I propose that a few hours spent in an English wood in the full flush of spring is an experience that leaves all such time investors revitalised and calmed.
Fineshade Wood is not furnished with a wall to wall carpet of bluebells, although sufficient in places to provide wafts of sweet hyacinth fragrance. This Forestry Commission-owned, largely broadleaf-planted, forest has mixed ground flora; bluebells, yellow lesser celandines and white wood anemones are scattered like an array of colourful stars.
The latter plant is deserving of at least a fraction of the passion directed towards celebrity spring flowers such as snowdrops and bluebells. The seven or so pure white silk-petticoat-like petals frame bright yellow anthers, declaring both innocence and availability.
In the middle of the wood is a spacious hide overlooking a crescent-shaped pond and long woodland clearing. I approach it intending to spend no more than a few cursory moments checking if there is anything unusual on the pond.
As I skulk in, I notice a well-built, white-haired man sitting at the far end cradling a long-lensed camera. The vista is unexciting, but also eminently peaceful. We are joined by an older couple and all sit investing in watching and listening for more than 45 minutes; our silence only punctured by murmurs such as “sparrowhawk”, “ooh the woodpecker is back” and “buzzard … oh a pair”.
In the vegetation edging the pond, there is a glitter of wings and a large red damselfly drifts through the grass and perches on a rush.
As a final duty, I visit the huge, gnarled, hollow and ancient ash on the western edge of the wood. My fears and hopes for how our ash trees will fare in the face of the invasive dieback fungus and other challenges are wrapped up in this fragile veteran. I am relieved to find the tree in apparent good health, though with one fewer large branches. In fact, it is in flower, the grey twigs sporting pairs of dense green sprays, tipped with little purple flowers and spilling deep yellow pollen.
