The Summer That Never Arrived - To The Trees Edition #53

The tree walking season is in full swing, the past few weeks have seen numerous excursions into the countryside accompanied by a whole host of interesting characters – There have been walks for locals keen to learn about tree identification, visitors exploring new lands keen to learn about the walking routes of Glastonbury. We’ve had tourists in search of the grail, Mary, and King Arthur, others who were travelling by the whim of their green hearts, and those in search of the deeper meaning behind it all.

As well as the usual Abbey tree walks there have been special edition excursions in Wedmore and Wells and an educational walk for the Glastonbury Abbey’s team of volunteers. A further Wells tree walk is planned for August, you can find out about upcoming walks and book your private walks here.

Such is the varied mixture of people who come through Glastonbury town, from one day to the next, I might be walking with a family from Australia on the trail of their ancestry, or an American nature lover in his 60s, who felt like he should let his wife to go on a cruise while he came to Avalon. One day I’m teaching kids how to identify oak and beech trees, the next teaching adults the nuances of maple identification, the next I’m trekking through the undergrowth to lead a Scottish family to Edmund’s Spring. Of course, these excursions have all been conducted beneath a summer that has never really arrived, and seems content to hold us at a distance. Thankfully, well timed walks have so far seen us avoid any serious soakings.

In between the rain, when the grey ceiling cracks, it reveals the meagre rations of our promised Summer. The bright patches, as fleeting as they are, provide some relief from the oppressive weight of the sky rivers, but do not suffice to replenish the lagging vitamin D, and are far from lifting the spirits of inspiration.

From the ground to the sky, the foliage is getting its legs on, the nettles in places stare me straight in the eye, beasts of six foot plus that lean in and threaten to kiss my cheek if not properly acknowledged.

In the narrowing lanes, the verges bulge. They are propelled upward and outward by repeated saturation, and now encroach some distance into the width of the lanes. The leggy new growth shoots are now halfway to the moon and in places threaten to completely enclose the roof of the narrowing walkways, arching under their own weight to join fingers in the middle of the Lane. The experience of walking amongst the looming hedges is a novelty, they form towering walled corridors with only a thin strip of tarmac below feet and a thin strip of sky visible overhead. They provide labyrinthian journeys through the lanes, completely cocooned in green and growing still to such an extent that yesterday’s previously familiar localities, today become unrecognisable and one’s mind is fooled into the occupation of a completely different visual reality, much to the joy of my imagination!

Lypiatt Lane

The new growth of ash extends its vigorous splays of dark maroon leaves, breaking out of the hedge lines and reaching for the light, in hope of one day becoming a mature tree. Sprays of new thorn branches also make a run for it, accompanied by the usual suspects; hedgerow, elder, elm, field maple, sycamore, and blackthorn, to further bulk out the hedges. Around the hedgerow’s waistline, the honeysuckle is starting to extend its alien flowers, in white, yellow and pink, exotic and insect-like, providing further floral interest in this climax of Summer time.

Last month’s discs of white elderflowers now turn to green berries extended on magenta stems and are soon to ripen to a dark red that would appear almost black. It is the time of baby fruits, the green haws begin to redden, the tiny apples start to swell and plums and blackthorn begin to bulge, the blackberry’s form their green clusters amidst their dusty pink petals and hazel nuts are well ahead of the game.

Upon the treetops, those female flowers of oak, ash and beech who were lucky enough to have caught some breeze blown love, now transform into juvenile acorns, keys, and beech nuts, respectively.

The horse chestnuts sport clusters of the cutest mini conkers and the acers unfold their wings of green to resemble a million dancing butterflies. Recent high winds have brought hordes of these treasures of nature prematurely to the ground. Usually held aloft until much later in the year, the juvenile chestnuts have been knocked off their perches early, set adrift before their time; they seem lost upon the ground, naive, underdeveloped and destined not to tree.

The sycamore seeds on the other hand, were suitably cast out upon the winds and relished the opportunity to take flight, even if a little early. They caught the recent whipping breezes like surfers bobbing in the bay, waiting to be dispersed by the waves of wind as nature intended, spreading into patterns, creating unintentional yet somehow randomly coherent designs upon the lanes.

Grandmother lime has now been at it for some weeks, her first blossoms, appearing to announce the arrival of the Summer Solstice, have now faded. The delicate parts of her Perfect flowers start to turn brown and disintegrate while their centres grow green and bulbous, the early stages of the linden’s developing woody berry. Sadly, the true impact of her midsummer display has been dampened by the lack of heat and excess wet, meaning far fewer pollinating insects and far fewer pollinated flowers.

