I left the aptly named Bluebell Wood finally two days ago, dusk was approaching, and the dark cumulus clouds far to the west were highlighted by the unseen setting sun. For once the rest of the sky was clear, the wind had turned to the north. 10 metres either side of the water course had been
coppiced to allow more light to reach the woodland floor, a glade had been created where the stream disappeared underground and the holly population had been reduced. The mild, gloomy, wet weather had not been the best of conditions to work in, but had prompted bluebells to push through and spread their narrow leaves skyward out of the deep leaf litter. I could also see pale white immature flower heads within. I wonder how many of those delicate premature bells will survive the minus 10.C forecast for the weekend.
I turned and stared back into the darkening wood, bade my farewell and began the trudge back to the vehicle carrying this time my rolled up ex-army bivi shelter used to keep extra clothes, food and myself slightly less damp at break times.
Tomorrow I would resume cutting hazel and begin working up, this means trimming each individual hazel rod of side shoots with a bill hook, cutting off the butt end and the feathery top. This time honoured practice means that gradually, orderly heaps of different hazel products will begin to grow behind and to the side of where I stand. There will be hurdle rods, these are usually 8-10 feet long and between 1-1.25 inches in diameter. Smaller diameter rods I use to start and finish a hurdle, the straightest and slightly thicker rods will be put aside to make the uprights or ‘zales’. 8’ Bean rods and 4’ and 6’ pea sticks for gardeners. I have an annual order for nearly 10,000 pea sticks for the Royal Parks and Buckingham Palace, these will be used in their herbaceous beds as plant supports. If I had any hedge laying to do there would be stakes and binders, these are woven above the laid hedge between the stakes to strengthen and keep the hedge stems in place until they knit together.
Where once gangs of workers worked the woods and fields, now a solitary figure will be found. I number myself in that group as I spend nearly all my working days alone, unless I need to hire contractors to work alongside me, where time is in short supply to finish a woodland task.
I fell the hazel using a chainsaw, and lay the cut stems together in such a way that they can be picked up easily for working up. Just throwing them all together in a haphazard way will invariably mean they cannot be picked up without first untangling them.
Walking Ella my black lab around the wood margin at the end of the day I stopped and listened to a song thrush. Amongst the tracery of twigs its clear notes cut through the approaching gloom. On the 31st December 1910 a certain Dorset man wrote the darkling thrush, he had described the bird as frail, gaunt and small with a blast be-ruffled plume. All I could see was the thrush’s silhouette that evening, young or old it was a joy to hear on a bleak January evening.
The winter continues to confuse beast, bird, plant and human, groups of blackbirds squabble, robins are becoming very territorial, the odd celandine open in a half-hearted display while primroses show the odd flower. Sky larks chase each other. Where normally large flocks of field fares and redwings forage across the fields only small groups are seen.
The sooner this human finishes his main cut of hazel the better, because an early flush of sap seems likely.
The pictures below illustrate the process of cutting hazel, working up and the trimmed produce, including some recent work.
coppiced to allow more light to reach the woodland floor, a glade had been created where the stream disappeared underground and the holly population had been reduced. The mild, gloomy, wet weather had not been the best of conditions to work in, but had prompted bluebells to push through and spread their narrow leaves skyward out of the deep leaf litter. I could also see pale white immature flower heads within. I wonder how many of those delicate premature bells will survive the minus 10.C forecast for the weekend.
I turned and stared back into the darkening wood, bade my farewell and began the trudge back to the vehicle carrying this time my rolled up ex-army bivi shelter used to keep extra clothes, food and myself slightly less damp at break times.
Tomorrow I would resume cutting hazel and begin working up, this means trimming each individual hazel rod of side shoots with a bill hook, cutting off the butt end and the feathery top. This time honoured practice means that gradually, orderly heaps of different hazel products will begin to grow behind and to the side of where I stand. There will be hurdle rods, these are usually 8-10 feet long and between 1-1.25 inches in diameter. Smaller diameter rods I use to start and finish a hurdle, the straightest and slightly thicker rods will be put aside to make the uprights or ‘zales’. 8’ Bean rods and 4’ and 6’ pea sticks for gardeners. I have an annual order for nearly 10,000 pea sticks for the Royal Parks and Buckingham Palace, these will be used in their herbaceous beds as plant supports. If I had any hedge laying to do there would be stakes and binders, these are woven above the laid hedge between the stakes to strengthen and keep the hedge stems in place until they knit together.
Where once gangs of workers worked the woods and fields, now a solitary figure will be found. I number myself in that group as I spend nearly all my working days alone, unless I need to hire contractors to work alongside me, where time is in short supply to finish a woodland task.
I fell the hazel using a chainsaw, and lay the cut stems together in such a way that they can be picked up easily for working up. Just throwing them all together in a haphazard way will invariably mean they cannot be picked up without first untangling them.
Walking Ella my black lab around the wood margin at the end of the day I stopped and listened to a song thrush. Amongst the tracery of twigs its clear notes cut through the approaching gloom. On the 31st December 1910 a certain Dorset man wrote the darkling thrush, he had described the bird as frail, gaunt and small with a blast be-ruffled plume. All I could see was the thrush’s silhouette that evening, young or old it was a joy to hear on a bleak January evening.
The winter continues to confuse beast, bird, plant and human, groups of blackbirds squabble, robins are becoming very territorial, the odd celandine open in a half-hearted display while primroses show the odd flower. Sky larks chase each other. Where normally large flocks of field fares and redwings forage across the fields only small groups are seen.
The sooner this human finishes his main cut of hazel the better, because an early flush of sap seems likely.
The pictures below illustrate the process of cutting hazel, working up and the trimmed produce, including some recent work.
 From this...  To this.... |  To this....  And finally this... |
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