My dad and brother are having a discussion, while Dad is halfway up a ladder that is propped on a mature oak tree. The debate is this: the forecast gale is coming from a different direction to normal and Dad says we need a second rope to secure the tree (it is already permanently tied to prevent it falling into stables). Meanwhile, my brother says that if it is likely to come down, it’s better that it goes the other way.
On a farm with public land, managing this kind of risk is part of the job, and trees near buildings, roads and paths must be checked carefully. We have just received a notice from the council that a large limb overhanging the road must be removed. It is being attacked by fungus.
I’m still chilled by a particular sports day at my child’s primary school, when just an hour after the refreshments stand was tidied away, a huge potentially child-squashing branch fell to exactly where we’d all been gathered. That tree was regularly inspected.
This autumn, there has been a high risk of trees falling. The ground is saturated, making them easier to topple, and many deciduous trees are still in almost full leaf, so are more vulnerable to the force of the wind. It was these same conditions that made the October 1987 gales so devastating.
A decision is made, and Dad descends the ladder. The oak is left with just one rope, to face whatever the storm brings. The gusts pick up and anything unfixed starts flying round the yard. Horses are unsettled, their raised heads appearing over stable doors.
We sit out the weather. This time, wind speeds remain moderate, although the rain buckets down. The oak stands sturdy. A giant, curved specimen is lost in the woods, though. Later, I ride out, slopping through puddles and mud. The trunk blocks the way and is too big to jump on horseback. I wonder why that tree fell while others survived. Muntjac deer skitter from my path, and the great roots hang, exposed. It’s not like the death of a pet, but it is nevertheless a moment of grief, a loss, a gap in the woods.
Where possible, fallen trees are left to rot and provide vital deadwood habitat, but this one must be moved for access. It is perfect for carving into a bench, and soon the chainsaw will reverberate through the woods.
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