Spot the dog

Gus is in the picture to give scale to the sweeping branches of the ancient limes.  This is a favourite stop on the evening estuary walk, where the path ducks under the curtain of branches and leaves, and a secret passageway takes Gus to the steps up to the rabbit field.  So many people stroll by on the shore outside, unaware of this hidden place.  Soon the leaves will be in autumnal colours, and then they will fall and the curtains will be threadbare and the path more visible.

The limes themselves are very special, ancient survivors perhaps of the wildwood of Britain that pre-dated our arrival.  The individual trunks may not be very old, but the huge stools from which they grow are.  In human terms, the stool of a small-leaved lime can live almost indefinitely.  In our current climate in the north of England, viable seeds are only rarely produced, despite the abundance of nectar and pollen that attract pollinators in the spring, and the trees depend on their ability to coppice and throw up new trunks to replace the old as they fall or are cut.  Perhaps when Sands meadow (the rabbit field) was first cut into the woods, the fringe of trees and shrubs was simply coppiced to form a stock-proof barrier - no-one ever took the trouble to clear and replant them with anything else.

The limes have a story to tell, of their lives and the lives of the people and their animals who have lived in this place over hundreds of years.    If I listen quietly, one day perhaps I will hear them tell it.