….

Yew tree sexing is one of my favourite pastimes – Unlike most other trees, yews display their flowers on separate male and female trees. At this time of year, the female yews start to pop out little green proto-arils from flowers which were pollinated earlier in the Spring by nearby male yews. The tiny green hooded cones resemble nothing of the translucent red glowing berries that will eventually decorate the tree like tiny baubles, and initiate the final stage of yew’s reproductive story: dispersal of seeds by creatures brave enough to stomach them or by bird feasting on the edible flesh and discarding the toxic seed.

The male yews, of course, show no signs of berries, only the residual parts of the long spent pollen capsules remain clinging between needles and provide the only clue as to the male yew’s sex. At certain times of the year these tiny globes are so heavily laden with golden powder, that they cause the yew branches to visibly droop and one can tap them with a finger to watch plumes of pollen drift out of them. Having now served their purpose they are left to disintegrate, leaving only their empty husks caught between the tree’s needles and scattered upon the paths.

A recent trip to St Mary’s Church for the Wedmore tree walk revealed a quite interesting little yew trail, apt for inspecting their sexes as well as the trees’ respective ages. Thirteen yews of various sizes stand in the churchyard, mostly planted around the graveyard to the North and East of the church. They form a semicircle that guides the user around the cemetery path, while two other apparently older yews stand in the dark corners, and one sentinel yew, possibly the oldest, stands before the church doors. Beneath most of the trees within the churchyard, stands a carved stone upon which states the date and reason for the tree’s planting.

Many of the yews at St Mary’s were planted by the Bishop of Bath and Wells in the late 1800’s to mid 1900’s, their clear labelling makes this the perfect place to study yews of up to 150 years old and to be as sure as one can of their age, bar the possibility of a joker moving the stones over the years. If the markers are correct it throws up some interesting observations, where in at least two cases apparently more elderly yews are planted at a more recent date than more apparently more youthful looking trees.

The two most recently planted yews are of the fastigiate “Irish” variety, with the last planted in 2012. These two are true “Irish” yews, descendants of the original yew from which their original cultivar specimen was clipped – they can only be female, as the original clipping was taken from a female tree.

This period of the year seems to be the time of greatest creature activity, with more animal sightings in the past month than the rest of the year put together. This might be partly due to the freshly cut grass that previously provided a dense cover to facilitate the free movement of creatures unseen beneath its surface – the curtain withdrawn, the animals are yet to find alternative routes, or else are brave and sure enough of their stealth and speed to walk unshielded across the pastures, as they hunt non-stop to feed their growing young.

I often venture out at dusk, just after sundown. It appears to be a time when human activity diminishes and creature activity increases, a sort of halfway place, that for the most part I enjoy alone with the animals and trees. The bats currently feature in quite some numbers – one prime batting spot allows a human to stand inside of a bat flight tunnel, the bats zipping past, making death defying manoeuvres last minute in order not to hit their human obstacle. Due to this habit I have now been hit by bats on quite a few occasions – one even slapped into my cheek – a claim which I doubt many a human can make!

During a recent evening visit to the fields to watch the sun fall to rest, I had a close encounter of the bird kind: I was stood in the embrace of a pollarded oak, and spotted a large owl shaped silhouette gliding gracefully across the line of the horizon, I kept my gaze fixed on the silhouette as it started to alter its course to come in my direction. The bird approached as close as two metres, gliding gracefully past me and tree to swoop onto a perch in a nearby oak. At the moment it passed closest, it caught the light of the setting sun illuminating the creamy white and gold colouring of a fine barn owl.

When the sun manages to overcome the grey blanket, we are treated to some spectacular sky-bound Artworks. Partial cloud is ripe for cracking, and when it breaks, the light floods in the most satisfying way and temporarily lifts the heavy metal. I write the end to this newsletter during a succession of days that have brought a series of spectacular sunsets that now approach the horizon marker of Brent Knoll to the West and which reel in the forthcoming celebration of Lammas.

On the last two evenings these beautiful sunsets have been juxtaposed by the full moon rising behind the sunset gazers on the opposite side of the mound, confirming that it’s time for me to release these words into the world.

Until next time, we walk To The Trees.

P.S. In August there will be another special edition Wells tree walk, the usual Abbey tours, and familiar Glastonbury adventures. I am also available for private walk bookings at your convenience. Find out more.