There is no path, so we follow the faint line of a ditch into the trees. Jackdaws scatter away through the twisting tree trunks, and my 18-month-old daughter, perched in her rucksack, points after them and imitates their clack clack clack calls.
This soggy fragment of alder and ash woodland in the southern Borders is a site of special scientific interest, a rare scrap of mature native trees in a land of sitka spruce and sheep-grazed upland. For me it’s always been an edge, the point where my parents’ garden ends and the open hill begins. Each spring I came in search of jackdaw nests here, clambering up the side branches and peering into the darkness at the leathery nestlings, wincing from the acrid stench that emerged.
Today I linger too long trying to photograph lichen on a branch and my daughter urges me forward: “on-we-go”. Her world is vivid and full of dazzling details, but not always those that I am drawn to: lichen and moss are currently of little interest compared to gate latches and drain covers. So we walk on, disturbing a roe deer that bounds away through the tussocks. My daughter shrieks – the deer must be a firework, a unicorn in her world.
Then we see the first dead crowns. The alder trees here are being ravaged by disease, most probably the fungus-like organism Phytophthora alni. Its name conveys its devastating effect, coming from the Greek phyto (plant) and phthora (destruction). This plant destroyer is waterborne, spreading downstream along rivers and burns from infected sites. There are no up-to-date formal figures on its prevalence in the UK, but Forest Research (formerly the Forestry Commission) estimates that it affects at least 20% of trees in infected river systems. Phytophthora will thrive in the warming climate, as cold winters have been found to slow its progress. As floods become more frequent and severe, the opportunities for it to spread are increasing.
We have reached the edge of the copse, where a wire fence separates the alder from the open hill behind. Pausing to look at the last alder tree, I point out the new catkins to my daughter. She reaches out for the powdery, violet seeds and repeats back two toddler-friendly syllables: “cat-kins”.
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