Showing posts with label ancient woodland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ancient woodland. Show all posts

Sunday, 28 February 2016

The Un-Doggers.

The Un-Doggers and no I am not talking about the group of people that are known as 'Doggers' and frequent more or less the same places as the 'Un-Doggers' or even the 'Dog Walkers', I am talking about the 'Un-Doggers' the middle aged people often accompanied by small children that are extended family to whom they are treating to a nice walk in the country.

The weather hasn't warmed up, in fact today it is positively freezing, but the hedges are are trying to change colour from the grey bleak tones of mid winter to the fresh hues of green that signal the return of Spring.  Daffodils are opening their yellow heads and turning them towards the sun's weak rays on days when the sky is blue and cloudless, Snowdrops are nodding quietly under the hedgerows listening to the birds chattering over the price of bedding they are foraging for to build nests for their impending young, the tractors are ploughing the fields ready for the farmers to plant their crops.  Even the dog walkers are starting to remove some layers of winter walking clothing, heralding, indeed, the coming of warmer days.

The 'Un-Doggers' must not be confused with the fishermen, the hardened blokes that walk the banks of the river in waders, thick Aran jumpers and flat caps dragging behind them on trolleys enough equipment to catch a small fishing fleets quota of sea crab. Their rods over their shoulders as they work their way across the muddy fields in search of the break in the barbed wire fence that has been cut by someone before them making access to the river bank easier than negotiating the kissing gates in place.  It should be noted that whilst cutting the barbed wire fences, or any fences, is unethical and most likely unlawful it is handy for the fishermen and also for the odd dog walker that is trying to remain upright on the river path that has been flooded several times over winter and is now a bog of quick sand and therefore so much easier to walk along the fields edge.

Neither should the 'Un-Doggers' be likened to young lovers, those couples whose ages vary from the older teenager or twenty-somethings wanting some time alone together away from parents or siblings to the older couples, newly mated, that are trying to rekindle their youth and hopefully not jar a hip or pull a muscle whilst negotiating the well worn paths through the woods.

The last group to not be associated with 'Un-Doggers' is the joggers, those people who feel that dressing up in bright vivid colours and charging through the countryside not stopping to admire the catkins bursting open or the ducks washing in the river their heads dipping below the water line sending ripples out across the water, the sun catching the droplets and creating tiny rainbows that glitter like jewels, to be a good activity for a weekend.  No, joggers, runners and even the kayakers and rowers they too are not 'Un-Doggers'.

'Un-Doggers' are those people that dress in white jackets, light beige trousers, shoes rather than walking boots or wellies.   (I know joggers wear trainers but they are usually covered in mud so therefore they are not 'Un-Doggers').  They have camera's around their necks and their young are dressed in bright fabrics, all clean and iron pressed their fluffy hats new for the season, occasionally you get a child with bright clean, brand new wellingtons but as a rule they are few and far between.  They flap their arms in the air when they see a bee or wasp and pick the bluebells that cover the ancient woodland floor because they are pretty, only to dump them further up the path as they have tired of carrying them so far.    Their children scream and shout and point at the nice 'doggy' as if it is a foaming at the mouth wolf from the hidden depths of the woods.  The adults berate the local mud splattered, dressed for the time of year, dog walkers that their dogs should be on leads as their small people don't like dogs, all this whilst waving their cameras and handbags in the air.  They never move to one side to allow you to pass or even restrain their squawking  off spring from grabbing tails or ears.  They encourage said off spring to bark at the 'doggies' to make friends - honestly this really has happened to me! - and even throw a stick because 'all doggies like sticks'.  The 'Un-Doggers' have even been known to say that the country paths through the woods should be paved for easier access. 

I do appreciate that not everyone likes dogs or even animals as pets, cows give them nightmares and sheep stink, which does beg the question of why they walk in areas that are frequented by dog owners and farm animals?   If, I was to walk my dogs in town or through a children's play area of course I would have them on the lead, although why I would want to walk near a play area when I don't like other peoples kids (didn't like my own much when they were little!) but they are in the open fields, they are well behaved, friendly dogs that like to roll in the mud and have a good time.  They will walk behind you waiting for you to step to the side to allow them to pass.  There has been many an occasion when a group of us dog walkers meet up and we have as many as 8-10 happy dogs running around, chasing, barking, playing, rolling in mud...  they are having a good time, should we see a party of 'Un-Doggers' we call our dogs and move to the side, wishing them a pleasant walk.  So please, when you see a dog walker, restrain your off spring, don't let them bark in the faces of my dogs, don't throw sticks its dangerous and for goodness sake its a dog not a doggie!

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Monday, 13 October 2014

The Old Man Oak

According to the Tithe Map of 1840 there has been a woods along the river walk and orchard route that I take each day with Izabel and Defi, for many more years than what has passed between now and then.  The ancient woodlands have large old trees and ground growing woodland flowers such as wood anemone, wood millet, wood speedwell and goldilocks buttercup, all of which belong to an ancient woodlands.

 
My favourite tree of all these flora, and fauna that run above and below me; apparently there has been sightings of the rare Noble Chafer beetle, he who inhabits the ancient woodlands and lives as a recluse amongst beetles, leading a traditional beetling life, or so I have read, I am not sure if I have seen him out and about during our daily walks but, who knows maybe he is peeking out from behind the Old Man Oak, watching us walk past and listening as we tell our secrets to the Old Man himself.
 
http://ptes.org/campaigns/traditional-orchards-wildlife/noble-chafer-beetles/
Noble Chafer Beetle
 
 
 
So, my favourite of all these trees is the Old Man Oak, as I have named him, he that stands tall and proud opposite the orchard that have been growing apples in this area since the early 1800's with various agricultural experiments being tried and tested over time to produce the best apple for cider making that our rich and fertile soil can provide.
 
Each day I walk past the Old Man, and feel a great need to touch him, to feel grounded again, on days when my mind is swimming in ideas or turmoil, I rest my back against him and gaze through his old limbs above my head into the sky and whisper my hopes and fears whilst Iz and Defi sniff and snuffle maybe following the scent of the elusive Noble Chafer beetle.

 
I find great solace in the peace that surrounds the Old Man, his age is said to be around 300-350 years old, that's a lot of knowledge and wisdom he must have acquired, not to mention the moonlight trysts, he must have seen, of young lovers meeting near the vicarage which is just a short distance away, or going for a midnight stroll along the banks of the River Wye, on a hot and barmy night in the middle of summer.  The arguments of families, he must have heard, as they weave their way through the woodland on the old path that has seen many feet, the small children dragging theirs through the mud and dust at the horror of being dragged away from the modern world, their lust for electronics removing any desire for fresh air and scurrying squirrels.
 

The orchards in lines, as they have been for many years, bearing fruit to harvest,  stand, as youngsters, opposite the Old Man.  How many harvests has he seen?  The good and the bad? 
 
How many stories does he hear?  The secrets? whispers? dreams?  Does he listen to mine as he has done to those that have stood with their back to him for many years? 
 
How can one tree mean so much to so many people?  I hear from those that are like me, who find the Old Man Oak a 'real' person, the psychiatrist, shrink, friend, parent.....