Hedgerows date back to Roman times. The Romans planted these thorny based living fences that make wonderful nesting places for birds while succeeding in keeping predators and prowlers out.
Like old buildings, some of the hedgerows in Britain are protected. If you are fortunate enough to have one enclosing a parcel of your land you may want to check its age. If it’s 30 something with a length of 20 metres or more and contains certain species of plants, which you would have to look up, then you probably will be out of luck if you want to clear your acres and make your parcels open plan.
You could try getting permission from the local planning authority for your corner of the British Isles, to over-ride the Hedgerow Regulations of 1997. Any experience I’ve ever had with that august body in charge of enforcing regulations tends to take up a lot of time. Time better spent trimming your hedgerow and keeping it within code.
But before you get out the shears and start trimming, check the date. If its between March 1st and July 31st, oil them up and put them away. The birds have reserved this season, well it’s two seasons really, Spring and Summer, for nesting.
Hedgerows were a forgotten sight for me, not often seen along the freeways and toll roads of Dallas, so when I happened upon one in an unlikely place, a back street in our neighbourhood in Beckenham, Kent, I remembered and went,
“Ah, there you are Peter!”
Heartened by these little patches of countryside, I toddle off each evening on a random hedgerow hunt.
The places I walk teeter on the picturesque.
There are green verges up and down the streets where I stomp.
There are drives and ways that are still unpaved, shaded with overhanging trees, branches entangled in the ancient and protected hedgerows.
They remind me of my paternal grandmother. We always used to quip, my brother and I, that even if she were in the middle of building a house she’d stop after lunch to take us for a walk. I have hours of fond memories browsing among the brambles and honeysuckle filling our buckets and baskets with wild blackberries for a pie.
I have shown my Hubsie the benefit of stumbling upon a particularly rich crop of these succulent fruits, especially now summer is almost over and the berries are bursting with sweetness. The juice stains, evidence of our find spread around our mouths.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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