Outgrown.

When I was 14, I grew some trees in plastic milk cartons and planted them in the woods. Of course, not all of them survived. One nearly didn’t survive being planted as I remember I broke the top off by mistake when I was carrying it. I planted the little oak anyway - and maybe that’s why I remember it. And now I can still recognise that broken crown, except it’s huge. It towers over me like I once towered over it. I feel very small next to this tree. I have been outgrown. The tree seems more substantial than I am - I have been outgrown and that’s a strange decadent feeling.

It’s alright if one of your children makes you feel small when they look down on you, at least you know that you might communicate. A tree doesn’t even look at you. A tree simply gazes into the sky or, more likely, the ground and gets on with its life. To get outgrown by a tree is odd.

People say you shouldn’t plant trees close together - but 35 years ago, I did - here are two rowans that grew up together quite happily and it even seems like they have supported each other. I grew them from seed. I remember planting them because they were so tangled together as saplings that it seemed too risky to pull them apart. So Akira Miyawaki is right about the cooperative nature of trees. We need not to pretend that ‘thinning the trees’ is a good idea unless you simply enjoy cutting down trees. In which case, just be honest about your problems, find a good therapist and come clean about why you really want to cut down trees.

It’s too late to plant any more willow now, spring has sprung and the sap is rising. In the Willow Worlds, the fedge is budding and coming into leaf fast. Shoots nudge upward, tiny leaves unfurl, and the living structures are taking shape.

It’s tempting to want to do more in Spring. But nature fears our impatience because every shoot is delicate. Growth isn’t something we can rush: we have to let Spring, do its thing. It’s a slow conversation between the elements — and our role is mostly to stay out of the way and add water. Water is always good for willow and why not plant some honeysuckle, or simple sunflowers, or peas or beans against the fedge, why should the willow have it all their own way?

When we started this project, we had a cunning plan. We set out to plant in a crafty fashion and see what the deer might make of them. Now, the willows are sprouting — we see deer damage all round, but our defences are holding them off so far. There are some little gaps in the fedge and we hope the deer don’t find them, but perfection is not our goal, we’re taking risks and not worrying too much.

Already, in small ways, the fedges are weaving themselves into the land. Green shoots where bare stems were, we imagine roots finding their way beneath our feet. In time, these will grow into places of shelter and shadow, a thickening of the boundary layer. We are raising the ceiling of the ecosystem to make room for birds and bats and better, healthier air.

We celebrate the simple fact that things are growing and try not to think about how one day we might all be outgrown. [Ed: out-groan?]

Thank you for putting up with this rather boring episode of The Willow Worlds podcast!!

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