Our ancient corners: Harnessing the wisdom of wild woodlands

How hidden patches of land help us connect to the bigger picture and the importance of wild woodlands

There’s a tiny corner of my partner’s parents’ garden that rarely sees any human interaction. Hidden between the lichen-covered garage roof and bushy mass of comfrey – it’s left wild and untamed. It’s an ancient patch, made apparent by the bunches of hard fern and wild garlic that sprawl in summer – scent so strong you can smell it from the cottage. We were told by the previous owners that it was once a cat graveyard – a spooky fact I try not to think about. Tiny places of rest are now covered by damp decaying logs. Families of mushrooms and fungus cluster there in the autumn.

As you walk along the path, grass melts into a blanket of moss – a pillowy plume of green is a welcome cushion underfoot. Bordering it, a tangled mess of nettles and mint, where red berries fall from the tired branches of a crumbling tree. It appears as though it’s been standing for two hundred years or more, barely hanging on above it all.

Apples pile into a sweet rotting mound to the left, eventually munched by the bees, butterflies and resident robin I’ve grown accustomed to seeing on misty mornings. She looks tired, frail, with a faded peach belly and patches where thinning feathers expose her delicate skin. It saddens me to think that this winter could be her last.

Sheep bleat in the near distance, and the streaked sky reflects the pink of the anemone that stare, so devoted to the sun. Its rays make everything in this ancient corner feel alive – even the upturned wheelbarrow that nature has claimed as its own, twisted vines gripping tightly to its rusted legs.

I glance down at my boots, which have slowly started to sink into the mulchy mass of autumn leaves – and for the first time, think about what’s going on below my feet. I remember learning once that if you cradled a handful of soil from an ancient rainforest, there would be more microbial life in that handful than there are people on earth.

The wisdom of our woodlands

Just over 6000 years ago, 90 percent of the UK was covered in wild woods. In the centuries to follow, they were the core of folklore, myths and legends as well as key hunting ground and places of shelter for communities across the country.

In just over twenty years, we’ve lost over 72 million hectares of primary rainforest to deforestation, and in the UK, just 2.5 per cent of our ancient woodlands remain – half of which is damaged. This is largely due to the introduction of conifer and other monoculture plantations for timber production, fuel or clearing for agriculture. Yet, ancient woodlands are home to an irreplaceable abundance of biodiversity, where there is a huge reliance from threatened species on the rich, undisturbed soil, decaying wood and other organic matter that ancient woodlands produce. 

Ancient woodlands are also crucial in storing carbon. A recent report by The Woodland Trust found that “our ancient and long-established woodland stores an estimated 77 million tonnes of carbon. That’s roughly equivalent to the carbon emissions from a whole year’s electricity use in every home in the UK.” Perhaps even more alarming is the fact that these woodlands, of which so few remain, are a finite resource.

Guardians of ancient lands

So, given the significance of these peaceful pockets of wilderness, many organisations are dedicating their time to restoring what has been destroyed – their mission, quite literally rooted in positive impact.

In the UK, The Woodland Trust works to protect ancient woodland from harm, by carefully removing threats to the ecosystem such as non-native species planted during the timber shortages of the 20th century. These trees, as well as invasive species like Rhododendron, block light getting to the surviving species lower down to the forest floor. By opening up the canopy, they give these species the chance to recover and adapt to the environment gradually, building up resilience and diversity over time.

In Ireland, charities such as Hometree work to restore Ireland’s natural environment. They value stewardship and education through connecting communities to nature, nurturing their organic native tree nursery and planting thousands of pioneer trees, whilst working with farmers and businesses to foster a lasting positive impact on Ireland’s biodiversity.

In Brazil, the country’s second largest rainforest stretching 35,000 square miles was historically cleared for farming, charcoal and firewood production. More recently, logging for housing is leading to the perfect storm. Over the past eight years, Indigenous communities like the Guarani Mbya noticed their dwindling bee population was having damaging impacts on the environment, and at the same time, the damage of deforestation was directly impacting the number of bees pollinating the land. As protectors of the land, the Guarani Mbya did what many Indigenous people have done across history – they stood up to developers. Through reintroducing bees, removing invasive plants and reintroducing the native trees that had been cut down, they’re demonstrating that stewardship and education can pave the way in protecting our native forests on a long-term basis.

As I sit writing this at the very end of summer, I think of all the beings that have walked along paths leading to corners like these before me, and all that will do the same after me. I feel grateful to know this little patch of land, and motivated to learn more about the communities and organisations working to make a positive impact and effect change in the face of the climate crisis. I should come here more often.