I am feeling quite pleased with myself . Since New Year I have joined in with two conservation work days and spent a brief time tidying up our own garden. The garden is not in a bad shape, which is good because I am not in the best shape. I appear to have stiffened up in the joints. Mark Twain said, “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” I don’t seem to have got the hang of that since I do mind very much. Blow this ‘wisdom comes with age’ malarkey.
Down again at Greet Mill Meadows we were coppicing and dead hedging. That is, others were coppicing and I was dead hedging. I would like to point out that there is great skill in this. It is not just a matter of piling branches into a heap like a giant pile of pick up sticks. It is important to angle the large branches so that they all lie artistically in the same direction. Then you can stuff them full with smaller branches and twigs, weave in any conveniently placed brambles and lo and behold it becomes an obstacle and a beautifully hidey hole for all manner of small creatures as well as giving protection to the newly opened up piece of land. Young trees of a wider variety will be planted within.
Not that I saw any small creatures. Too much noise puffing and blowing as I dragged half a tree to its final resting place, not to mention the lonely cry of ’timber’ now and then. I did find a lonely, long abandoned doll, looking much like I felt, limp and a little green around the edges. I left it there, propped up in a cosy corner. It might be found. Still I managed a good few metres of hedge and this of course is why I feel so stiff. Must learn a more measured approach to all this physical activity.
The contrast along the River Cole with that of Moseley Bog in the snow was marked. Standing on top of the dam that marks one of the entrances to the Bog it looked very beautiful and so quiet. Nothing moved except the occasional passing breath of wind blowing snow like smoke off the leaves and branches. Of course underneath the snow, nestling within the roots and crouching beneath leaves, there would have been a considerable amount of gentle snuffling and twitching and tiny puffs of breath wafting hither and yon but on top of the dam none of this was noticeable by me.
The River Cole Valley is still recovering from the floods of course, and looked rather grey and flat around the edges. Lots of work to do and a good litter pick would not go amiss. I might do that next time. Less strenuous. Possibly wiser!
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