Golden opportunities to make a difference

An insight into land management at Heal Somerset, written by regular volunteer and ecotherapy practitioner Simon Woodward (excerpt only, link to full blog at bottom of page)

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Neighbouring horses and solitary oaks

The team’s morning began with a ragwort hunt in the northern fields. We were briefed to cut down any ragwort within thirty metres of a neighbouring fence. Jeremy said that we had been asked by Heal’s neighbours to cut down the ragwort to prevent it being eaten by their horses. I can understand the sense of this, as ragwort is poisonous to these beloved animals, but it still felt painful to fell the tall stands when covered in butterflies. 

We waded through dunes of undulating yellowed grasses, hunting for clusters of vivid gold ragwort. Here and there, green oak saplings had begun to push their way through the grasses. Later, I was to learn that oaks prefer the splendid isolation of open areas rather than being within dense woodland. It was my understanding that oaks have one of the greatest levels of biodiversity. However, I’ve since learned from Mike that this is only in their older years, when parts of them have started to decay. The oak's love of solitude, combined with its varied populace reminded me of the irony of Great Britain’s alleged island mentality whilst having a varied and diverse population.

As we waded through the sea of long grasses looking for ragwort islands, Jeremy and I mused on people’s attitudes to boundaries and how they revealed one’s inner landscape.

Image © Simon Woodward

Blurred boundaries

In the afternoon, we were given the choice of either balsam bashing or checking the perimeter of the southern fields for signs of deer damage. It was obvious that wading down the river was the most popular activity. However, as Jeremy readily volunteered to inspect the fence, I felt duty-bound to work with him. (I suspect most of us just wanted to get out of the heat). Jeremy said that he was going to mark any breach using what-three-words. Reticent to look at my phone, I picked up one of the visitors’ maps with a view to marking on that any anomalies.

Jeremy and I started at either end of the southern fields with a view to meeting in the middle. I trudged along the boundary, feeling tired and uncomfortably hot. However, it was still an interesting experience: the vegetation weaving itself into the metal grid; passing badger tunnels I’d help install and signs of old animal runs. At intervals, the long grass had been flattened like untidy crops circles – products of either deer or the two pigs. I was startled by an actual deer at one point that leapt and bounded away.  

Image © Simon Woodward

Lunch and a climate of denial

It was close to lunchtime by the time I reached the farmhouse. Hot, tired and very hungry, I decided to eat my lunch in the cool of the meeting room. I was soon joined by the rest of the gang. Provoked by the hot weather, Jeremy shared how a climate change denier was planning a talk at a café in Bruton. Jeremy was bemused and amused by the fact that the speaker had chosen one of the most eco-minded villages in Somerset.  A discussion around the mindset of the speaker ensued. I offered that perhaps it was akin to conspiracy theorists whose self-esteem is boosted by feeling they are in possession of facts not widely known by others. They often believe they are the gatekeepers of knowledge about what’s really happening.

My fatigue, in part, was due to the sleepless nights that many of us were experiencing. I work with a group of men who are aware of the climate crisis but are still enjoying the sunshine, finding ways to adapt to the tropical nights. However, I am further drained by an anxiety over the immediate future of life on earth. Heatwaves, more than floods, seem to trigger this within me.

Heal is so important to me that I am concerned over the impact of the dry weather. However, there are signs everywhere that rewilding provides one of the best ways to increase Britain’s biodiversity. I wait until Dan has finished eating before asking about the dark poop I found near the boundary fence. He is initially unsure of which animal has produced them. He then offers, somewhat guardedly, that they could be from a pine marten as there have been sightings in the area. Talking to him, surrounded by like-minded people, I’m moved by the power of community to change things for the better.

After lunch, despite my tiredness and desire to go home, I turn right out of the farmhouse drive rather than left towards the car park. Within moments, I am standing on the bridge that spans the stream. Below, I can see the beaver pool and its green oasis - an emerald jewel set within golden grass.

Read the full story on Simon's blog Rewilding Together