Ramblings from Finemere Wood

Ramblings from Finemere Wood

I took a break from the wood over June, and set off on my travels, leaving the team to plough through many a task, something for everyone.

"Finemere Wood is dry and parched under the relentless sun, yet life thrives here."

I love the long, hot days of summer that have arrived this year. They remind me of the summers of my early childhood - though perhaps that’s just a rose-tinted memory. While climate change and the resulting global warming are pressing concerns, I can’t help but feel a sense of ease in the heat, I slow down, my pace of life is more relaxed.

Finemere Wood is dry and parched under the relentless sun, yet life thrives here. The woodland workers each respond to the heat in their own way—some enthusiastically labouring beneath the blazing sun, whilst others retreat into the shade, and gradually melt.

A man stoof among long grass and wildflowers, holding a large wooden fence post. Building works are visible in the background.

Redundant fences have been removed, Turbo Twosome again, with a pair of powerhouses in tow.

I took a break from the wood over June, and set off on my travels, leaving the team to plough through many a task, something for everyone.

Out on one of the adjoining meadows, two fenced enclosures have been raised. These areas will be protected from the curious cropping cattle, allowing scrub to grow, creating a mosaic of vegetation along the edge of the wood. Thus the variety of habitats is enhanced and greater biodiversity is supported. The Turbo Twosome were set loose to dig many a four-foot hole for the fence strainer posts, powering through the day like engines, unstoppable. Others opted for the technical job of piecing the fence together, a new system using metal posts, mentally challenging, a puzzle to be solved.

Redundant fences have been removed, Turbo Twosome again, with a pair of powerhouses in tow. Gate posts have been dug in and gates hung by a formidable four. 

A woman in a field of thistles, with a glove placed in a bag.

Many hours have been spent cutting off the seed heads of creeping thistles in the meadows, in an attempt to keep them in check, allowing room for the more delicate flowers to flourish.

But it’s not all about muscle and desperate digging. Many hours have been spent cutting off the seed heads of creeping thistles in the meadows, in an attempt to keep them in check, allowing room for the more delicate flowers to flourish. A surprisingly mindful job for those looking for calm.

And the reward for these gritty guardians of the wood, who worked like trojans whilst their leader was afar? A purple emperor, that elusive, elegant butterfly, waiting in the van, basking on top of the tea kit for all to admire.

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