see him through to his next trip out. This relaxed attitude to life is something of a shock to the consultant who suggests that if he were to fish longer he could make more money and would eventually be able to buy a bigger boat, thereby enabling himself to catch more fish and make even more money. Warming to his theme, he then explains that with the additional revenue the fisherman could possibly buy a second boat, catch more fish and make even more money. The fisherman agrees that if he worked harder and longer he could indeed earn enough to buy another boat, catch even more fish and make even more money. In fact, he could see himself skippering a small fleet of fishing boats. He then enquires what the benefit would be of all this hard work and the headaches and pressure that come with the increased workload and responsibility. The consultant is in his element and explains that eventually, after a few years of hard work, the fisherman would earn enough to be able to spend his days, sipping wine outside his favourite café and enjoying the sight of his grandchildren playing around him. Maybe there’s something to be said for the simpler life after all and that maybe we sometimes need to take a step back to realise and appreciate what we have already. I once read what I thought was a great quote; a possible antidote to all this rampant consumerism and modern-day worship of fake celebrity: ‘Concentrate on things worth being rather than things worth having’. Nowadays, there is a whole industry surrounding the pursuit of the elusive happiness, from the snake-oil peddlers to the gaming and leisure industry (no pain, no gain), psychologists and life coaches, even economists and political scientists, all either asking us or telling us the answer to what makes our lives worth living. However, recent research suggests that well-being consists of five factors: good relationships; physical activity, particularly outdoors; appreciation of the surrounding world; continued learning and altruism, doing something for someone else without seeking personal recompense. To this worthy list I would add a sixth: knowing that you are making a difference. Maybe this is why volunteers always seem hard-working, enthusiastic and happy with life, while others cannot even begin to comprehend why someone would work for nothing. It’s not about the material reward; it’s about knowing that you are making a difference. At the same time there is increasing evidence that a simple walk in the countryside can do wonders for lowering the stress-levels associated with our modern lives. Even the Romans recognised that going for a walk can clear the head of all the clutter, enabling us to think with more clarity. Unfortunately, we have lost the ability to do this, as we run faster and faster around the wheel. So here’s a radical idea: the next time you are feeling stressed, leave the credit card at home and go for a walk in your local countryside or nature reserve or green space. Take time to look at the trees and plants and wildlife, to hear the birdsong or the babbling stream or the rustling leaves, to feel the breeze on your face, to smell the flowers or the new-mown grass or the pungent earthiness of the woodland floor. Experience the endless cycle of the seasons, from bud to leaf to flower to fruit to decay. Reconnect with the natural world, instead of being separate from it. Remember what it was like to run and play as a child in the woods, where your imagination had no bounds and every insect, bug and unfurling flower was to be marvelled at, where to stand beneath a tree was to be overwhelmed by its enormity, where every stick took on a life of its own and where you could see the things that the adults had long since become blind to. And while you open your senses, consider that maybe the true path to happiness does not come in a bottle of ‘snake-oil’ or via a credit card or from a self-help book or from political diktat or from anything you own or wish to own. Maybe the path you seek is the one already beneath your feet. Or maybe you would like to work as a countryside volunteer, working with like-mided people, learning new skills, experiencing the natural work and reconnecting with nature, getting free exercise and giving something back and in return realising that you are making a difference. And how many people can say all that of their working day? |
AuthorDespite being raised in London I have been a lover of the countryside all my life. Over the past few years I have been priviledged to be able to work as a countryside management volunteer, picking up new skills and knowledge along the way and seeing the countryside in a way I never had before. The Urban Countryman is my personal view of that countryside, the seasons and the work that goes on to protect and manage this wonderful environment. Archives
January 2019
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