A tree day

Our work today was walking distance from home. And it was glorious. Blue sky and - as the day went on - WARM! I was wearing just a vest top once we got going. Well, and cargo trousers.

The task was fencing. Happily, either the staples were not evil or we could ignore the unstapling and just take down and roll up the fence. I was working with Di and Janet. It's impressive, this group. People so strong and committed and generous. People taking the wild world seriously. people willing to give and to put real sweaty grunting effort into giving. OK, I was the sweaty, grunting one. They were perspiring. Or glowing.

Clare had read my hero-worship post about her - when she rescued me for the seventh circle of stapling hell - and I said I was sorry not to have put in the reference to the 'Mofo' post. We were trying to ram in posts in a stony area last week and the last post was a huge great thing, which I, with my typical lack of class and delicacy, described as a real mofo. That, she said at the time, has to go on the blog.

Of course, it makes me think about the wonderful book Hollow Kingdom where the crow ST describes all humans as 'mofos', which he does not realise is an insult.

The only photo I took of the task was this old piece of dead wood. but dead wood is a vital habitat and supports about as much life as a living tree. So, it's a handy reminder of the wonderfulness of trees - alive and dead, but not so much when made into paper.

Anyway, the work was done early so I headed off home across the common and saw what I consider to be the most desirable of all jobs. At least, on a mild and calm day.

Turned out it was the team who surgeoned my tree. I wanted to ask if they had in fact killed my poorly lilac, but that seemed rude. They said, Well, I'd love to stop and chat, but we he have to be getting on. I thought, I didn't WANT to chat. I was WATCHING. YOU started talking to ME. I wished I'd asked about the lilac. Mofos.

I got home and it was still warm and light, so I thought, OK, guerilla-ivy-warfare.

And so for the rest of my tree day. Sawing ivy as thick as my upper arm in places.

I don't know if the trees will or can recover. I could see that people had tried before and the ivy, undaunted, seemed to be as vigorous and overwhelming on those trees where stems had been cut.

Still, I have tried.

One mature tree in a season can produce enough oxygen for ten people to breathe.