I had been away for a week or more and had lost track of the natural cycle of the Forest. I was keen to take a walk and so with dogs and binoculars I set off on an early December morning and headed in the direction of Backley Plain. The weather was unseasonably mild, almost spring-like I thought and as if to reinforce my reflection a Great Spotted Woodpecker began prematurely drumming on a nearby tree. All around me as I walked were signs of the passing fungi harvest and I wondered if there would still be anything worth eating. On a whim and without much hope of success I headed through the Inclosure towards a location that had proved to be very fruitful during the recent season. I have to tell you that I was pleasantly surprised to find a few golden-yellow chanterelle peeping coyly over the fallen leaves in my favourite ditch, whilst lower down by the little excuse for a stream, huge hedgehog fungi were roaming in great profusion out of the ditches and over the forest floor. A little further on and I came to a fallen beech and there clinging in tiers were a family of silver-grey oyster mushrooms. I would have to return later with the knife and basket and take advantage of this late bounty.

The Forest floor was deep in dry, brittle leaves and as we progressed through the trees hundreds of blue-grey wood pigeons clattered away in alarm as we approached. Their great numbers formed a dark cloud as they disappeared in the direction of Bratley Wood. They had come from all over the country to gorge themselves on our abundant beech and acorn harvest; I do not recall having seen such numbers in recent years. Similarly, on Sandy Ridge vast flocks of redwings twittered overhead; these pretty Scandinavian thrushes have shunned the cold of their native countries to glean our winter harvest.

As I head for home I am aware that the Forest has undergone a dramatic change. The trees that a few days ago were a blaze of stunning reds and yellows are now bare of leaves, but to compensate for the loss they have laid a thick carpet on the forest floor. I don’t like to see the trees so bare but I am glad when, at last, they are all down.

Driving towards BRC from Dogpitt Gate.jpg

Have you ever taken time to consider leaves? They start their lives in the spring as coy little things that peep shyly from their buds. Slowly they unfold into soft, gentle, green fellows and, as the year progresses they mature into thoughtful creatures that provide shade from the sun and shelter from the thundery showers. But look out when the autumn is upon us, for it is then that they undergo a change and emerge as nasty little devils full of evil intent. They leap from the trees en-mass, hell-bent on mayhem; they block gutters, drains and culverts, causing flooding to properties, highways and the Forest; they unite in thick soggy layers on tracks and driveways and stubbornly resist all efforts to evict them. Finally, if left to their own devices and as a parting insult they decompose into a thick, sticky, brown sludge.

Wet leaves will stowaway on the soles of shoes or on dogs paws and once indoors they will jump-ship and cling stubbornly to any floor surface. But it’s when they are dry and brittle that they’re at their most mischievous. They steal into homes through any open window and laze around on carpets and rugs. They chuckle to each other as they disappear up the vacuum hose knowing that they have pre-arranged to congregate at the bend in the tube to cause an obstruction. Watch out as you open the kitchen door, for sometimes they are in collusion with the wind and they will rush between your feet, laughing as they skid across the tiles, to finally break ranks and disperse to all corners of the room. I’m not insensitive, but there is a certain amount of pleasure in watching the smoke curl from a bonfire of leaves on an autumnal afternoon!

I’d better stop talking about leaves before I’m accused of rustling! Have a happy and prosperous New Year.

Ian Thew

Next week Ian tells a fishy tale while walking the dogs along Blackensford Brook on Christmas Day