Bog Myrtle & Peat

The past week has been spent chaotically planting trees in the name of black grouse (post to follow), and I’m already sick of it. The real joy of planting trees comes a few years down the line when they are really establishing themselves, not as you’re hammering tree stakes into stoney ground or lugging tubex guards across the countryside on your back. I still have two hundred blackthorn and hawthorn hedging plants to go in to the new hedge, and I need to find somewhere to plant two hundred willow and birch whips before the roots dry out. I’ve been agonising over my tree planting strategy since last spring, so while the struggle to get the damn things into the ground continues, I’m now starting to feel impatient.

During my planting forays, I’ve had some run-ins with crossbills (pictured above). These funny little birds are pretty much the only species on this earth which can eke out a living in mature sitka spruce plantations, so while I admired the cock birds’ striking red plumage, I also marvelled at their ability to earn a living amongt those prickly weeds.