What a let-off

From today’s session leader:

Sighs of relief from several Green Gymmers when our meadow-raking session changed into a Withymead tree-clearance session.  Thank goodness for yesterday’s rain which made the meadow far too wet to cut!  

One of our workers today is a fully trained scythe-operator and recommended sything as a very effective technique for clearing meadows.  It’s also quiet and soothing to sweep through the grass, leaving a clean row of cuttings behind for the pitchfork. 

Arriving at Withymead, we met the Electricity Board – almost the whole company it seemed with loads of vans and diggers and red barriers.  They are laying cables for 11,000 volts for the local residents.  We kept well clear.

Today’s tasks were to clear up trees: whether fallen down or cut down; whether brash for the bonfire or wonderful logs for the log pile.

But before we could work, there were wardrobe repairs to carry out, thanks to the boy scout who came prepared with his penknife:

Amongst the felled willows, we found water mint in flower, which we admired, sniffed, and respectfully avoided. 

The site warden also pointed out swathes of gypsywort (Lycopus europaeus), a wet-habitat nettle.  Apparently beggars and gypsies used it to darken their skin, so they looked Moorish and were then permitted to beg.  This may just be an old-wives’ tale as I could not corroborate this. 

Today we could try out our new fire-lighting kit.  Success, despite it being a windless day, with lots of green growth to burn.

One fire monitor didn’t want to leave the fire.  Even the call of “Tea” and “Cake” took a while to seep through to his consciousness.  Who can blame him?  It was a grand fire, and the main attraction for several gymmers to come to Withymead today.  [Ed: I heard there were "several phoenixes" in there.]

Wild Parsnip (Pastinaca sativa) abounds near our tea break site, so warnings to avoid the plant came loud and clear.  Don’t touch it, as its juice is activated by sunlight (even on overcast days) and can cause a rash and blistering and even temporary blindness.  Sometimes the effects aren’t apparent for 24 hours, so it’s a tricky plant. 

The warden invited us to raid the pear and apple trees on site.  Although the pear isn’t quite ready, the apples were perfect.  We guessed they were Discovery, an early apple, and the green grocer would soon follow them up with Worcester Pearmain, then Katy, Windsor, and finally the Coxes and Russets.

Pears

Plums

Apples

Towards the end of our morning, the rain started and gradually brought work to a close.  We finished with a quick visit to the sand martins’ new abode on the river bank, and left the fire to die down under the warden’s watchful eye.

New tricks

Editor: I knew that the moment I became an ‘ordinary’ Green-Gymmer again, I would be trouble.

It was my first day back in the ranks, after I had joyfully stepped back from being default ‘boss’ each week, and the group had moved to having a rota of volunteers who take it in turns to lead sessions.  Like the proverbial hired man looking for salt pork and sundown (as they say in Wisconsin), I had taken the precaution of packing what seems to me essential equipment for any excursion into the English countryside at this time of year:

No, not the combat jacket, useful though that is for protection against the spiky stuff we were going to be clearing, but the pocket-sized collecting pot.  In case one should happen across any good blackberries.

If only I had been more dedicated to salt pork & sundown!  There I was, trying to be as assiduous in removing cut stuff as others had been for me during the first half of the session, when I was one of those merrily sawing, slashing, and chopping.  Now if I had been in session-leader mode, on spotting a lone branch beside the track, I would have stopped to wonder if it had been put there for a reason.  But being in drone mode, I immediately assumed it had been overlooked, scooped it up, and bore it off to a rapidly growing brash pile.

It was only when we were packing up ready to leave that I realised my mistake: when a fellow-volunteer looked to where the carefully selected ‘rod’ had been, and exclaimed, “Oh no, someone’s taken it!”  And I couldn’t remember which pile it had gone to.  If she and/or session-leader had been madder at me than a wet hen, I would not have blamed them, but Green Gym being Green Gym, we were soon just laughing over it.

Reflections on the day from the session leader:

The English language must be very confusing for those people not native to this country. 

The noun ‘rides’ has five dictionary definitions so the task of ‘cutting back the rides’ could have all sorts of interpretations.   WGGers would know that it refers to the overgrown paths through the Earth Trust woods at Little Wittenham, referred to as rides from horse-riding days.  Nowadays it is Land Rovers and tractors that need the access. 

It could be worse.  The verb ‘ride’ has twelve definitions.

We thought an air display was being laid on for us when a Hurricane (or was it a Spitfire?) flew over at the start, but it was not to be.  Something to do with the anniversary of the ‘Hardest Day’.

At the top of the rides, the Friday group [Ed: Earth Trust’s own volunteers] had already cleared the first section, last cleared by ourselves three years ago.  But there was plenty more for us to cut back further down the hill.  The aim was to clear two metres either side of the path – sorry: ‘ride’ – plus any overhanging branches.

Before: 

After:

Half way down there was a clearing where the conifers had been cut down, ideal for the tea break …

but also a glorious site for youngsters to build shelters and hideaways over the summer holidays:

Some had been too enthusiastic, and built on our ride, which we regrettably had to clear to get the vehicle through:

As Steven, the site warden, had the longest saw, he cut back the biggest branches:  

When he could not reach them he resorted to more extreme methods, not recommended for us mortals:

There was much talk about the abundance of sloes, and what could be made from them; but sadly they were all discarded:

[Ed: I believe this branch, destined for the brash pile, is in the gloved hand of ‘C’]

We were promised that our work would last another three years before it needed more pruning.  We hope he is right.