Bog Myrtle & Peat

It’s hard to face the sudden appearance of squirrel pox in this part of Galloway. We stood above the rising tide of grey squirrels for so long that I’d begun to think they’d never come. Red squirrels ran chirping through the trees, and I took them for granted because I never knew the trees without them. For all I knew, grey squirrels were a curse borne by other people; something like a rumour of pollution in foreign places. But now they’ve come and our woods are filled with sickness and decay. We’re the new front line in a war which has driven red squirrels out of this country, and there’s no reason to believe that the outcome will be any different here. Even where red squirrels have been restored and the greys repelled, the battle rages on and people fight simply to stand still; to hold their ground.

Of course I can be proactive, and I’ve begun to fight back. There’s so much evidence that the disease can be managed by removing the grey squirrels, so now I have traps and bait and I’m working to galvanise others to join me. But part of me is tired of fighting a relentless struggle against loss and collapse which seems to come from every angle.

It’s not easy to run madly into another campaign; to stir other people into action and collide against the same obstacles of inertia and indifference for the hundredth time. Perhaps I’m writing this at a low ebb when my slim resources are already stretched to breaking point. Maybe I’d feel more optimistic with the sun on my back and a pint in my belly, but it’s been ten years since I nailed my colours to the mast and broke my heart trying to save black grouse in Galloway. Now those birds are almost gone, and I’ve been pushed back beyond a dozen red lines which once stood far behind me. I’ve given ground, and as I watch curlews following black grouse into the grave, I’m forced  to wonder what we’ll lose next. It’s hard to find much success in my work at times like this. All I’ve done is throw obstacles and hinderances beneath the wheels of an advancing monster.

There are always new holes appearing; even the safest ground is frayed and sore. I have to remind myself that I can only do what I can.