Met the Farmer dropping off my wheelie bin at the end of his road for the fortnightly Recycling collection. He’s lost his livestock fields. His cattle are still in the shed for Winter and the land used for growing their hay has gone to the bypass. He has money but there is no land for sale. “All the farmers are in the same boat.” The workers have planted grass seed on the piles of sand to stop them blowing away when the high winds come. “Grass doesn’t grow on sand,” he says. The marsh harriers’ new home is a lake. “Marsh harriers,” he tells me, “are ground-nesting birds. They should ‘a put some of their sand in the lake to make an island for them to nest on. The swans are having a lovely time swimming around.”
There is one oak left at the end of the row. I haven’t dared go up there since the Vigil. The balletic home of the badger and bats has gone. Oak trees house 200 species. That is where we heard the song thrush sing.
Time to bin this project. It is costly, destructive nonsense by people who do not understand the damage they are doing to our earth, to our animals, to the well-being of all our people.
ness365 