Great to be back in the windy wild with spring to look forward to

I STEP outside one evening as I’m hoping to spot some mini-comets or asteroids known as the Geminids that every year puncture the sky with their beautiful and colourful illuminations. No such luck.

Apart from one ultramarine “hole in the sky” there is no chance of seeing anything, not even a slim one.

I could curse the weather with all the recent, cloudy nights. Even if my telescope had not been in storage, there would have been nothing to examine.

A few days later, I am confronted by brief but powerful winds with violent gusts.

My Pyrenean Spanish beret (or boina) proves its enduring worth by being both waterproof and steadfast.

I descend some tricky steps down into Prospect Street in Caversham in my trusty headgear.

On my return I take time to look at the health and vigour of various species of tree in the nearest corner to my mother’s home in Balmore Walk.

Infant hazel catkins resemble brittle, green icicles. It seems a little too soon to wonder at their fine construction but then this is not uncommon these days.

Vestigial leaves are being torn from their final, life-extending tenure. Such is the sometimes severe but thankfully brief passing of events that describe our seasons.

We have passed the winter equinox, which means that we have spring’s eternal promise of renewal to look forward to.

The days will seem darker come morning as the season turns but the evenings will lengthen almost unnoticed.

Very soon, with spring’s coy wink, I will skip barefoot through daisies and buttercups and throw myself backwards to take in a pure, azure sky. I hear a knock at the door. It is my dear friend Dave Kenny come to take us out on a walk.

He helps me into his car, a new electric MG, and off we go. I have missed this so much that I can barely contain my excitement.

On our way we pass many trees, all bare, some exhibiting the scars of age-old tempests.

As we pass Green Dean and Madge Gray’s Wood, off the A4074 near Cane End, I notice recent felling and replanting.

Dave and I agree that the saplings have been planted far too close together. I would recommend a minimum of 12ft apart to maximise the benefit of sunlight and preclude dendrological conflict. At least they are not in lines.

I wonder what species they are as we can’t stop on this busy road to see. Hopefully a mixture of native broadleaves. We will have to return for another look.

We agree that natural rejuvenation is the best option. Leave nature to itself and a young forest will emerge from the army of established saplings just waiting for the opportunity to thrive.

We stop and exit Dave’s car to encounter a pair of horsewomen, seemingly very happy to be out riding. We bid them good day. At last I’m back in the wild where I belong with renewed confidence in my wonky but improving gait.

I swing open a sturdy gate and tread on tussocky and shortish sward grassland interspersed with a species of waxcap, the lilac pinkgill (Entoloma porphyrophaeum).

The fungi are showing somewhat late in the year but are a lovely sight nonetheless.

Voles, moles and rabbits have all left their tell-tale reminders of their presence.

High above red kites ride the breeze. One seems to single me out. Do I look that vulnerable? One of the sager birds sits on the apex of a venerable oak surveying his domain.

Although this former orchard has been replanted with appropriate successors, a few ancient cherry or walnuts survive — just.

Others have been reduced to craggy totem-like stumps, now host to beetles and other insects that help speed up their inevitable decay. So the cycle goes on.

Elsewhere horses and sheep graze with a degree of solemnity, ignoring the two of us with nonchalance.

They have all the appearance of old folk resigned to having missed a bus. I stop and stare around 180 degrees and fill my lungs with unpolluted air. It feels great.

After crossing the first field, we drop down some steps and enter a second.

Dave was particularly keen to come here to show me a wonderfully crafted laid hedge — and what a sight it is too.

Planted not that long ago, it has grown with vigour and is one of the finest I have seen. There is great skill in getting it right, so I’m impressed.

It represents everything that I love in a native hedge, comprising hawthorn, holly, blackthorn, hazel, field maple, dog and field rose (the former with thorns like shark’s teeth), wild privet, spindle, bramble and wayfaring tree. Some young oaks have crept in too.

There is a warning sign that work is in progress which was obviously forgotten and left behind at the end.

We move on to take a closer look at the sheep, typically comprising a lone black one. Sheep and goats puzzle me with their direct stares. Do they know something that we don’t?

We then make our way back to the car. Dave points out the thinning of a plantation of larch trees to our right in Coxsetter’s Wood that reveals a sizeable population of silver birch, a known early coloniser. They will pave the way for longer-lived species like oak and beech. It does not take that long in such a sylvan nursery.

On our drive home after a great time out, a daring male blackbird darts across the narrow road just past the rugged entrance to Nuney Green.

Talking of birds, my recent concern about the unexplained absence of certain species was largely negated by the sight of several long-tailed, blue and great tits as they scurried about through bare branches.

Nevertheless, there was no sign of a single chaffinch, greenfinch, mistle or song thrush. I miss the latter’s mournful, repetitive melody.

My near neighbours, Andy and Caroline Johnson, report that a pair of nuthatches are still about and that they have seen a lesser-spotted woodpecker.

I wish you all a very happy new year. The past year was my worst ever, which is saying something. Pray that this one gives me peace and a fortuitous future.

Storms may rage, rain will fall but the sun will break through — bad days over, good ones to bless us all.

vincent.ruane@hotmail.com